Initially, I was adamantly opposed to the concept of weight-loss injections. Like an old-fashioned critic, I grumbled about the notion of shedding pounds without putting in the effort.

There was something unsettling about the idea of spending hundreds of pounds to bypass the hard work, discipline, and sacrifice needed to curb indulgence and control appetite.

Moreover, the thought of losing interest in food was unimaginable to me. My life essentially revolves around culinary delights.

However, I began to notice the strikingly slim and attractive stylists, technicians, and producers on film sets. Friends would arrive at dinner looking rejuvenated and more joyful. One day, I failed to recognize a delivery man who had transformed from being significantly overweight to elegantly slender.

Then, my husband John declared his desire to try the injections. Within weeks, he was noticeably slimming down, appearing healthier and happier than ever.

So, I changed my tune. I could not resist the ease of it. After 60 years of frequent efforts to lose weight, all of them requiring self-control and persistence I didn’t always have, and all of them only temporarily successful, the thought of effortless weight-loss seduced me.

The final decider was John claiming actually to enjoy his food far more now that he was no longer snacking all day and wolfing down cake and puddings.

I had, two years ago, lost a stone and a half by the traditional torture of self-denial, calorie-counting and no booze, going from 13½st to 12st.

Oddly, I never put on weight during the months of Bake Off filming. I don’t eat breakfast or lunch and try (seldom successfully) to confine myself to just a teaspoon of each cake, making sure I get cake, filling and icing into one mouthful.

With luck, I’ll have consumed no more than 1,500 calories in a day, leaving 500 for a couple of glasses of red wine by way of supper. Not a recommended diet. But it’s kept me at 12st.

Still, I think I’d look a whole lot better, especially on telly, if I could just lose another stone.

When I opened my restaurant in 1969, I weighed 10st, but I knew that was a goal I should not dream of – I’d look too old and scraggy. Of course, at 85, I am old, but age has not dimmed my vanity and I want to weigh 11st without the scrag.

So six months ago I finally succumbed, encouraged by our doctor. An early adopter, she is now trim and slim rather than comfortably chubby, and she recommended Mounjaro as the jab with the least unwanted side-effects and a few added bonuses, like protecting against heart disease and possibly even dementia.

Our local pharmacist did the assessment (weighing me, asking me a load of questions, filling in a form) and he also recommended Mounjaro. Soon, tutored by John, I was injecting myself easily and painlessly once a week.

But, sadly for me, the jabs were an absolute disaster.

I now know that this was probably my fault. If I’d bothered to read anything about it, I’d have realised that you must eat at least 1,000 calories a day.

But I was so un-hungry, I couldn’t manage even half of that. It’s unfashionable to think in calories these days, but the fact is, the more calories you eat, the fatter you’ll get. If you are a woman, about 2,000 a day is what to aim for. Anything less and you should lose weight.

Anyone of my age knows the calorie count of everything: medium-sized banana, 120 cals; large boiled egg, 80 cals; thick slice of bread, 100 cals; pork chop, 250 cals; large apple, 50 cals etc.

You cannot survive on 200 calories a day, which is what I was eating when on Mounjaro. The advice, which I hadn’t read so didn’t take, is to do a decent amount of exercise and to make sure you eat protein – just cut down the carbs and the fat.

But I didn’t want to put anything in my mouth at all. John would force me to swallow a few mouthfuls of yoghurt or a handful of grapes, but I balked at a boiled egg – I just could not swallow it.

As for exercise: out of the question. I was desperately tired all the time. I just wanted to lie down and sleep. We were on holiday in Ibiza for a week and I always fell asleep in the car or on the beach, and as soon as we got back to the house I’d go to bed. I also felt slightly nauseous.

And the extraordinary thing: I wasn’t losing any weight. Not a single pound. I weigh myself every day. It’s a ridiculous habit, but I just step on the scales before I clean my teeth every morning. For the past few years, I have weighed 12st. Occasionally a pound over or under. And I still do.

For the first month on Mounjaro, I jabbed my thigh with 2.5mg, then for the second month with 5mg. Every day I’d step on those scales and, guess what? 12st.

I still don’t understand it. How could I have been eating so little and not be losing weight? I can only think that the body must have had some sort of defensive reaction to being starved along the lines of, ‘OK, I’m not getting any sustenance, I’d better hang on to everything I have.’

Funnily enough, I did feel thinner, especially round my shoulders and boobs. And John thought I looked slimmer. He said I had ‘diminished bulk’. But the scales told another story – 12st, every day.

I checked the scales themselves. Nothing wrong with them.

After the first month, I asked the advice of the pharmacist I’d bought the drug from. He said that, very rarely, the jabs just don’t work. ‘It’s not for everyone,’ he said. ‘Just stop taking it.’

But for some reason (I expect the Scot in me hating profligate waste) I didn’t stop. I’d paid a lot for it, damn it (about £100 a month) so I went on jabbing myself every Thursday until I’d used up all eight jabs.

Then I stopped. Within a week I no longer felt sick or exhausted and began to get my appetite back. Huge relief, but what a waste of money. And of life. Eight weeks feeling under par, wanting to sleep all the time, hating food, and all to no avail.

I cannot believe I can have been so stupid. I know about the importance of good food. It’s my job.

