Meet my new friend. His name is Life Fitness T7-0 and he is a treadmill. I am very fond of him indeed, but I sense that the anthropomorphisation of gym equipment may quickly become a tiring conceit for us all, so I shall desist.

He is great, though. Suddenly the dead time is easy exercise time. I'm currently having issues with a vacuum cleaner manufacturer and instead of becoming weak with rage as I fritter away hours of my life on hold, I walk. So far I have strolled 62 billion miles (you can't go too fast, because in the unlikely event that someone does pick up, they tend to put down again very fast if all they hear is heavy breathing) and burned a couple of squizillion calories.

And it allows you to banish much of the boredom of working out. I do take a book to the gym on occasion, but I am aware that people look at me funny. Here in my own home, I can read without being judged, and even lay out the newspaper without it being bashed by other seekers of aerobic fitness. Plus, the drinks holder provides ample space for TV, DVD and VCR and stereo remote controls, so I can adjust my entertainment as I exercise. This, my friends, is the life. Not as good a life as not having to exercise at all, of course, but pretty good nevertheless.

Guilty pleasures such as watching Friends repeats on E4 are transformed into laudable activities when accompanied by a gentle jog at a 2% incline (why am I lying to you? I don't jog, I walk, at 6%, because otherwise a) I couldn't hear the telly and b) I'd have to go upstairs and change bras which would detract from the delightful convenience of the thing). The only drawbacks are the price tag (£3,295), the size (it takes up a good quarter of the room) and the fact that it has so many controls on it that my stupid boyfriend can't resist jumping on it every time he goes past and pretending he's piloting the Death Star. But if I were free of idiot men and full of disposable income, I suspect Mr T7-0 would have not only my heart but my floor and my wallet.