Is she going too far? And can an ordinary person live Madge's joyless life of no booze, no junk food and no telly in an endless quest for the perfect body?

For three days I challenged myself to live like the Queen of Pop, attempting to re-create her gruelling exercise regime and regimented diet. I have no kids and am 20 years Madge's junior. So how hard could it be?

WEDNESDAY

7.30am: Madonna does daily, two-hour workouts, so I stagger bleary-eyed into my local Virgin Active gym.

I try to channel Madonna, really going for it on the treadclimber. After 10 minutes I'm pretty fired up and smug.

7.50am: As I try to get off I feel wobbly-legged and have a bit of a mishap when my trainer gets caught in the stillmoving conveyor belt. Panic shoots through me as it starts to pinch but thankfully it stops before any serious damage to my toes, although my foot is now trapped. I stand there feeling silly as a big sweaty man frees my trainer.

8am: I manage to get through the rest of my gym session with no further dramas. I concentrate on pumping iron to work my arms and battle the dreaded bingo wings.

8.40am: Back home I feel quite invigorated. After burning all those calories I eye up the eggs and bacon in the fridge. But I have to stick to Madonna's breakfast of choice - miso soup. Sighing, I start to make it up using miso paste, boiling water and tofu, but fall short on the seaweed front.

Unsurprisingly, seaweed isn't available in my local Somerfield so I substitute strips of iceberg lettuce, telling myself Madonna wouldn't mind. Strangely enough, after a few spoonfuls I have lost my appetite.

9.10am: I board the train to work. By the time I arrive I feel ravenous.

9.55am: Popping into Pret, I look longingly at the bread, yoghurt, citrus juices - all the things I'm not allowed. I settle for some nuts and a carrot juice.

Boooooring.

11.15am: I am trying to ignore the allure of my colleague Caroline's homemade cupcakes. "Carbs are bad, sugar is sin," I chant under my breath, shoving a handful of almonds into my gob, washed down with green tea. Yum.

1.30pm: Lunchtime. I'm thrilled when I ask the man in Tesco if he has any macrobiotic meal choices and he nods enthusiastically. I accompany him with a spring in my step until we round a corner and he waves his hand at a fridge filled with ready meals. My heart sinks. I said macro not micro. Tsssk.

1.50pm: I head to M&S and pick up a salad of salmon, brown rice and pulses. I think they're on my food list and with the clock ticking during lunch hour they'll do.

3pm: I have a pounding headache. I suspect my body is less than impressed now that treats such as chocolate and caffeine have been axed.

5.30pm: I am so grouchy. My niggling headache has lasted all day and it's difficult to concentrate.

7.30pm: I want to lie down in a dark room. But Madonna works out with her trainer Tracy Anderson every day. I have to settle for Tracy's Dance Cardio Workout on DVD and the hopeless co-ordination of my two left feet.

8pm: As I dance to my own beat I hear stifled giggles from my friend Heather. I ignore her.

8.30pm: After an hour I am exhausted and collapse on the sofa.

9pm: Madonna is rumoured to have two macrobiotic chefs. So I employ Heather and my boyfriend Joseph to prepare white fish, brown rice and veg. But as the delicious waft of their moussaka dinner hits me I remember that, as Madonna, I'm not a fan of meat. She is once said to have walked off in disgust when Guy Ritchie served steak and kidney pud. I flounce into the bedroom to do some yoga.

9.45pm: Heather and Joseph are in the living room wolfing down clotted cream rice pudding with grated chocolate. Yes, grated chocolate! I give them death stares - Madonna does not do carbs or sugar.

11.30pm: I remember Madonna retires to bed with her face slathered in £500-a-pot cream. She's also rumoured to wear a plastic body suit to delay signs of ageing. I make do with Q10 Derma intensive+ antiwrinkle Day Cream, Tesco £1.79. I slap on half the pot. I don't have a body suit so I wrap my limbs in clingfilm.

3am: Wake up sweating with my heart racing. The clingfilm is constricting me. I had a dream I was drowning in a giant bowl of miso soup.

6.30am: Getting up after the alarm goes off I wince. My limbs are sore and stiff.

7am: Somehow I make it to the gym. This morning personal trainer Pitshou Ngopwani puts me through my paces on the Powerplate.

7.30am: It is much harder today. I decide exercise is not my friend.

8.15am: With hurty legs I go home for some more ghastly miso soup.

9am: Off to work but it's sunny, and Madonna's youthful complexion is aided by total avoidance of sunlight.

9.10am: I walk to the bus stop in sunglasses and holding a parasol to ward off the evil ageing rays.

10am: Again, I snack on carrot juice, water and nuts.

1.30pm: In Starbucks I eye friend Abigail's panini with longing.

2pm: Lunch is the same meal as last night - white fish, brown rice and veg. Mmm.

4.30pm: A nectarine and an apple. Is it so wrong that I'm craving a Mars bar?

6pm: I do a pilates class. It hurts.

7.30pm: I'm at a party pretending my water is vodka. Rock 'n' roll.

9.30pm: I wolf down quinoa grains and organic veg dumplings. They taste OK but don't compare to my favourite sausage and mash.

11pm: Take my achy, weak body to bed but two hours later the BlackBerry under my pillow (another Madonna habit) informs me someone called 'Giselle (uwannaplay)' is following me on Twitter. For the love of God, bog off!!

FRIDAY

7am: In the gym making a half-hearted effort to cycle. Pitshou's incessant upbeat attitude grates.

8.15am: Miso, miso, blurgh.

9am: I think I may be limping a bit. I heave my miserable body on to the bus.

10am: Bring on the carrot juice.

1.30pm: Lunch of polenta and corn. Yup, as interesting as it sounds.

3.25pm: Someone brought doughnuts into the office. I contemplate butting the wall.

5.45pm: A small bowl of brown rice.

7.15pm: The Tracy Anderson DVD taunts me in my living room.

8pm: Sod Madonna! I've fallen off the macrobiotic wagon.

A pizza, dripping with cheesy loveliness, has been delivered. It's amazing! I wash it down with a glass of vino and round off my gluttony with chocolate.

I'll keep up some exercise and healthy eating but life's too short not to enjoy your food. Madge, get over it...

Source: Daily Mirror