Sticks and stones may break my bones...

I

’VE always been one for plain speaking. Too much so at times. I’m forever saying the wrong thing. Like the other day when a guy realised he had been talking a lot and I comforted him with “Don’t worry, I talk shite too when I’ve had a few”. Not the most reassuring...

Sometimes, for research purposes, I take note of the things people say to me. And when I’ve built up a collection I share them here. I have a notebook full. When I was recently bemoaning the fact that my shoe size is now heading for custom-made a friend said: “Ah well, when you get fat your feet get fat as well.” She might as well have said “you’re a fat bitch with fat feet”.

And then at a recent work event me and my colleagues for the day were complaining about the fridge-like temperatures in the room when an older male employee brought in electric heaters and suddenly there was heat. “That’s lovely,” I quipped gratefully, “we’ll be sitting here naked soon.” He looked at me in shock horror and hurriedly said “Jesus, no thanks”. Now to say I was insulted was an understatement. If it was a young fella I’d have fully understood. I assured this older gent, who bore no resemblance to any film star, that there was a time when men were queuing to see me naked. He continued to look petrified.

And then I went to a friend’s house for lunch. The table was laid for three people at one side and two at the other. She asked me to go over to where there was room for only two because “you’re a big woman”. I suppose I’m lucky it wasn’t just laid for one...

I take all these little remarks with a grain of salt. It’s not as if I’m morbidly obese. Just Rubenesque. All budding artists please form an orderly queue.