Okay, so I may know my way around a countour palette and own more cosmetics than Estee Lauder herself, but when it comes to being catwalk-ready from the neck down – forget it!<\/p>\n

Now there are some girls who have a body for Baywatch, face for Crimewatch. What’s the use in bursting a blood vessel at the gym if you’ve got a face like a bag o’ spanners? No, get your hair and make-up runway-ready and to hell with the fitness regime. It’s not called a ‘regime’ for nothing. I don’t recall Hitler’s one being a barrel of laughs either. Life’s for living, not pouting into your phone like a constipated duck whilst ‘working out’ for the camera. I <\/i>can’t work that<\/i> out.<\/p>\n

Seeing as the majority of people only chat to the bit above your chin (or chins, in my \u00a0case – I blame constantly looking down at my phone) – why bother slogging your guts out on your glutes, especially if you’ve got a permanent case of resting bitch face. Don’t sweat it – just smile occasionally! I know exercise releases endorphins, but so does biting into a quarter-pounder with cheese.<\/p>\n

I wouldn’t say I was a total lard-arse, but fitness model material I certainly ain’t. These days we’re under increasing pressure to pump iron, our newsfeeds clogged up with skinny, tanned superfit bods, their proud owner beaming smugly from your phone as you tuck into your hummous dip….accompanied with a family-sized bag of Doritos. Or should I say DOH-ritos! I must remember to replace those with a carrot next time. Oh well.<\/p>\n

Far from springing off the sofa and nipping out for a quick 5k’s, I’m more likely to flip my phone over and reach for the sharing-size Salt and Vinegar Kettle Chips in defiance. My Sainsbury’s delivery dude probably thinks I’ve got 6 kids with all these ‘family fun-packs.’<\/p>\n