THE looming prospect of disrobing on a beach takes its toll right about now.

Thoughts inevitably turn to excess fat. The muffin roll weighs heavy on the mind as indeed it does on the midriff. People are prone to sudden foolhardy acts of desperation. Liquid diets are particularly dangerous in a work environment - tempers flare as blood-sugar levels drop well below critical level. Far safer to take out the panic gym membership.

I am a girl who has in-principle objections to the gymnasium, but I can see how it can have its uses. Still, I don't like the muggy climactic conditions brought on by communal sweat.

I don't like queuing for slightly clammy machinery so that I can shove and push with the best of them and I really don't like the competitive edge that overtakes the reptilian mind of the clientele.

Clientele that are hell-bent on achieving the ultimate state of buff. Clientele that remind me of the new Fiat Bravo. This little Fiat is the motor vehicle equivalent of the fellow who has upped his protein-shake intake to a minimum of six per day and has 12 raw egg yolks for breakfast, steak tartare for lunch and a whopping 700g rump steak for dinner. It goes without saying that carbs are a no-no.

In fact, the Bravo is the Punto on an intense Body for Life programme. It has so internalised its buff psychology it even has go-faster stripes on the upholstery.

I drove the 1.4-litre T-Jet Sport with the new petrol unit and let me just say that this boytjie has been doing some serious benchwork.

He can push it with the best of them. As long as he steers clear of the Speedo and the Coppertone oil he will probably do nicely on Clifton Fourth Beach this season.