Sad September

September has not been a good month for 'fat to fit', except for my excursion into the country for Fi's birthday, September has been pretty shit. But hasn't September always been shit...going back to school, end of summer sunshine (or lack of for this year), the days start to get darker and M&S have already got their mince pies out - so tragic because it is not near Christmas at all, which means there is still 2 months until I can watch Elf.  September has also been a lack of motivation as I have hit rejection after rejection after rejection. Ok, that's a slight exaggeration, I got one email from Vogue saying the following:

Dear Kiran,

Thank you for your letter regarding work experience at Vogue. I am afraid your application has not been successful.
I am sorry to give you a disappointing reply and good luck with your search elsewhere.

Yours sincerely,

Nina Godfrey
Editorial Coordinator

Cheerrrsss Vogue. Naaattt. I suppose it is something that I got a reply, and I knew it was a long shot but  I was still kind of gutted. I wasn't expecting to be Alexandra Shulman over night but was maybe hoping for some feedback as to why I didn't get the work experience. At the end of the day it was worth a shot and onwards and upwards. But sad September continued, maybe it should be shit September. Making shit September even shittier September...I found myself employed. Employment is so overrated. For the following reasons:

The job: Accountant/Purchaser/Sales/Everythingandanythingpossibleformemtodo for a company that had gone into administration (can totally see why, it's shit) and are trying to rebuild themselves. The company specialises in making engines, got the job cos I know sooo much about engines...
 Day 1: Ended the day feeling rather suicidal - a freezing cold office with three other middle aged men, one dragon woman and 2 hour drive home (thanks to some stellar traffic) to consider all the ways I could quit after one day.

Day 2: Crash my car on the way to work. Good one! Didn't even have the office number to call to say 'Really soz I'll be late I slammed into another car, my bad.' In real life it didn't go that smoothly. Although it was a small bump I was still hysterical, and found myself on the verge of tears at any given moment at work. Great impression.

Day 4:  Just get chucked bits of paper about engine parts and supposed to know what to do with them - because I am just that good.

The majority of my time is spent staring at my blackberry waiting for the little red light to flash , getting overly excited that I have got a fun text or someone has done something stupid and put it in the group whatsapp, but 9 times out of 10 it is 'Topshop Style Notes' or 'Groupon'. I don't even like Groupon they sold me a dodgy TEFL. Bastards.

So as you can see employment isn''t really working out for me, as currently I am sat at my desk typing this, and this is only adding to Sad/ Shit September. Now the food part. It's been bad. Miserable days at work have found me dragging my feet to the petrol station and buying some crisps or worse. Most evening I am writing up my articles or looking for other jobs/internships and when nothing is really coming together, finding anything is fridge seems a better option. It is not.

Yesterday I gave myself a metaphorical slap across the face, for being such a wet rag. I tried to drag myself out of the abyss by watching highlights of London Fashion Week and reminding myself of the goals. Think of all the desginer clothes that are going to be h-amazing on me, I have already got my eye on a couple of Stella's pieces (take note Baz, they are going on the Christmas list). In essence PITY PARTY OVER - BACK TO WORK BITCH.

Optimistic October begins NOW.

Fatty BB xxx

The Only Indian In Shropshire

Since the beginning of this blog people have been asking whether they can get a mention, or when I have mentioned other people the question as to why they weren't mentioned arises. The answer to this question is: I am a selfish being. Being your classic middle child and I am certainly the most independent but also the biggest attention seeker. I am by no means in denial about it, I fully accept it. It is necessary in my family to speak up or stay silent and despite avoiding confrontation in nearly every other scenario in life, at home its a different story - it is unlikely that there will be an argument whereby I don't have the last word. BBB has taught me well, so much so he now loses (or just gives up on my hopeless advocacy that turns into a less articulate structure... and more slamming of doors and under-the-breath swearing).

Having said that I have decided to share this post with the wonderful Miss Fiona Sedgley - feel very, very privilged. I share almost everything even my prized MAC lipsticks and although I may fall into the 'Joey doesn't share food' category when it comes to certain food types (mainly chips, chocolate and cake), blogs I can handle. So here it is.

