The truth will set you free – and the truth is, you’re fat

Sometimes I find it hard to believe I’m a sexagenarian. I like most of the things I liked as a teenager – writing, spite, solitude. But there’s one big change; I used to enjoy lying, whereas these days I’m a big fan of the truth. Recently, a dear friend and I were discussing my habit of weeding out chums I’ve outgrown in order for me to have more time in my own fascinating company, when she said: “I do find it very honest of you – but then I fear you might dump me too one day.”

I replied instantly: “Of course I’d never dump you – you’ve only got one leg.”

I was very happy that I’d made her spit out her hot beverage in hilarity, because I love to make people laugh – but I meant it. She is a lovely woman of extremely gentle nature, in pain most of the time but always concerned for the weak and worried among our friendship group. I’m none of these. But here, by telling the truth, I’d made her laugh and forget her troubles momentarily – and sometimes I think that’s the best we can do for people, apart from giving them money.

The dumpee was being “let go” by me because I’d caught them monstering JK Rowling on social media and then denying and deleting it. The old lying me wouldn’t have turned a hair – but repulsion isn’t too strong a word for what I feel now. I think this is because whereas lying was once seen as the bad thing to do – and thus had a whiff of outlaw verve about it – now lying is actually sanctioned, about everything from the facts of human biology to the fact that this country voted decisively for Brexit and the EU needs to face up to it and give us our fish back. Cancel culture and trigger warnings are the end results of dishonesty; the big lie that if someone hears an opinion or reads a book they find disagreeable, their head will explode/they’ll get PTSD/they’ll never dance the polka again.

So I dropped my Chocolate Firecracker Krispy Kreme donut in indignation on registering the outrageous information that doctors should not call overweight patients “chubby” or even “plus-size” in case it upsets them. A survey of 3,000 adults by the University of Leeds and University College London came up with the bright idea that healthcare workers might make a “conscious effort” to ask patients which terms they prefer prior to appointments, as apparently many sickly snowflakes find such phrases as “high body mass index” less hurtful.

Even more outrageously, a group called Obesity UK (what I’d give to see their biscuit budget for the year!) has released a “guide” advising doctors to avoid even “non-clinical” terms such as “You’re a bit on the chunky side”, because language should be “free from judgement”. It’s pronouns all over again; a fat person may now choose not to identify as fat and the rest of us must go along with their delusion.

We have gone from “The truth shall set you free” to “Words are literal violence”; a shocking regression, considering that one of the core achievements of the Enlightenment was the separation between word and deed. Our befuddled ancestors believed that thoughts and speech could affect the physical world; if we regress to equating word and deed, we throw away

300 years of progress and embrace the darkness of medieval magical thinking.

Mrs More-To-Love and Mr BigBones are doing more than being silly when they make doctors “ask permission” to discuss their weight, as Obesity UK suggests. They are asking to be treated like half-wits who can’t handle the truth. And in rejecting the unembellished actuality, they are turning down a chance to be both moral and thrilled, a rare and pleasing combination. Because finding out that you can take the truth as well as tell the truth is a satisfying sign of your own toughness and maturity.

Lying and/or being lied to, on the other hand, dilutes your identity until you end up not even knowing the truth about yourself. It’s like holding a mirror up close to your face and fogging it with your breath so your world shrinks, eventually reflecting only the limitations of your own fear. The truth, however harsh, moves life forwards; lies, no matter how wellintentioned, make situations stagnate. True kindness comes only with clear-eyed human connection – and not from being called curvy when one is just a few cream cakes away from cardiac arrest.