As I write these words, the movement of my fingers, hands, and wrists is being monitored by a tiny gadget hanging around my neck, which will soon conclude what I already know: typing doesn’t count as exercise.

The gadget is the Philips’ DirectLife, already a huge hit in the American workplace, and soon to arrive in Britain. Every day it will monitor exactly how many calories I will burn through physical activityand upload it to a central website, which will then let me know (and my boss, if I let it) when I’m getting too fat. Or rather, when I’m getting fatter than I already am. At the moment, the device is “learning” about my typical daily behaviour. This will take about a week after which I’m sure it will be suitably appalled and write me a stern letter.

Once the learning process is over, Philips will set daily calorie-burning targets for me and pass them on to my electronic minder. Throughout the day, little green lights will illuminate on the device to show how much more energy I have left to burn to stay in its good books. Knowing me, the first time I hit “100 per cent” I’ll celebrate with a cheeseburger.

The idea, of course, is that the thought of Big Brother watching will be enough to make you change your ways, and that once you start walking to your nextdoor neighbour’s instead of driving, you’ll no longer crave the meaty goodness of a quarter-pounder with cheddar.

So, after 24 hours, has it worked?

Not exactly. I’m currently here in Coronado Island at the TedMed healthcare conference, where the DirectLife is being shown off, so I can hardly do jumping jacks during the presentations by senior Obama Administration officials. Also, the food is really good (and free) so I’ve been make shameful third and fourth visits to the buffet table.

Having said that, I’m definitely shuffling in my armchair a little more, in the hope that will count for something. And last night I walked around my hotel room while eating a packet of M&Ms from the minibar. Twice.

Nevertheless, I’m genuinely interested to see what horrors my weekly calorie-burning report will reveal — while taking a good deal of comfort from the fact that it doesn’t know about the three sausages I had for breakfast.

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