This weekend I ventured into Shropshire for Miss Sedgley's 21st birthday bash. All I knew was that Fi lived the countryside and on a working farm. Considering I live on an A-road, I realised this would be a little different to what I was used to. However I didn't consider that I would be the only Indian in an entire county. Two hours of holding up my tomtom because I broke holder in my drive before I even set off I found myself driving at a steady 20mph around these tiny country lanes, quite frankly thinking: "where the fuck am I?" With now quite a hefty stream of traffic behind me who obviously were used to bombing it down the roads, panic set in and by sheer luck I stumbled across the farm. As I pulled into the drive I jokingly said to Fi, 'Hey look there is another Indian in Shropshire!' Looking both perplexed and mildly disgusted she was bemused as to how another Indian had landed in white-country. All was cleared up when I pointed out that with her 4-5 layers of tan she was actually darker than me....was going to be a looonnnnggg weekend of clearly not enough casual racism.

I was like a fish out of water initially, all the farmer chat had me stumped so as I put on my best posh accent I attempted to blend in. Fat and Indian doesn't bode so well for blending into middle class farmers but as expected I was welcomed with open arms by the entire family and the weekend was incredible from start to finish.

Now getting down to the food business. Like most aspects of my life and definitely my diet it started off really went and ended in a hideous disaster. Friday I was a good little egg - no complaints. I had even gymed in the morning so that I could travel sans guilt. Saturday morning also good, I needed sustenance to keep up with the list of party prepping. Lunch was just as good fresh scrambled eggs and a piece of bread - I was being gold star worthy. And all good things must come an end. I blame Fi. Normally I'm a vodka kinda girl, I don't really drink wine but if its there...who's going to say no?! Certainly not me. (I am without a shadow of a doubt my father's daughter). So the party kicked off and everyone look amazing,   and I even felt good having lost some weight my dress fit perfectly. In an attempt to be a better girl I decided on heels. These gorgeous wedges from Reiss, not gonna lie they aren't particularly high - but it was like an elephant in stilettos. The only way to break through the pain barrier....Champers, and lots of it. An hour later I was in flats and the Champagne waitresses knew me by first name. After heading into the marquee I felt like I was in Harry Potter, every time I looked at my wine glass it was full again - some secret little wizard was constantly topping up my glass, who was I to refuse?! So I kept drinking it. The chicken curry may have come and gone but the wine was certainly a permanent fixture on the table...as was the chocolate m&m covered tree centre pieces - you know where this is headed.

Whilst everyone else delicately managed to pick a couple of m&ms off the sweetie tree, I had managed to rather skilfully lift the entire slab of chocolate which held the m&ms in place, off the polystyrene tree without dropping a single sweet. Genius. Now I had essenitally an m&m stuffed chocolate slab in front of me, the 'Joey doesn't share food' scenario may have occurred, may have. Oh it gets worse. Around 3am whilst Fi was entertaining one of the DJs under the dining room table, I entertained the other DJ....by having a cake icing eating contest. Clearly my body was saturated with sugar from the sweet tree and the 3 bottles of wine, because as soon as tried to eat the icing I had to spit it all out into my hand rather unattractively . No idea why I don't have a boyfriend. No idea.

The next day I woke up still smashed, and upon looking in the mirror I noticed my face had actually swelled over night because I drank so much wine. The only saving grace to this story is that enduring the hungover, hot drive home when I stopped at the service station I chose a Waitrose wrap and fruit over the McDs that was definitely calling to me. Thank you Fi for an amazing weekend and for allowing me to royally screw up my hard work. Same again next weekend? Probably.

Fatty BB xxx

The Vogue Diet

Being at home on my own I get bored very, very easily so I am always on the look out for new inspiration in life, mainly because the last thing I want this blog to be is 'I had yoghurt and fruit for breakfast, water for lunch and air for dinner...totally vommed up the water - unnecessary calories.' Not my style. My latest inspiration has actually be around for a while now, I would say a good few years so its hardly 'latest' but I feel I need to give it a significant nod. That inspiration being: fashion. I love clothes. I love jewellery. I love shoes (even the ones I have no chance of walking in - I still appreciate them). I love bags. I love make-up. Fashion is art, and I want to live in it.

Lucky for me I have recently started an internship writing for a luxury online magazine called 'GC Prive' whereby I get to write about luxury goods - perfect. I have been able to write about so many things that I love from Tom Ford make-up to the Chanel pop-up boutique. It has been amazing but it is difficult in that I am not given a huge amount of direction, it really is a write whatever you want - so yesterday I wrote about macaroons namely Lanvin for Laduree. Writing all of these articles just makes me want to be in fashion and fashion journalism even more. One problem: I don't exactly look the part. It looks as though the macaroons definitely found me.

