‘For French women beauty is power. You change your look and it can change your mind. Bof! Your mind controls everything.’

and popping organic appetite suppressants all year round is viewed as basic body care. The most I stretch to is a quick onceover with a razor in the shower a couple of times a week and, if I’m being indulgent, slapping on some Dove fake tan. This is clearly not a beauty regime Dr Chardonneau is familiar with.

‘French women, they understand how important it is to look good, because then they feel good. For French women, beauty is a way of life, not just something they do sometimes, you understand?’ he says. I nod vigorously, understanding nothing. My heart sinks even further when he asks about my leg regime. I rack my brains for the right answer. When it doesn’t arrive, I lie and tell him I try to run more often, which I guess is true if you count the number of times I’ve had to sprint to the school gate.

‘What other treatments do you undertake?’ he enquires, politely, as I try to pull off my clothes with as much dignity as I can muster under the bright, white lights of his operating table.

‘Treatments?’ I ask, like a rabbit in headlights and wonder if I can include a trip to the dentist every four months. I cast around, dismissing the idea of pretending I’ve tried Botox and a tummy tuck, but that they weren’t for me. ‘What about getting my teenage daughter to paint my nails before a wedding?’ I say, brightly, but I think the joke is lost on him.

‘Beauty therapy is powerful,’ he says, looking me directly in the eye. ‘You change your look, and it can change your mind. And your mind, bof!’ he says, motioning to my head. ‘Your mind is the most powerful part of your body. Your mind controls everything.’

He lifts up my leg in his cool hands, running his palms over my knee, shin, calf and ankle, then nods appreciatively. ‘You have the ideal ratio between the calf and ankle, which means from the knees down, you have perfect legs.’

Being told I have perfect legs is more exciting than the time I got top marks in an English exam, but it’s a different matter altogether when he tells me to lie down and turn onto my side, running his hands up my thighs, squeezing the handfuls of flesh I prefer to keep well covered up.

‘Hmmm. ’Ere and ’ere and ’ere, there is cellulite.’ Ah, my old friend cellulite. Even the word sounds lumpen and slightly grotesque. It’s something I’ve had since my late 20s but, after hitting my 40s, my Banishing her cellulite: Clover undergoes leg treatment with Dr Jean-Marc Chardonneau relationship with it has changed. It’s no longer a rather fleeting guest who visits me now and again when I’ve eaten too much toast at teatime, but to which I can bid a cheerful au revoir by skipping breakfast for a few weeks.

Now, it’s more like a rather embarrassing, uninvited guest who stubbornly refuses to leave.

Dr Chardonneau recommends a course of mesotherapy, a nonsurgical procedure involving injecting fat spots on my thighs with a mixture of vitamins and chemicals, including 50 per cent phosphatidylcholine.

Over a course of three months, I return to Dr Chardonneau once a month to receive three injections in each thigh (£300 a session), which will break down the fat to be excreted via the lymphatic cells in my urine.

As someone who views sitting in the hairdresser once every four months for three hours to get my roots done a serious commitment to beauty, the demands of this treatment in terms of time, effort and money are not something I’d usually consider.

However, I am nothing if not a dutiful pupil and so return, once a month, for a mid-morning rendezvous with Dr Chardonneau. I undress, roll over and he sticks injections into the three fattiest areas on my thighs.

AFTEr the shock of the initial pinprick, the treatment itself is not immediately painful, but leaves a sensation similar to a faint bee sting. During each session, Dr Chardonneau leaves me with strict instructions to do no exercise at all for three days.

I have no intention of doing any, anyway, but still nod vigorously.

The pain of the injection site increases a little after each treatment, but not dramatically, though it does leave some dark bruising for a few days in the areas. And, while the full results of the treatment aren’t visible until a month after the final session, I start to see results almost immediately.

‘Your bum looks a bit smaller, Clover. Not in a bad way, but just on the sides of your upper thighs,’ remarks one of my most outspoken girlfriends as she stands behind me while I strap some of my children into their car seats.

A month after that, I can fit back into a pair of jeans I last wore three years ago. My upper thighs feel tighter and less flabby.

At our final session, Dr Chardonneau examines me one last time and says he’s pleased with the results.

But he also instructs me to look after my legs with deep tissue massage I can do on myself, by squeezing and kneading my skin vigorously to move the fat around, get rid of blockages and improve the circulation.

A diet high in vitamin E (found in almonds), selenium (fish and Brazil nuts) and zinc (pumpkin seeds and chickpeas), copper (cashews, lentils) and dietary fibres (vegetables and wholegrains) will also help.

‘And no sugar. Absolutely no sugar. These results will last for ever if you look after your legs,’ he says, as serious as a headmaster telling off a wayward pupil.

Like all good French wives, I haven’t told my husband about the treatment, preferring to maintain an air of slight mystery around why my legs are so much slimmer.

And, with a new spring in my step, I also silently resolve to bin my disposable razor in favour of something less budget.