Open wide

One of the things that my hypnotherapy recording, Bounce Out Of Bed, asks me to do to aid early morning perkiness is to think about three things that you're looking forward to doing the next day. The idea is that when your alarm clock goes off, you'll think automatically about those three things rather than thinking, as I occasionally do, 'Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......... why did I have that last glass of wiiiiiiiiinnnnnne.... my bed is soooooo amaaaaaazing...... It is inhumaaaaaaaane to expect me to leave the warmth. Inhumaaaaaane......' etc. The hypnotherapist, Mark Someone, seems to have created an equation whereby the excitement you feel about the exciting thing outweighs the appeal of staying in bed. Unfortunately, given how I feel most mornings, even those when I haven't touched alcohol for days, it would take the prospect of... actually, I can't think of anything that would ever make me want to bounce out of bed. Nothing. It is always, always done reluctantly. Even if I'm going on an incredible holiday and I have a plane to catch, even if I'm having lunch with Gandhi and dinner at Gordon Ramsay with a taller, better looking version of Simon Cowell, when I hear the alarm, I'm tempted to cancel.

Even so, I do what Mark tells me, and dutifully list and picture a few good things about the next day when I lie in bed each night. It is never hard to find things to be excited about when I'm still awake. It's the morning after where they lose all their currency. Last night, I was buzzing following a rousing trip to the Young Vic to see Annie Get Your Gun, ably but by no means perfectly performed by Jane Horrocks. We had a good night but it was definitely a bit clunky - I'd give it a solid 9.5 out of a possible 14. I hummed S'wonderful all the way home, clambered under my incredible duvet, the gift that keeps on giving, and settled down for Bounce Out Of Bed. My highlights for the following day came thick and fast: 1) see who has responded to my survey about the planned school reunion; 2) go to La Clique at the Roundhouse; 3) go for delicious dinner in Camden afterwards and poss. have amazing steak; 4) have first ever medical.

And there I ground to a halt. How could I possibly be looking forward to my first ever medical? The last person I knew that had a work medical found out they had prostate cancer. They are not associated with fun in my head. But, I guess in keeping with my eternal quest to know and control as much as I possibly can while still enjoying life to the max, the idea of being tested for lots of stuff appealed. I pay for this healthcare, so I may as well use it. And this morning, at 10.15, I scampered over to the medical centre near my office, filled in a lengthy form where I detailed all my various health incidents, crossing most of the boxes but filling in a few. I had to phone a friend, my dad, to help with family history - apparently we're in the clear - but other than that, it all went without a hitch.

Then I met my doctor, who was very nice, and asked me a few questions, and then asked me to 'slip on this robe' and I panicked because sometimes women's robes don't overlap far enough around my hips and I end up with an alluring isosceles gap around my thighs. Fortunately this was a roomy specimen and I clambered up onto the bench without flashing much of my smooth, tanned flesh. He listened to my heart, and my back, and checked my reflexes with his little rubber mallet (which I HATE), and he took a blood sample, and he did lady things, and he seemed pleased that I rarely eat red meat and I don't smoke or drink caffeine. He said I seemed very healthy, and we talked about infertility and he said not to worry until I'm 35, which seems like it's in about six minutes but hey. Que faire. Then I got dressed and went back to my desk. I get the results in a week. Cross your fingers.

So now two of my four exciting things of today are over but the best two are still to come. Woop. The weekend ahead has been timetabled with razor-sharp precision and if I don't have at least two hilarious anecdotes to regale you with on Monday I'll be disappointed. Go well, my lambs.