But with all this love I decided to go for the long shot and apply for work experience at Vogue. I am hardly your standard Vogue girl: I studied Classics and Law, I can't walk in heels unless they are 3inches or preferably lower and probably most importantly I am definitely not a size 6. Not even close. But what do I have to lose? If I don't try, I will never know. I'm being brave and putting myself out there, something I wasn't sure I was even able to do until I published this blog. In some strange way I think being bigger has almost acted as a shield, it has been the excuse for why I didn't do things and although shedding the pounds will allow me to do so much more (so many more shops to be hit) it is also unnerving as this is all I have ever known - fat. Instead of eating my emotions (typical fat girl chat) now I take my frustrations and anger out on the treadmill, but in honesty there is a still a part of me (a very small part) that is shit-scared that even if I do lose all this weight it might not make a difference. I think one of the reasons I had never really shifted the weight when I was younger was that I was never really bullied about my weight like some kids. I made friends easily and I was perpetually known as 'bubbly' - the new fat adjective that replaced 'jolly'. I guess I don't want to lose that, being thinner I still want to be the same person and I think I will be, just better dressed. This is all far too deep for this kind of blog...back to being Beyonce.

So last week I lost 5lbs and weigh in is tomorrow for this week, somehow I don't think we hit 5lbs this week. For starters on Friday I went to my favourite Chinese restaurant - why does everything have to be fried?! However I normally have to be  rolled out of the restaurant (you know like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), go home and lie upside on the sofa, but this time was all about portion control. And since I didn't feel uncomfortably full I think I actually managed the impossible I stopped eating when I was full and not when all the food had gone from my plate. It gets better. Saturday night I made Nandos for the troops and stuffed peppers - I left half a pepper and half of the chicken on my plate (Oh yes you did read that right). Geeta was shocked too. Especially when I said to her that I was FULL. This means one thing and one thing only kids, my stomach is shrinking. HELL YEAH. With all this jubilation I definitely went and ruined it on Sunday night. Mayville catch up with half the bitches (and Johnny) meant that we went for a curry. Why is it the curry always gets me?! Being Indian is a curse. I definitely over ate. I have hit the gym hard since, chicken tikka masala clearly gives me really bad anxiety and guilt. I have really tried to run off the extra naan bread so lets hope the scale tip in my favour tomorrow (not that I ever look, I shut my eyes really tight and beg Lewis Hamilton not to tell me). However I was more than a little bit excited when he told me I was not 100% body fat, which I previously thought I had been. Win.

So this weeks conclusion and words of wisdom: My covering letter to Vogue is ready I just have to man up and send it, I'm hoping for at least 4lb reduction and I vow to be as bubbly as I ever was even when I'm thin and Victoria Secret come a knocking.

Move over Anna Wintour, I'm coming for you.

Fatty BB xxx

Sibling Rivalry

Families that eat together...apparently are in competition to lose weight together. Well, I'm making it a competition.

Despite the chubs exterior I was once a sporty competitive person, that was a long, long, long, long time ago before I found drunk food, tequila shots and.... a social life. On my 11th birthday my treat was to be enrolled for squash lessons, I know what you're all thinking....lucky, lucky, lucky. (Luck was clearly on my side as my 17th birthday present from BBB was a new squash racquet - what else would a 17 year old want?!) Squash sparked my competitive side, I was still a fat child and I think deep down I just wanted to prove you didn't have to be skinny or in fact fit to be good at squash; with this mantra in mind I managed to win the U19 County Championship aged 13. Boom. And that's about as far as my squash career went. I have been trying to get back into the mind set of that 13 year old, the one that twisted her ankle first set (when I fell, I fell hard - I have hideously scarred knees to prive that) and still managed to win. To your surprise and shock I was even picked for the athletics team...solid thrower. It was a great set up, I got to go with all the fit people in the years above me to athletic conferences and watch the boys sweat it out on the track, and all I had to do was swan over to 'rounders ball throwing' casually toss the ball and sit back down again. Message to all fat kids: learn how to throw and hit a ball - the rest is easy.

Ok back to sibling rivalry.

These are the stats thus far:
Ashwin....miles ahead.
Billie...making good head way.
Annie........

Ashwin in all fairness has done really well, shedding a considerable amount since January, I am constantly interrupted in my day to day life by 'Look how big my shoulder muscles are', 'Look at my biceps,' 'I could be a model'. Snoooooreee. I hate losing (unless its weight), and at the minute Ashwin is miles ahead. Even Annie has kick started her previous anorexic career, so the pressure is on. I WILL WIN.

