COLUMN: WE LIVE in a puritanical culture where pleasure comes with a huge price tag attatched to it.

Now I've grabbed your attention, what I mean is that on the one hand we are encouraged by the Church and State to celebrate festivals such as Christmas and Easter which entail huge amounts of food, and yet at the same time we are constantly bombarded by messages telling us that eating is bad for us and that we should all be constantly fearful for our figures.

Take the issue of cellulite for example. A whole industry has grown up around keeping this enemy at bay. Recently, photos of two actresses were shown with dimply thighs and the nation was meant to reel in horror at such shocking sights.

She who lives in glasshouses, etc is my one thought here.

I remember quite clearly the first time I spotted the dreaded cellulite on my legs. I was in a changing room a few years ago, where you could helpfully see your bum and tum from every angle, and there it was nestled at the top of my thighs, a dimpled imprint as if frogspawn had just landed on my legs.

I have to admit I was quite fascinated really. For instance, if you poke at it, it kind of feels like squashed tapioca pudding.

If you compress your muscles, it appears in abundance. Either way, it is there to stay and I am obviously in famous company.

With no need to suppress a scream (I found I wasn't at all bothered) I set about finding out what other people thought about it, and the female reaction was similar to mine: "I think I've got some, but I'm not that bothered."

I always return to the wise thought that you end up with the face you deserve and if you apply the same thought to your body, it becomes obvious that you are what you are.

All those wrinkle-free mad saps who are running around Botox-ed to their eyebrows are probably getting their cellulite Botox-ed as we speak. (For those not in the know, Botox is the latest way in the trade to zap your wrinkles with a substance that paralyses your muscles, so you end up looking like a plastic doll rather than a walking, talking, living doll).

No doubt its applications could extend south of the border, so to speak, but really, why bother?

The few men I spoke to looked rather confused and frankly were quite unconcerned once they knew what cellulite is.

No, much better to be honest about it and know that each clump of blobble reflects a woman who knows how to show an Easter egg a good time and is on more than good terms with a bottle of wine.