I cannot even begin to tell you how much I love eating. Hot, rustling chips with slightly too much salt on them, a piece of crisp-skinned duck or a round of thick white toast dripping with butter. Sometimes I just have to stop what I am doing and make a bacon sandwich or walk down the road to get a piece of cake. And although I prefer to eat something with a perfect provenance and made with the very best ingredients, I am not half as fussy as I could or should be. The way I look at it is this: a slice of commercially made chocolate cake might not be as good as a home-baked one, but it's better than no chocolate cake at all.

Being skinny, I have never had to worry about the side effects of such a gargantuan appetite. I have never had to question whether the second or even third helping of pie might not be a good idea. Fat was other people's problem. Then, one night about 18 months ago, just as I was climbing into bed, I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror that shocked me. Around my middle was a thick layer of fat. I shook myself and it wobbled like a blancmange at a child's birthday party. I squeezed it, prodded it, pummelled it, and kneaded it like bread dough. I lay on the bed and grasped it with both hands. I got down on all fours and watched it hang underneath me. At one point I contorted into a pretty accurate impression of a... no, you really don't want to know.

Now I have never had, or especially wanted a washboard-flat stomach - I am about the world's least vain person and it shows - but neither did I want a sack of jelly strapped to my gut. So I decided to have my fat measured, professionally, and while I was about it everything else too from blood pressure to cholesterol. Because I am so rarely ill (I haven't even got a doctor, let alone recently visited one) I booked a private health check. While most things were as good as I could wish for (apparently due to the fact that I have never smoked and tend to walk rather than use a car) my body fat was very firmly in the 'caution' zone. While being a good eight per cent away from being officially obese, I was, for the first time in my life well on the wrong side of the line.

Like millions before me I have discovered there are more ways to lose weight that you can shake a hosepipe at. But it wasn't weight I wanted to lose. I have pin thin arms and legs and am apparently the perfect weight for my height. What I wanted to lose was fat. Some of the diets I checked out were, to say the least, intriguing. Others were frankly bonkers. Friends talked ecstatically of losing pounds by not eating carbohydrates, or only eating meat. Deciding on a diet is only marginally more difficult than choosing a chocolate from a box of Black Magic. It didn't inspire me with confidence when one dietician I spoke to (not connnected with this newspaper) actually said that one of the more high-profile weight-loss gurus should be taken out and shot.

But you know what? Virtually none of the diets I came across were even remotely compatible with good eating. Most of the people peddling their half-assed 'lose-pounds-in-a-fortnight' diets seem to have no idea of what makes something worth eating. I'm not sure they even like food. What, please tell me, is the point of eating a steak without the bearnaise sauce and fries, or the point of pasta without the Parmesan? I needed a way of getting rid of this millstone of fat, while being able to continue to eat for pleasure.

I will tell you what I did, and how over 12 months I cut my body fat from 22 per cent to 13. Which, incidentally, is described by much of the medical profession as 'ideal'. It didn't force me to rethink my entire life, it didn't make me drastically change what I eat and it didn't cause me any pain or discomfort. To be frank, this was a diet based as much on common sense as anything else. But it is easy to stick to, and that, to most dieters, is half the battle.

For the entire 12 months I kept a record of everything I put in my mouth. I religiously noted every slice of smoked salmon, every sausage sandwich and each and every olive, strawberry and chocolate digestive. Until you write down your daily food consumption you will never really know what you eat. Believe me, having to admit, in your own handwriting to three walnut whips, two bacon butties and an entire tub of chocolate ice cream in one day beats any low carb, low protein, low fat, wacko diet hands down. I also discovered one or two helpful things. The first was the question of whether I was actually hungry or just thirsty. Now, I like to think I'm a fairly bright guy, but I have to admit to getting these two confused. So often, when I thought I was hungry, my body was just telling me it was dehydrated. This, more than any other single thing , is what has helped me to lose fat. In other words, next time you think you need a Mars bar, a pile of Pringles or a slice of cheesecake in between meals, try a glass of water or juice first. You might be as surprised as I was. To give you a clue, I downed over 600 litres of Evian in 2002. I also found that eating less helps. The main reason most of us are overweight is because we eat too much. I know that was true in my case. So I simply cut down the amount of food I put into my mouth. I won't pretend it was easy, especially when you work within six feet of your kitchen cupboards, but it is perfectly possible, with practice, to put the lid on a tub of Ben and Jerry's and put it back for tomorrow. 'Serves four' can sometimes mean just that. And then I took up a moderate amount of exercise. By 'moderate' I mean that I took the stairs not the lift (this isn't always possible, just try and find the staircase in Harvey Nichols) and I walked for about 30-40 minutes a day. I also swam for two to three hours a week. None of this took up much time and I was only 'tweaking' my normal lifestyle. I know if I had taken up serious exercise I would have lasted no more than five minutes. Slightly accelerating my normal routine was easy and I stuck to it. It also helped to identify the comfort foods I turn to when I am stressed, bored or angry and substitute something healthy for some of them. For the record, mine are ice cream, pies (of any sort, it's the pastry I'm after) and chocolate bars. I simply swapped most of them for fruit. So, instead of eating a roll of Munchies I would scoff a handful of blueberries. Grapes, raspberries, strawberries and tangerines were the easiest, no matter how carefully you peel them, oranges tend to cover everything on your desk in fine sticky spray. Bananas leave you with the skin to get rid of. In really desperate moments I did not even attempt to deny my true needs. Sometimes only a slice of cheesecake will do. The other thing I discovered was water. There was never a day when I drank less than 1.5 litres of Evian, sometimes as many as three. The downside is that I pee like a horse. Here is exactly what I ate last year...

