IT'S the wrong time of year to develop a craving of this sort. Although I like the stuff well enough, I've never been one to physically desire chocolate. Bars, cakes, desserts...I can take them or leave them.

But recently I've begun to pick up bars on display at supermarket checkouts, and supplement my petrol purchases at petrol stations with a Dairy Milk or an Aero (I like to kid myself that the air bubbles mean there's hardly any fat).

And rather than buy a pot of yoghurt for our dessert after dinner, I find myself lurching uncontrollably towards chocolate puddings and cakes.

I think I am fast becoming what people call a 'chocoholic' and the world is conspiring to keep me that way.

It started quite recently, when a bag of chocolate coins given to my daughters was left in the car.

On a longish journey to my friend's house, with nothing remotely entertaining on the radio, I took one and nibbled it. Then another and another.

And it actually made me feel good. It really is true, as research by Dundee University suggests, that eating chocolate has a calming effect and helps to combat stress.

Within hours of the last coin disappearing, I watched the video my friend had lent me. If you want to steer clear of the brown stuff, Chocolat is the wrong film to watch.

With its soft-focus images of beautifully-crafted chocolates being sensuously eased into pouting mouths, and the look of sheer pleasure on faces afterwards, it could drive the most fervent chocolate haters to the nearest branch of Thorntons. As if the film, which was dull apart from the chocs, wasn't enough, my friend also gave me the book (better), with its mouth-watering descriptions of steaming mugs of thick hot chocolate and delicious titbits... 'Chocolate raisins wrapped in Cellophane, each one to be savoured, long and lingeringly...'

Another passage goes: 'In my dreams I gorge on chocolates, I roll in chocolates, and their texture is not brittle but soft...'

Alarmingly, that could be me as, increasingly, I find myself daydreaming about the stuff. At this very moment I'm sitting at my desk pondering whether to get a Kit-Kat or a Twix from the vending machine downstairs.

Subconsciously, I'm weighing up how much chocolate each contains and how thick it is. The mere thought of tucking in brings a wave of contentment. Apparently, for the true chocoholic, just thinking about chocolate can evoke a pleasurable response.

As the Chocoholic Club website, from where you can obtain T-shirts, mousepads and, of course, membership cards, asks: 'Do you truly believe that chocolate makes every day a better day? Do images of chocolate make you run screaming to your secret stash for a quick hit of satisfaction and contentment? Does the mere thought of chocolate make you feel warm and fuzzy inside?'

From my answers, I'm afraid I'm what they call a 'prime candidate' for membership.

And now that Easter has arrived, our house is filled with the dreaded stuff.

Chocolate eggs larger than rugby balls, dotted here and there around the house, presents from relatives to my daughters. Chocolate chickens and bunnies, bags of buttons and boxes of Flakes.

They don't belong to me, but what parent hasn't been tempted sufficiently by the piles of goodies given to their children to scoff the odd sweet or two.

After all, I ate their coins and they didn't even notice. Come to think of it, it's their fault that I've now got a habit to feed...