Is it just ME?

Or does summer make you fat?

IT WAS a friend’s party and I’d hoped to wear my favourite pair of tight-fitting trousers.

A few short months ago they would have slipped on easily, but pulling up the zip last week required more effort than a tug of war. And the finished effect was not so much muffin top as a mountain of blancmange spilling over my waist band.

Most people claim they’re heaviest in January, but my plumpest time is summer.

The pounds start piling on in May, when I swap my skinny jeans and clingy winter dresses for light linen trousers and flimsy smocks.

The warning strain of a waistband to tell me I’ve overindulged is replaced by swathes of fabric that put up no resistance to a second helping of profiteroles.

With a husband magnetically drawn to our barbecue the moment the sun shows, my weekly red meat quota rises exponentially, too.

My normally strict exercise routine is compromised — who wants to go to a sweaty gym or on an energy-sapping run when the sun’s out?

Longer, lighter evenings mean socialising al fresco instead of sitting in front of the TV with herbal tea. Every other day brings an invitation to indulge in yet another picnic or glass of sauvignon.

Torn between the prospect of looking good in my bikini and the temptation of yet another ice cream, Mr Whippy wins every time.

During our August sojourn in the sun, any lingering hopes of squeezing into my trousers finally bite the dust.

All-inclusive holidays with daily three-course dinners and all-you-can-eat breakfast buffets compounded by a fortnight of near inertia on the beach signal the death knell to a svelte figure.

When September rolls around, I’m guaranteed to have gone up a dress size.

According to one survey, 80 per cent of us gain weight on holiday. Only when autumn arrives and I am grappling with the buttons of my coldweather wardrobe am I motivated to lose weight — knowing full well I’ll put it all on again next year.

When September rolls around, I’m guaranteed to have gone up a dress size