Fat Girl Shops

Anyone who is, and probably always was a regular dress size (I'm talking 8-14 since anything smaller than a size 8 should only be available in Mothercare anyway) will not understand the fat girl shop phenomenon.
It exists as follows . . .

Rather than extend the range in all clothing retailers to include larger sizes, most have opted for one of the two other options available.

The first is the option often referred to as 'fat girl corner' this is a designated area of the store set aside specifically for larger sizes. It is often located at the back of the shop away from the front windows and skinny mannikins. This is to safeguard the reputation of the shop so possible skinny consumers don't see big girls brousing and flee in fear, and so the fat girls have to walk through the fashionable clothes first before ending up in the frumpy corner which stands as an incentive for them to shed five stone. This area of the store is always the furthest away from the air-conditioning, changing rooms and lights. Can't have fat girls getting to comfortable, trying anything on or seeing anything in good light, they might . . . dress better, and that would be horrible, wouldn't it?

The second option is to branch out into a new chain specially designed, tailored and aimed at larger sized women. These are known as 'fat girl shops' and boast larger sizes, larger collections and larger changing rooms (let's face it, there are single wardrobes that are easier to get dressed in than most high street changing rooms - never been in one yet where the girl in the next cubicle didn't think I was rapping out an SOS with my elbows, or where I didn't end up sticking my arse out of the ribbon of fabric they laughably call a curtain) Fat girl shops suffer from the opposite malady to the fat girl corner, rather than frump designed to make you go unnoticed at any function by blending into the beige carpet, fat girl shops are designed to dress you up like something from a Lilt commercial.

So fat girl corner makes the assumption that anyone 16+ has no taste, likes everything tent-like and black and will never take anything back because it was such an ordeal buying it in the first place. The fat girl shop assumes anyone 16+ has short arms, is under 5 foot 2 and likes their friends and family to be able to find them from accross a crowded Indian restaurant, in the dark.

They say the average for British woman is now a size 16. Let's hope she knows how to sew, because she won't be buying much off the peg this season.

I'm a Celeb Get me Out of Here

Your wish is my command, there follows a list of celebs who, if there was a rocket to be filled with ten lucky winners and blasted into the sun, would be the first in line if I had any say in the matter.


1) Delia Smith (Middle Class Know It All House Wife Party)

2) Celine Dion (Not Really French But Milking It Party)

3) Paris Hilton (Spent Millions In Order To Look Like a Cheap Whore Party)

4) Katie Price (Cheap Whore Party)

5) Hillary Clinton (Expensive Whore Party)

6) Matthew McConaughey (Playing Bongos Naked Party)

7) Nick Nolte (Should Have Left Him Homeless Party)

8) Cristiano Ronaldo (Should Be Caught In A Net And Kicked In The Balls Party)

9) Anthony Worrall Thompson (STFU You Fat Middle Class Twat Party)

10) The Chuckle Brothers (counts as one choice - Just Because Party)


I think if we are concerned about global warming, overcrowding, childhood obesity and the state of the economy we should jetison these over-inflated wind bags with due haste and sleep well knowing we did our bit for the planet.

Father's Day

Although I buy into the whole idea that if we take our dad's for granted the other 364 days of the year we could at least take one day to say 'thanks dad' and buy him a pint, I refuse to purchase a pair of novelty boxers or cheesy mug with 'world's greatest dad' on it.

My dad gets a card and a bottle of ale.

I love my dad and appreciate everything he has done for me over the last thirty years. His care did not stop when I moved out, or got married, or bought my own house, oh no. He has always been there for me, popping over to have a look at that leaky tap or fitting my loft ladder. He is the hands on dad that shows how much he loves me by solving my DIY problems (or in my case putting right my DIY disasters) and slipping me a tenner when my mum isn't looking.

He is the ultimate practical man.

When I was growing up, he worked a lot, often leaving the house before me and brother were out of bed, and returning late and tired when we were bathed and ready for a bit of telly and bed. It was the weekends that I really enjoyed because that was when he pottered. There is an art to pottering, and my dad is ace at it. He always had a little job that needs doing, still does even though the bungalow my parents have retired to is immaculate. He is the sort of man who likes to keep his mind and his hands busy.

I was his apprentice.

Anyone who grew up in the seventies, and early eighties will remember Chippy Minter, the carpenter from Camblewick Green. He had an apprentice who helped him, fetched his tools, hung around trying to learn the craft by watching, assisting and generally hindering. My dad was Chippy Minter, and I was his apprentice. I would be at his shoulder every minute of those precious weekends, handing him a straight screwdriver when he asked for a Philips, putting my greasy hands on his new paintwork and invariably being called indoors by my mum with sawdust in my eye.

My favourite job was warming up the putty for windows.

My dad and I rarely talk on the phone, he gets the abridged version from my mum whom I chat with incessantly, but he is always there should I need advice or support and it is a result of his endless patience that, as an adult, I am perfectly able to rotate my own tires, assemble flatpacks without even glancing at the instructions (which are normally in Swedish anyway) and lay a vinyl tiled floor with the minimal amount of mis-cuts and swearing.

I love my dad, he's the greatest.

Petting Zoo

From now on I shall be replacing the phrase 'Kiss my ass' with 'Lick my pig'