I ate 72 kilos of fish (not counting 40 fish fingers and 472 pieces of sushi) which is only slightly less than the average polar bear. In fact it actually comes in at just over 200g a day. I should explain, quickly, that fish, rather than meat or poultry is my protein of choice. I love its silky texture and the fact that it is light on the gut. Gram for gram I ate more smoked salmon than almost anything else (9.7kg, I know it's hideously expensive, but I don't smoke or drive a car, so give me a break), hotly followed by rollmop herrings at 7.3kg. The reason for this is my habit of having a little of each as I'm preparing dinner. Light as they are, they soon add up. I also managed to swallow 12kg of mackerel, most of which I grilled so that the skin was all black and toasty, 4kg of halibut (and rather a lot of Hollandaise sauce), 2.5kg of cod, 16 dressed crabs, 17 whole plaice, 13 sea bass, 3.5kg of smoked mackerel and 194 oysters. I saw off 10 squid, five grilled sole, 1.2kg of skate and 500g of salt cod. What I didn't eat much of were scallops (a measly two) and tuna (of which I am honestly not fond). I did manage 472 pieces of sushi, seven bowls of moules marinière (two of which came up again), and 3.7kg of salmon, (which didn't). The best fishy thing I ate all year was a crab salad at Nahm in the Halkin Hotel, though it was difficult to beat the piece of halibut I cooked at home with bearnaise sauce and green beans from the garden.

Meat I love meat, especially any part of the pig, yet somehow I consumed a pathetic 97g a week last year. That's about the weight of the average sausage. At only 13g per day I know vegetarians who eat more meat than I do. But that doesn't include the cured meats, all those satin-textured slices of Italian ham such as the 1.5kg of Parma I got through or any of the fat-speckled salamis. I think this low score is because of the way I eat meat as an occasional pig-out, say, a piece of organic roast pork or a plate of bloody steak and chips, rather than as a regular weekday thing. I ate only two portions of lamb, both roast, the entire year but managed 20 or more bacon or sausage sandwiches, six pork pies, a black pudding, a Big Mac (I was drunk), rather a lot of Chinese pork dishes and several portions of delectably fatty rillettes. I'll never stop eating meat, especially the crackling off roast pork and blood-oozing rump steaks but I admit I haven't made much of a hole in Europe's beef mountain.

Game and poultry Again this seems low at only 100g a week but what I did eat was sensational. A vast pot of stewed goose with butterbeans and broth, cold roast duck in Chinatown and several crispy ones with pancakes too, 500g of fluffy bunny, 800g of chicken livers and nearly a kilo of coq au vin. The best thing I ate was one of several pieces of grilled chicken with herbes de Provence cooked over the grill at home. The worst was an undercooked, overpriced partridge at a fashionable West End restaurant. They should have shot the chef rather than the poor partridge.

Fruit
I'm just showing off now: 175 apples, 33 apricots, 179 bananas, 1730g blackcurrants, 5.625g blackberries, 10 kilos of blueberries (yes, 10), 7 kilos of cherries, 64 clementines, 4kg of damsons, 1.25kg dates, only eight figs, 10.55kg of black grapes and 1.8 of green, 1kg of poached gooseberries, 40 kiwis (I must be quite, quite mad), 250g loganberries, 1kg lychees, 67 mangoes and 38 papaya, 194 oranges not counting those squidged up for juice, 42 passion fruit, 66 peaches, 148 pears, 11 pineapples, three persimmons, 100 plums (I am so regular they could set Big Ben by me), 430 strawberries, three pomegranates, 120 portions of raspberries, 2kg redcurrants, three portions of whitecurrants from the garden and nine melons. That's about 191 kilos a year, which works out at 525g a day.

Vegetables About 110kg, that's about 2kg a week or 300g per day, which I reckon is low enough to get me a black star, but add that to the fruit and I reckon it looks much more rosy. My bowels certainly think so. I ate 198 portions of greens which I think isn't bad. If I add green salads onto that, we are up to 394 which makes me sound like a hero.

