Fatā€™ is usually the first insult a girl throws at another girl when she wants to hurt her.I mean, is ā€˜fatā€™ really the worst thing a human being can be? Is ā€˜fatā€™ worse than ā€˜vindictiveā€™, ā€˜jealousā€™, ā€˜shallowā€™, ā€˜vainā€™, ā€˜boringā€™ or ā€˜cruelā€™? Not to me; but then, you might retort, what do I know about the pressure to be skinny? Iā€™m not in the business of being judged on my looks, what with being a writer and earning my living by using my brainā€¦I went to the British Book Awards that evening. After the award ceremony I bumped into a woman I hadnā€™t seen for nearly three years. The first thing she said to me? ā€˜Youā€™ve lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you!ā€™ā€˜Well,ā€™ I said, slightly nonplussed, ā€˜the last time you saw me Iā€™d just had a baby.ā€™What I felt like saying was, ā€˜Iā€™ve produced my third child and my sixth novel since I last saw you. Arenā€™t either of those things more important, more interesting, than my size?ā€™ But no ā€“ my waist looked smaller! Forget the kid and the book: finally, something to celebrate!Iā€™ve got two daughters who will have to make their way in this skinny-obsessed world, and it worries me, because I donā€™t want them to be empty-headed, self-obsessed, emaciated clones; Iā€™d rather they were independent, interesting, idealistic, kind, opinionated, original, funny ā€“ a thousand things, before ā€˜thinā€™. And frankly, Iā€™d rather they didnā€™t give a gust of stinking chihuahua flatulence whether the woman standing next to them has fleshier knees than they do. Let my girls be Hermiones, rather than Pansy Parkinsons.