Evening bants has soon become, 'what have you eaten today?' and has gone so far as being: 'all I have had is water and air!' When sitting down for dinner, its now a competition for how much food you can leave on your plate rather than how much you can eat (BBB is still winning that competition). Ashwin really isn't involved in that side of the competition as the kid could eat about 20 chickens and still not think he has had enough protein...LAD. But for Annie and I it is certainly a case of less is more in this silly game. It seems to working though - since my brutal work out with my PT last week I have been in the gym everyday and I'm starting to see a difference. Woopa. And I think being spurred on by Annie and Ashwin has certainly helped. Although upon asking Ashwin to help train me it ended in a screaming match over the cross trainer and ended up in me having a small diva moment by throwing my bottle of water at him - he got over it when I gave him money to go and buy a chicken, we're all good now. I have even taken BBB to the gym, believe it or not. I was happily peddling away on the bike when I realised all he had done was stand on the power plate for 10 minutes, upon alerting him to this I was consequently booted off the bike and made to listen to Bruce Springstein as I sulked on the cross trainer. 5 minutes on the bike and he was back on the power plate, at least I won that round.

Annie and I have deliberately avoided the gym at the same time to avoid fits of giggles at each other or the inevitable argument as to who has burnt more calories. In our defence we have tried exercising together before, Geeta used to drag us to zumba and it ended up being a 'Beyonce off'. In time maybe we will be able to go on a run together (when we can both manage more than 5 minutes without an asthma attack or a coronary).

So with sibling rivalry in tact we are heading from this...

TO THIS....

I'm obvs Khloe she has way more personality than Kim, and of course she is still kind of the chubs one. Ashwin is already embarking on his new Rob Kardashian lifestyle of lounging around a not doing very much with his life - much to the dismay of his hardworking sisters. Planning his tattoo sleeve is a constructive day. MTV/ E! come at me - we're ready for you. 

Fatty BB xxx

Newcastle ruined me.

I needed some inspiration, some new motivation a week doing no exercise in Leeds left me feeling groggy and shitty, as much as I try to deny it - exercise does actually make you feel better. However I didn't help myself any further though by heading from Leeds straight up to see Miss Newcastle (for those of you who are unaware of her celeb status I am of course talking about Shariat) for a wild Red Bull fuelled weekend. Having arrived at 9.30pm I was given half an hour to be ready and get on it, my life was already spiralling out of control because I had forgotten my lashes. Getting from leggings and a jumper to a skirt and a reasonable looking fro in half an hour is HARD. This was made even worse by the fact Shariat's room was on average 100 degrees. Once I had applied my makeup I pretty much  had to start all over again because I had sweated it off. However inspiration hit me - this was a work out. You try scuttling around a room filled with 4 other people's excessive amount of stuff for one weekend (of course my stuff was the most excessive), whilst trying to apply lashing of mascara - wish I just had my bloody lashes. Finally 10pm arrived and shockingly I nearly resembled ready. As health factors the night started so well - sugar free red-bull and vodka to hand (healthier option), Beyonce dancing (burning those cals), booting the snotty looking girls out of our booth with rapid hand gestures (burning those cals), running around Madam Coos trying to find everyone (burning those cals), after too many red bulls running around Madam Coos trying to find the toilets (burning those cals), attempting to get us a taxi home by jogging up and down the road (burning those cals). But I think you know what's coming. Getting home everyone declaring they are famished led to Shariat firing up 'just-eat'....sinking into a chicken burger (adding those cals straight back on). I regretted it as soon as I finished all of it. But at the time it was the best thing that had ever happened. Ever.

Feeling surprisingly fresh on Saturday morning we dragged our asses into Newc and helped our hangovers with helpings of Guiseppe and Italian food. Suitably watered and fed we hit the beach. The image of spritely youngsters geared up in sexy swimwear playing in the water is not an accurate summary of our beach trip. Still not quite back on form from the previous night's antics we trudged across the sand in jeans and found a sand bank to perch, far far away from the icey waters but close enough to see the Daniel Craig wannabes. A couple of hours after soaking up the healing sunshine we discussed the topic of the day -"what shall we have for dinner?" Why does life centre around food?! Deciding our hideous binge from the night before should not be repeated we attempted healthy dinner - our concerns were more that we knew we had to eat something if we wanted to make it out, but we almost wanted to be that smashed - so we settled with quiche. Classy.

