Pam has so many problems, she’s thinking of ending her own life.

And it’s Christmas!

Baby got back… and front

A better writer than Helen Fielding: The Evening Standard

The best comic creation since Alan Partridge: Lynn Barber, The Sunday Times

When I reach eight and a half stone

* I will be able to shop in Topshop. If only I could fit in a size 10 or an 8, just walk in a shop and not even have to try it on because let’s face it I will be straight up and down, then everything would slot neatly into place, completing the easiest jigsaw puzzle in the world: all straight edges

* I will be able to go swimming and not displace all the water 

and create a tsunami


* I will fit in changing rooms, without banging my elbows or exposing the moon of my arse through the curtain when I bend over 


* I will be able to fit behind the narrow benches at Ronnie Scott’s to listen to jazz instead of being offered a chair, at the end, 

a disabled person at a football match

* I won’t go blind from Type 2 Diabetes, or lose my toes, which I haven’t seen since 1996 without the aid of a selfie stick

* I will be promoted and not have my desk moved 

to inside the stationery cupboard


*Being morbidly obese is not the same as being disabled, because I can change. I can lose the weight. It’s mathematics, surely. Chemistry. Physics. All the hard lessons I never enjoyed. I will be beach body ready at all times, even in snow. My children will no longer be ashamed of me. I will triumph at the egg and spoon race rather than stopping to nibble on it. My husband will love me. My life will start. 

I will be happy. I will be able to cross my legs without putting someone’s teeth out. 

I will win. 

I will be thin.