Two things you should know about me as we head into 2017: first, I have every intention of taking Robbie Robertson, Bruce Springsteen, Keith Richards and Wendel Clark to bed with me (if you don’t know who these men are, just put the newspaper down and walk away – seriously).

Second, I plan to have a Killer Queen body by this time next year, (if you don’t know the reference to that song lyric, see bracket above.) Let the record show: 2017 is the year of Killer Queen Kelly.

Of course, I am referring to my Christmas gifts. Each one of these men listed above is the author of books that I received under the Christmas tree (except Keith. I have to give him back). Since I read in bed every night, these are the fellows I am literally bringing with me. Literally. Get it? Giggle.

My Killer Queen body will be the result of my other gift, a beautiful elliptical machine; a joint present from both Santa (who ate all the chip dip) and the Carpenter (who will refrain from commenting). I wanted an elliptical so I could work out at home without peer pressure and public humiliation; I have the Carpenter for both those things.

I decided the machine needed a name because calling it the elliptical makes it sound like work. This machine and I need to be friends.

Elle seemed an obvious name choice. Elle McPherson is the Carpenter’s favourite super model, after all. But I don’t care how good that machine is, I am never going to be a svelte Australian super model (I can’t fake the accent).

Ellie had a nice ring to it, except it rhymes with Kelly, and after a childhood of taunting for a name that also rhymes with belly, jelly and smelly (and a last name that sounds like water-closet and outhouse), I didn’t want to go there. I needed an ‘E’ name with a little more sophistication. Ella, as in Fitzgerald, seemed appropriate. But I can’t sing with the legend while my lungs are collapsed – so, no. Instead I went with the traditional Elizabeth, as in the Queen. I morphed that into Killer Queen for a killer body, naturally. Elizabeth will be the jewel in my crown of rock hard arms, abs (unlikely) and all things that start with an ‘A’. I will not rest until I have toned my gelatin posterior into flanks of a rock-hard throne-worthy seating. God Save the Queen and God save Kelly’s self-esteem.

Elizabeth holds court in our bedroom. The Carpenter complained it would be used “just to hang laundry on.” Oh ye of little faith. Mind you, after my first serious workout, when I yelled for help, he looked validated. Wrong.

I asked him to install a defibrillator in the room, but he said something about how he couldn’t sleep if he knew I had access to voltage and panels for his chest. Chicken.

Bad boy books, Killer Queen looks and chip dip rewards as the hook. Bring it.