JENNI MURRAY: Surprising approach new weight-loss drug remodeled my life

Last week my son came with me to central London for a work meeting. As I made my way up a flight of stairs he stopped, looked at me and said: ‘You know, you’re moving so much better than you have been. What’s changed?’

It’s true. The pain in my back has eased considerably and I find myself able to walk more quickly and easily.

I have a surprising reason why: five weeks ago I started taking a new weight-loss drug, Mounjaro.

Mounjaro acts in a similar way to Ozempic and Wegovy, but the active substance is different. All three medications are GLP-1 agonists which act to reduce appetite and make you feel fuller for longer – but in the first two the active ingredient is semaglutide. In Mounjaro it’s tirzepatide.

I’d noticed that my weight had been creeping up, and I can’t deny that a passion for French sticks, croissants and brownies from the local bakery had done me no good at all. I rose from 12st 7lb to 15st 7lb. I felt bloated and heavy. My BMI had tipped into obesity.

To some degree, it was my own fault. As I got older, my exercise regime diminished significantly. It was not helped by a couple of nasty falls causing broken ribs and sprained ankles and, of course, the worst one which happened just over a year ago when I fell out of bed and broke a vertebra.

It was my physiotherapist who recommended Mounjaro. She said losing weight would improve my mobility and had a number of clients who were taking the drug. They were all losing weight and seemed to suffer no ill-effects.

What was more interesting, she told me, was that the latest research on slimming drugs had found they also work on reducing inflammation and pain in the body. I’d suffered badly with this in my back since the fall.

You can now get a prescription for one similar drug, Wegovy, on the NHS for weight loss if you meet very strict criteria. But Mounjaro and Ozempic are only prescribed for Type 2 diabetes, which I don’t have. If you want to lose weight you must pay for it.

I got mine online through a well-known chemist. I sent pictures of myself to its team of doctors showing my size and shape, and a photo of the dial on my weight scales with me standing on them.

I passed the test and two days later my Mounjaro pen containing four doses of 2.5 milligrams arrived, wrapped in dry ice. Like Ozempic, it must be kept cold. I was to inject myself once a week for four weeks. The package cost £230.

It could not have been easier. I suffered no raging hunger, just got peckish at traditional meal times. I was not sick, didn’t get headaches and – oh joy – by the end of the month I had lost half a stone. The doctors suggested I go up a dose to the next level so I did, but felt a little anxious.

Last year I tried Ozempic, but only lost a couple of pounds on the lowest dose. When I moved to a higher dose I don’t remember ever feeling so wretched and ill. I had headaches. I was sick every day. It all felt too high a price to pay to lose a little weight. The higher dose of Mounjaro had no such effects – quite the reverse in fact.

I’ve lost another 4lb. I feel absolutely fine, and what’s most impressive is the major reduction in inflammation pain. If the research is correct, by losing the weight I should also now be protecting myself against worsening arthritis, cancer and heart disease. All without dreaded hunger pangs.

Health Secretary Wes Streeting appears to have got the message about the success of weight-loss drugs. Streeting seems to think prescribing these drugs to the painfully obese will help get them off their sofas and back to work.

Perhaps he’s been influenced by the information emerging from America. One in eight Americans have tried weight-loss drugs and the obesity rate in US adults fell by 2 per cent between 2020 and 2023. Could it be that these drugs are turning things around?

I’m all for people being given whatever help they need to become fitter and proud enough of themselves to make going out – maybe to a job – a pleasure.

I have no doubt that gross obesity can make going out painful and embarrassing. Just over 12 years ago, weighing 25st, I never missed a day of work at the BBC but I hated my blundering blubber. It made every day difficult and weight loss made me happier and, I think, more effective.

For me, the surgical removal of half my stomach and creation of a gastric sleeve in 2012 worked wonders. Within less than a year I had lost half my body weight and was content with 12st 7lb. I thought I would stay that way for ever. I was wrong.

When I found I’d gained 3st recently, I knew myself well enough to know that diets don’t work. I’d tried fasting. I’d had a go at the one-meal-a-day regime. None of it worked for me.

Clearly more surgery was not an option. How much more of my stomach could be safely removed?

The truth is, people like me need some help and support to lose weight. I hope Mounjaro is the solution in my case. I’d like to get back to 12st 7lb and will be jabbing myself once a week for as long as I need it.

Drugs such as this make economic sense, helping obese people get out to work and cease to be a drain on the NHS.

But their benefits are for humanity too. Obesity causes illness and misery, and nobody should have to suffer like that.

You’ve got to love can-do Coleen

You’ve got to admire Coleen Rooney. What a trier she is. Always up for a fight – remember her Wagatha Christie tricks to win her case against Rebekah Vardy?

Now she’s out to make a lot of money, reportedly being paid more than £1.5 million to join other celebrities in the jungle. It’s a phenomenal deal but, if it were me, I’d have to say no. I’m A Celebrity means disgusting food, bugs and being stuck with ‘campmates’ you wouldn’t want to spend two seconds of your life with. Too much – even for a fortune.

Let them get on with the dancing

What a lot of nonsense is being talked about Strictly’s Wynne Evans and his dance partner Katya Jones. He’s been pilloried for putting his arm around her waist on live TV (pictured) despite her adamant insistence that it was all in fun.

They dance together every day – rather well as it happens. They’re close. There was no sexual offence, just a friendly gesture. Why is everyone looking for smut these days?

Well done, Tim Davie, director-general of the BBC, for insisting its presenters should no longer be called ‘talent’. I hated it. It diminished my role as a radio host and journalist, and seemed to set me apart from producers, directors and studio engineers – all of whom are extremely talented too and should be valued equally for what they do.

Has one sewn on a button, Sir?

King Charles is known for his care of his clothes. He wears coats he’s had for years and is a great fan of make do and mend.

Maybe he goes a little far when he says sewing on a button and doing a hem are essential skills.

How often, your Majesty, have you had to sew a button on yourself?