In the last year or so I've been making half hearted efforts to maintain my physical fitness. The ennui of unemployment and its incessant requirement to stay active in the jobsearch has left me, ironically, with less time to devote to physical exercise. Slowly but surely I've become aware that hiking has become tougher on my reserves of energy, and that my rebellious waistline is advancing it's remorseless progress ahead of me.

Walking through town the other day I passed a shop dealing with health foods aimed at athletes and sportspeople. To be honest, I've never given the shop a second glance before, but in the corner of my eye I spotted a window ad for 'fat-burners', and I stopped in my tracks. Would that be helpful in my quest to be more than another ageing has-been? Shall I ask? Yes. Let's.

Inside the store was a plethora of plastic tubs containing everything from atomic powered porridge to aviation grade food additives on an industrial scale. People consume this stuff? It was like entering the brave new worlds of Isaac Asimov. Anyhow, I asked the guy behind the counter about fat-burners. After some questions about lifestyle and health he took me to an unassuming range of pills that he thought would suit my needs. It did worry me a bit that he was only four feet tall. Heck, those fat-burners must really work.

I went to bed that night wondering what would happen to me. Would I awake a seven stone cyclist with a strange passion for lycra? Or would I mutate painfully into a hairy sexually rampant monster?

As it happens, I awoke feeling no different. My six-pack stomach was still buried under a mound of wobbly blubber, pretty much as I expected, and there were no traffic cones adorning my bedroom decor. It's early. Half past seven. The sun is up and I'm in a mood for a hike. A fair test then to decide whether these strange chemicals will affect my physical performance on the hills and dales of North Wiltshire.

Hike of the Week

The verdant English summer has gone. In its place is the sombre greyness of Autumn, whose russet foliage bears little comparison to the extrovert colours of American deciduous forests. The soft ivory sun struggled to penetrate the listless clouds and there was a hint of chill in the air as I set out to climb the escarpments toward Barbury.

Did those strange pills work? Funnily enough, yes, they did. Make no mistake, the symptoms of lengthy exertion were still evident. I still breathed heavily and sweated like a pig on the steep hills. My legs still ached, my feet grew sore, and yes, I think a small blister is developing on my little toe. The pills don't make you any fitter than you already were. But at the same time, I didn't feel as weighed down as I normally would. On the last few miles back into Swindon after a twelve to fifteen mile round trip, I was still striding purposefully forward, instead of the exhausted plodding I normally resort to by that stage. Sure I was tired. But I felt good about it. So good in fact, I had to pop down to the library and tell everyone about it.

Now that I've had to wait an hour or two for an available computer, my physical condition is catching up with me. What I have noticed is how thirsty I've become. The guy in the shop had suggested I should drink plenty of water. He wasn't kidding.