Saturday night was in essence a repeat of Friday night - but even better and way more glam. This time I was allocated more than 30mins to get ready but of course I was still the last one dressed (too bad Kirstie wasn't there to make me look like I have time management). However 6 girls getting ready in one room - mission. We also soon realised we were all wearing black (probably to slim us down from the late night pizza and all day Italian). So looking like a girl band I was inevitably the odd one out opting from cream and black instead of just black - the Aretha of the group I self-labelled myself the lead singer. I was the Beyonce to my Destiny's Child. With this thought in mind I felt invincible. A litre of vodka later I was stumbling into a club and dutifully lead to the VIP section where yet more bottles of vodka of obvs red bull awaited. I could easily get used to this lifestyle - if only they knew the truth: graduated uni, jobless, living at home, home is in Leicester...the pity party goes on. No one was going to see the pity party tonight we were all on full form. Frequenting the smoking area so that we could actually breathe there were a whole host of Geordie hotties up for grabs, including Ricki the local celeb. The hotties soon became less hot when they opened their mouths and it was all, 'I own this club', 'I'm a footballer and I earn £36,000 a week', and even less hot when we realised that the men had more cleavage on show than we did. Having been told repeatedly I was 'a breath of fresh air' for not being stick thin and interested in their money (little did they know it was because I couldn't actually string a sentence) we decided to go head home...and of course get food. Bad Billie, bad bad bad bad.

So after a hideous 4 hour hungover sweaty drive home I needed to get back on the fitness horse. It has been salads and gymming since (I am aware it is only Wednesday) and the looming personal trainer session this evening is only kicking my arse into gear further. Lesson to be learnt: stop everyone from letting you eat when you drink...just go home, safely store you lashes away and go to sleep. NO MORE DRUNK FOOD.

Here is our girl brand - think we have a bright future ahead of us.

Fatty BB xxx

Revision Munchies

Sorry I have been mildly pre-occupied this week and so my blogging has been on the back burner, too much Olympics to watch, and unfortunately revision (although as you will see little of that has been done.) Despite hoping and wishing I wouldn't have to re-sit any of my law exams I was destined to of course fail one. Again it isn't really my fault (once again the blame has been passed) - my Land Law tutorials were 4pm on a Friday afternoon - not very many were attended and even fewer were prepared for so I was asking for it really. Although the majority of my tutor group also didn't attend these classes they are a lot lot smarter than I am and all the ones that have training contracts actually seemingly have an interest in law, or at least enough to have passed the exam. Vogue, Grazia and Look hardly counts for background reading but it was much more entertaining than mortgages. To be honest I was quite shocked I had managed to pass everything... but land went down as an epic, epic fail.

I'm not very good at focussing on work when I am at home I get really distracted...by the fridge. Why does revision make you eat so much?! To attempt restraining myself from boredom binges I went on Facebook every 5 seconds and seeing if someone I'm really not interested in has updated their status. This then got progressively worse to checking twitter every 2 minutes to check for Olympic updates (because now I can scroll on my phone in all directions awoooo). This then got even worse to checking Daily Mail online every hour to see if there were new 'breaking stories' - I knew things were bad when I found myself reading the article (pfft...what articles its all pictures) on Courtney Stodden. Bad, bad times. Things got even worse after taking my 4 hours to listen to one lecture, the lure of the fridge was calling to me. I really didn't want to, but boredom was at its peak. I started off well - snacking on a couple of grapes and a bit of chicken. But like the rest of my life things went from bad to worse (I wont even start on my emotional break down last week...it wasn't pretty). Without even realising I found myself making a rather elaborate stir-fry, sitting in front of the tv watching the Olympics taking an apparently well deserved two hour break. Two hour break from doing  jack shit. Come 4pm I decided I actually needed to learn something if I was going to pass this exam, so inevitably I went swimming for 2 more hours for even further procrastination. I need to sort my life out.

Then mid swim I realised my problem: at uni no one really surfaced before 11am and no one really did much with their day. You strolled into uni went straight to Terrace to see which fitties were around and inevitably found the rest of my housemates drinking then dragged yourself to a deliberately chosen afternoon lecture/seminar that you had probably prepped for at 2am the previous night after watching TOWIE or MIC and realising come 11pm you should really do some work. My body clock was way off beat. Shockingly my stomach seems to be active 24/7. The next couple of days seemed to go much the same - watching any kind of Olympic event over revision and then when hearing the door go and the subsequent heavy plods of BBB, actually running back to my desk and pretending that I had had a really long hard day and now he was back home we should have a cup of tea and catch up on the Olympics. He never seemed to notice that I knew everything that had happened that day of the Games and seemingly still knew nothing about land law. Geeta however noticed that the fridge was getting more and more depleted. Not that there is anything that fun in there... except for an entire draw of cheese - I have requested that there be a keypad lock on the cheese draw it is far too tempting. From the now lack of food in the fridge Geeta knew I had done fuck all during the week. My bad.

