I would even go so far as to say quite bizarre. One minute I’m boring old Zoe Milton, sales co-ordinator and wife of eighteen years; the next, I’m a local celebrity. In the past four months, since the beginning of Fat Chance, I’ve had to get used to seeing my face on a variety of billboards, posters, websites and leaflets. This was initially the worst thing to ever happen in the history of the universe, given that the last thing a self-conscious fat person wants is for her grisly visage to be plastered up all around town. When it’s hard to look in the mirror every morning, it’s downright impossible to walk past a poster of you posing like one of the special kids without breaking down and crying like a little girl right there and then in the street. After a few weeks I got to a point where I could block out all the pictures mentally, in the same way really rich people block out the homeless folk they walk past every day on their way to their six-figure-salary jobs.
