Years ago I used to go to a yoga class, and I must say that I really enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, over the years my yoga days have dwindled down to nonexistent. Yes, my bendy days are over. Or are they?

Well not so long ago I happened to be at a place where they offered a free yoga class. Why not, I thought - surely it can’t be that difficult to find my long lost bendy?

It must be there somewhere, hiding with my inner peace, which by the way I haven’t found for a while either.

I stood there with the other ladies and a couple of gentlemen, who seemed to be quite flexible, I noticed that they weren’t making the same grunting and huffs and puffs that were escaping from me.

When the others were concentrating on gently breathing in and out, whilst their heads were between their legs all I could think about was not holding my breath and why wouldn’t my head fit between my legs, something must be stopping it.

And whilst the others were finding their inner power, I was trying desperately not to let my inner power slip out. Whilst they were finding their inner voice, I was busy telling mine to just shut the heck up and let me concentrate on breathing instead of thinking about what I could have for my tea, or where the blinking heck I might have left my black cardigan, because I distinctly remember having it the other day, but I can’t find it anywhere now.

Then just as I do begin to take some sort of control over my inner voice, breathing and not pooping at the lady stood behind me, from out of nowhere I remembered that I had bought a pack of Twix and put them right at the back of the fridge.

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Now some may say that I had in fact hidden them away from others, but I can assure you that would never have entered my head. (Nose growing slightly there…)

Anyway, surely after all this stretching and huffing and puffing, concentrating hard on not doing the unthinkable, and arguing with my inner voice to be quiet I deserve a bar when I get home.

But then I started to think about how many calories, carbs and sugars there must be in a bar, and have I really done enough exercise to warrant the intake of such a chocolatey, gooey bar of happiness?

As the class was coming to an end, I was able to flop on to my mat, which I must admit is the best part for me.

Whilst the others gracefully lowered themselves down, letting themselves gently flow over their mats, I dropped like a sack of spuds, salivating over the thought of the Twix…

Others were going on a mystical journey of inner peace - I kept opening one eye to check - but try as I might I seemed to have lost the bloody off button, and I just couldn’t dampen my inner voice.

So now I felt guilty. I shouldn’t even be having the flaming Twix. I mean does it not sort of defy the whole object of exercising in the first place?

As the instructor told us all to sit up when we were ready, I watched as some seemed to float to their feet gently stretching.

Me? No way. I had to make a plan of how to get up without grunting. I rolled on to my side, then my knees, telling my inner voice to go to hell.

I certainly had to re-think the yoga, and maybe the Twix. Okay I admit it - I had the Twix…