Fat. Such a tiny word with so many larger implications. No longer just a descriptor, it is a word loaded with prejudice, judgments and preconceptions.

Recently, on a packed train, I spoke to my toddler on the phone while standing in the aisle trying to give him the verbal version of a ‘mummy hug’, which, in this case, involved me blowing raspberries down the line.

As I put my phone back in my pocket I met the eyes of a woman who looked down at the round of my stomach in my jumpsuit and said, ‘Oh, I am so sorry. I should have offered…do you need this seat?’

And because I wasn't thinking of anything so much as getting home to my kid, I replied blithely, ‘Oh, no, that's really kind. But I'm not pregnant. I'm just a little bit fat.’ The look of horror on her face was something to behold and the entire carriage hushed as though I’d just described some tragedy I’d been victim to. Because I could see she was mortified, I wanted to reassure her, I tried to make a joke, and, patting my belly said, ‘Please don't be embarrassed! It's okay. I know I've got a bit of a tum.’

I did wonder then if this is where the perpetual myth of ‘jolly fat people’ comes from, us trying to ease everyone else's discomfort about the supposed horror of our physical appearance.

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