Most of the 198 were some form of Chinese greens, purple sprouting or that beautiful, ruffled Cavolo Nero. Somehow I also pushed down 31 portions of green beans, 110 raw carrots, 10 chicory salads, 10 corn on the cobs, 36 courgettes, two punnets of cress, a plate of courgette fritters, and then another, four cucumbers, six portions of curly kale, a marrow, about a kilo of mushrooms, several portions of mushrooms on toast, and 14 parsnips. I can't believe I only ate 14 parsnips but that's not counting mash. I ate four pumpkins, two portions of samphire, 31 portions of spinach, some of which was chopped and mixed with cream in the French style, some simply steamed, 30 raw tomatoes and 218 roast ones, a grilled radiccio, nine bunches of watercress and eight portions of peas. I ate two cooked carrots under duress. I cut back on the potatoes and ate only 16 portions of mash, nine boiled, five portions of French fries, five of roast and two of dauphinoise. I ate slices of potato hash, four portions of Jerseys and 10 sweet potatoes. For someone who loves their spuds this is pathetic. Some of the fault lies with the restaurants who think it's naff to serve them at all and some with me for being too lazy to peel them. Which reminds me. I got through 26 baked ones.

Pasta, pulses, noodles and stuff 1kg butterbeans, 500g chickpea curry, 300g chickpea mash, 450g flageolet beans, 1,600g baked beans, 1,100g lentils, eight portions of dhal, six portions tabbouleh, 150g white haricot beans. 2,250g brown basmati rice, 250g white rice and eight risotto. There were falafels too, about 12 of them, 12 portions of cous cous, and six Italian rice balls. Quite how I chomped my way through 27 kilos of organic muesli I will never know.

I wolfed down 1.5kg soba noodles, 1kg macha noodles, 400g gnoccetti, two portions of cannelloni, 250g of inedible pasta salad which I only forced down because I was tired and hungry and trapped on the Virgin Birmingham to London train, one rigatoni with chilli sauce, 13 portions of penne, 2kg of stuffed tortelloni, 250g ravioli stuffed with potato and cheese which sounds divine but I can't remember where I ate it, two portions of Kathy Burke's gorgeous spaghettini with spinach, four portions of wholewheat pasta.

I am not sure how to measure the 20 portions of dim sum and 28 portions of mezze, the 48 sandwiches and six pizzas, or the 22 bagels, but I ate them too. And 48 loaves of bread, 70 rounds of which were made into toast or bruschetta. Did I mention the 390 oatcakes?

Dairy I am not sure life is worth living without cheese. My total consumption was 21kg, most of which was goats' and sheep's cheese. It sounds a lot less if you say it as 60g a day. I got through rather a lot of goats' yoghurt too, a cool kilo a week. Oh, and 3kg of sheep's.

Cake I could kill for cake. Here's the list: one carrot cake, two cheesecakes, three chocolate cakes, three slices of fruit bread, nine slices of fruit cake, two slices of birthday cake, two slices of Pret a Manger pecan pie, five slices lemon cake, one apricot tart, half a ricotta tart, five fairy cakes (once you start you can't stop), two battenburg and a slice of walnut pie. Not bad, until you add it to the 32 biscotti, eight flapjacks, four Jaffa cakes, 500g pan forte, two madeleines, 14 double choc chip cookies, four meringues, 12 amaretti and a fortune cookie, which I promptly spat out.

Puddings I have separated puddings and cake for obvious reasons (put them together and I sound like Billy Bunter). Anyway: three chocolate banana fritters (which I didn't want but Ruth Watson made me eat), half a pannacotta with passion fruit, two mouthfuls of zabaglione, one apple crumble and custard, four plum crumbles and custard, one blueberry tart, one apricot tart, one raspberry tart, one lemon tart, one fig tart, one gooseberry tart, six mince pies, one prune tart, one plum pie, one prune tart, five portions of trifle and a summer pudding. On the ice cream front I managed to get by with only two tubs of vanilla ice, two of orange sorbet, one portion of rose, two of pear, and 500ml of mango. Oh, and I almost forgot, 2kg of chocolate ice cream.

Chocolate 1460 chocolates, 20 chocolate digestives, six brownies, 12 pralines, 20 chocolate almonds, 22 bars of hazelnut chocolate, two chocolate sesame bars, two chocolate truffles, a bar of Fry's Turkish delight, two Ferrero Rocher, two Easter eggs and a portion of chocolate mousse.

A few other things I should mention include 142 pots of green tea, 17 mint, 150 beers and 124 lemon verbena tea. There were a couple of mango lassi, 140 cubes of Turkish Delight, 12 pots of jasmine tea, 14 travelling cappuccino and 48 bowls of soup. As you might expect from a guy who has just written a juice book, I managed to down 358 juices, some of which were made at home and some of which were juices picked up on my way back from swimming. Of the 292 bottles of wine four were Australian, three New Zealand, six Californian and the rest were Italian and French.

All of which kept me at 72 kilos and reduced my body fat to a smug 13 per cent. None of this involved eating weird diets of low fat foods, cutting out carbohydrates or eating masses of meat and no veg. Neither did it involve any pills or potions and, unlike the famous cabbage soup diet it didn't make me fart for England. At least no more than usual anyway. This was a diet that allowed me to eat everything I would normally - the cheese, the toast and the cakes - just a little less of it. OK, I won't make a million out of my diet, but why should anyone make money out of what is so glaringly obvious. The best way to lose fat is to throw the diet books out of the window, eat a bit less and always, always take the stairs. It works, and I've proved it.