Fat Club

Is it too much to ask to walk around a garden centre without being stalked by Pudsey fucking Bear? I eventually lost him by doubling around the heated propagators and ducking into the café for a pot of tea. The Cafe was empty apart from four large teenage girls celebrating a fourteenth birthday with an ocean of triple-mallow-hot-chocolates and a tray of cakes.
After I had finished my tea and decided against pocketing the newly posted ‘strictly no smoking’ ornament, I rolled myself a roll-up and made my way outside to have a smoke.
As I walked past the teenagers, the birthday girl said to me, "aren’t you going to say Happy Birthday?" I wanted to say . . . You would have a far happier birthday if you lost about three stone. Trust me. If you don’t, you will only ever have fat friends. When you are older, you will never get a boyfriend and even if you do get lucky on a Friday night, you will find out that he only shagged you for a bet. The thermometer will only have to go above fifty-eight degrees and your top lip will start to sweat. Your metabolic rate will go into freefall, taking your hormones down with it. Then one morning you will wake up with facial hair. And just when you don’t think it can get any worse . . . you will develop diabetes and your toes will fall off!