I suppose, fixated on losing weight, I thought, ‘Well, the less I eat the more I’ll lose. An unpleasant crash diet, but it must work eventually’. Only it didn’t.

But I am certainly glad it worked for John. He looks great and has more energy. His bad knee, having to carry less weight, is much less painful. My main concern – that he’d lose interest in food – has not happened. He looks forward to meals and eats moderately. All good.

My only worry is that I am now drinking twice what he is. He’ll have a single glass of wine, probably not finish it, and I’ll have two glasses and then hoover up his leftovers, too.

I do have one abiding memory of the Mounjaro months, when John, now badly in need of new trousers as he has lost so much bum and tum, was going through security at the airport. He’d had to surrender his belt, then go through the X-ray machine that requires you to lift up your arms.

As he raised his hands, his trousers fell, whoosh, to his ankles, leaving hairy legs and boxers on display. I could not stop laughing. I have Mounjaro to thank for that moment of joyous hilarity.

JOHN’S STORY

Over the past decade, every two years I’ve had a Wellman health assessment at our local health centre. I always felt fit and well, but would be told I was technically obese. I never took this seriously because, invariably, the nurse or doctor assessing me was a lot fatter than me.

However, this time the diagnosis was confirmed by my BMI result, which put me into the obese category at 16st 8lb. And this persuaded me to take the matter seriously.

I’m 79, and three years ago I had a knee replacement operation that was very problematic. For two years any exercise was painful. Consequently, I avoided it if I could and was consistently lethargic, taking every opportunity to sit down. I was conscious I was putting on weight, too.

Our doctor told me she was on a weight-loss programme using Mounjaro, which surprised me. The regime, she said, was successful for her and a number of her colleagues, and perhaps I should try it. I said I would.

She made an appointment for me to be assessed and advised by our local pharmacist.

He weighed and measured me, went through an exhaustive questionnaire on my health history and explained how Mounjaro worked. He then demonstrated the applicator pen, which was exactly that – a pen you twist a fraction to regulate the dose, delivered by a tiny, 4mm needle. This was to be applied once a week with the minimum Mounjaro dose of 2.5mg.

As it was so simple and straightforward, I signed the form and had my first injection there and then. It was totally painless,

I paid £68 for my first month’s weekly doses, all in that one applicator pen.

On waking the next morning, I was very aware of a lack of hunger for breakfast. For many years I’ve bought a mix of bran, nuts, seeds and dried fruit and ground them in a food processor.

I’ve always made our yoghurt, and I have two tablespoons of the mix with two tablespoons of yoghurt and two tablespoons of thawed ‘fruits of the forest’. That first morning I could only manage half the bowl – so, from then on, I’ve had one tablespoon of each of the ingredients.

But also, obedient to the advice to make sure I had sufficient protein, I had two boiled eggs.

Very quickly, with each meal, I felt full eating much smaller portions. I also stopped snacking, much to Prue’s delight since she heartily disapproves of my eating crisps, biscuits, nuts, cake, anything between meals.

This confirmed what the pharmacist had explained would happen: Mounjaro suppresses one’s appetite and makes the stomach take much longer to do its digesting job. (A small side-effect is fairly frequent – but, happily, unnoticed – burping.)

For the first three days I was mildly constipated, and for the first week felt sleepy and lethargic, and sometimes, for ten minutes in the morning, a little nauseous. But these side-effects soon dissipated. From then on I felt thinner and fitter every day.

I am rarely hungry, but I look forward to meals; I eat more slowly, chew more, and enjoy my food. I feel more alert, energetic and generally have my mojo back, feeling ten years younger in every way.

Before I started on Mounjaro, I found I was slightly breathless when putting on my socks, and sometimes I had to get Prue to help. But, after six weeks, I had lost 2 st and had no trouble at all. I also found my trousers were ‘double-breasted’ and I’d gone down two notches on my belt.

When Prue decided to start Mounjaro, I explained it was important to eat smaller but well-balanced meals and protein was a must but, sadly, she didn’t pay any attention.

After a month, I tried hard to get her to eat at least one boiled egg, but she said the thought of it made her feel very sick. Unfortunately she listened to her body and not her head.

I was worried that she was barely eating. She was still cooking for me some of the time and I was making myself meals, but she was eating almost nothing. I could not understand why she wasn’t losing weight.

When we went to Ibiza in the summer, I felt great, but she spent most of our week’s holiday sleeping by the pool or in bed.

I encouraged her to talk to the pharmacist and was relieved when she gave up the jabs and returned to her happy, hungry self.

Meanwhile, I’ve increased my Mounjaro dose each month by 2.5mg and have now, after four months, settled on 10mg, which I think I will stay at.

In this time, I have lost 3st – four notches on my belt – and gone from a 40in waist to 36in. I feel good.

I intend to stay on Mounjaro until I’m confident I’ve got my food intake under control and my exercise and new lifestyle routine established. I really don’t want to put the weight back on.

The financial drawback, apart from the £275 a month that I pay for the dose I’m on now, is that I have had to buy a whole new wardrobe.

My wife warns me not to become physically scraggy in any way but, because this realignment of my health has been so trouble-free, rewarding and enjoyable, I shall stick with it until I am a few kilos lighter and my BMI is where it should be.