I was a fat kid. Brought up in a culture of sweets as reward and high-fat cooking meant that I was porky from an early age. It got passed off as being "big boned" or "puppy fat". My mum and I played a cruel game called "We'll start a diet tomorrow" as we tucked into cakes and pies.
Thursday was payday in our house, and as a treat we would send out for pizza and chips. A bad enough combination in itself, you might think, but that wasn't the half of it. In the shop, the pizza would be thrown into the deep fat fryer and emerge a glistening, oozing mass of pastry and fat - and it tasted wonderful.
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