"MUMMY is a noo-noo head. Mummy is a noo-noo head."

Not your average alarm clock, I'll grant you, but it worked. A 20-month-old girl with the lung capacity of Pamela Anderson bellowing "mummy is a noo-noo head" while repeatedly battering a pink bear with the unlikely name of John Smith on the bars of her cot is one of two things that will get me out of bed at 6.45am. George Clooney, naked, with a knapsack full of HobNobs is the other.

"I'm up, I'm up," I muttered, staggering across the landing and painfully colliding with the open stair gate. "Stick a dummy in it will you."

Not exactly the perfect start to what was going to be my "perfect health day", but a pretty typical one nonetheless.

Prompted by an article in the Daily Mail (a paper I usually pass up in favour of The Beano) which set out in minute-by-minute detail what you had to do to enjoy a full 24 hours of deliriously good health, and my own annual "new year, new me" madness, I decided to try not to be a complete slob for a whole day.

Unfortunately, rising at 6.45am was not part of my plan. You might find this difficult to believe, but I'm not exactly chipper in the mornings. Just think of Cruella de Vil in a bit of a strop and you'll have a pretty accurate picture, especially as my hair tends to stick out vertically from my head for at least an hour after I get up.

My mood wasn't lifted either when I checked my "perfect health day" schedule and discovered I wasn't supposed to rise until 7.22am. Any earlier than that apparently and your body contains higher levels of the stress hormone cortisol, making you more prone to heart attacks. Now there's a fact to get the blood pumping in the morning.

So there I was, completely off-schedule before the day had even begun, wrestling with a very small person who smelled like a morgue in a heatwave.

But, undeterred, I moved on to my next task: sipping a glass of water to redress night-time dehydration. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. Or so I thought.

First I had to get the little one some milk, then I had to feed the cats, get them some water and put away their bed (now more hairy than they are). At this point the larger little one emerged, looking like a loo brush, scratching like a dingo and demanding milk and a bowl of my finest Cheerios, pronto.

Before I knew it I was shoving Dairylea sarnies into a school lunchbox, stuffing nappies into a nursery bag, putting a wash on, cleaning a pair of grot-encrusted trainers and trying to scrape something that I hoped was chocolate off my favourite boots. And still I had not been anywhere near the tap.

Oh knickers, I thought, what's next on the list? Throw back the curtains, my schedule informed me, open the window and expose your body to natural daylight.

I'm sorry, but my body has not seen natural daylight since 1997, when I inadvertently caught a glimpse of myself wearing denim cut-off shorts and thought the circus was in town. Honestly, it looked like I had a dozen oranges stuffed down my tights - and I wasn't even wearing any.

Next! Eat breakfast, shower, brush and floss teeth, then 15 minutes of gentle walking. This sounded good, but I decided to stick with my usual routine of: burn toast, throw toast in bin, eat soggy remains of kids' cereal, shout at them to get a shift on, trap hand in killer buggy, shout some more, then run to school mowing down other stragglers and yelling at little one to keep her blummin' hat on her blummin' head.

As I sat at home 20 minutes later watching Balamory and dunking a digestive in my super-strength coffee, I decided that maybe this wasn't going to be my "perfect health day" after all.

And before you ask, no, I don't know what a "noo-noo head" is.

Updated: 11:02 Monday, January 24, 2005