I probably did not make things any better for myself by going out on Saturday - but hey I deserved it, working really hard and everything all week, my excuse was that I had been cooped up in the house all week needed to get out. I'm a bad person. It was worth it though. Forgetting my key at 4am and trying to break into my own house was not the highlight of the evening. BUT as of 8pm last night I worked really really hard, rewarding myself today not with food but with a shopping trip for all my hard endeavours. Good little egg.

However, I have new motivation in life, since I actually went to the law school library today I was shocked to find amidst the 4 other people in the desolated place there was a Zac Efron look alike. A ZAC EFRON LOOK ALIKE. A whole year I pretend to work in the library and no Zac Efrons, not even close. And what did I look like?! A mess. Hair in a disgraceful pineapple on top of my head, a t-shirt that I soon noticed was covered in crap and leggings...probably a hole somewhere. Great. I don't have a chance. I am now putting off revision for this evening by prepping so I look my version of amazing tomorrow (that's probably your mediocre).

Bring on revision - for once, I cannot wait.


P.S. Since the last 'aesthetically pleasing' went down so well I thought I would treat you to some more.

Fatty BB xx

To be a Disney Princess

So on Friday night whilst my little brother was out getting pissed coincidentally with MY friends and booking taxis to come home at 6am (Geeta was not impressed, BBB was), I was sat in the lounge watching...Shrek. I need to work on my Friday evenings not being so lame, but I had just worked a 20 hour week so I can cut myself a little slack. I was really enjoying it, laughing a lot... on my own: "I like your boulder, that's a nice boulder", when quite abruptly my enjoyment was snatched away from me. Geeta said I was Princess Fiona...in ogre form. Whilst most girls endeavour to be Cameron Diaz, I however was not so impressed to be her green, huge alter ego. Although I would have a fantastic bird-bursting singing range and capable of taking on Robin Hood and his band of merry men, I was also just likened to essentially a monster.

This is not the first time, I have had my Disney Princess dream shattered (and don't even think about commenting and saying Shrek isn't Disney, for all intents and purposes of this post please just go with me.) The dream of being Ariel, Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Belle were all dashed from a young age, not because they were skinny and I was chubs...but because they were white. But then PC order came into reign and the likes of Pocahontas and Jasmine were adorned on my screen and I thought - YES! I can be a princess too! I was all too quickly reminded - no, no you can't.

Disney has always been a huge part of my childhood, like most kids as I imagine (although less so the kids of today, my four year old cousin has an ipad and his favourite film is the Dark Knight). And as a family it was always a game to liken the characters of the film to members of the family. So here is how I was cast:

101 Dalmations - I was Rolly...the fat dalmation.
Cinderella - GusGus...the fat mouse (you know the one thats tries to stack up all the corn)
Sleeping Beauty - the fat fairy...that makes cake.
The Jungle Book - the little fat elephant. (Inevitably BBB was Baloo and Annie of course was Mogli)
Tarzan  - the little fat elephant, that turned into the big fat elephant.
The Little Mermaid - Flounder, the fat sidekick fish.

Are you seeing the trend? No princess in sight. Just the little fat character in every bloody film! I was young and hideously naive to the fact I was being bullied by my family, I was simply grateful just to get a part. Of course Annie was Belle, the little annoying organised mouse in Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Jane. (The issue of brown never seemed to crop up for Annie).


Pocahontas was my first chance of being a Princess. She was brown! (Despite the rest of the Red Indians being well...red. Pocahontas managed that much desired caramel complexion). This was my moment to step out of the 'little fat' rut and find my inner princess. My dreams were quickly dashed.  I was labelled Niko...the fat racoon, that steals biscuits. No guesses as to who was Pocahontas. I'm not going to lie, when a gust of wind catches my hair and it gets all swept up, for a nano second I feel like Pocahontas.

Then I realise she has cheek bones, she sprints through the woods, she has a hotty like John Smith who totes adores her, and my hair is not quite as sleek as hers. The reality: when it does get caught up in a gust of wind it normally ends in me having to brush out my hair resembling now a fro and leaving me with severe arm cramp. Oh when will my life become glamorous.

Jasmine was just as quickly out the window, she constantly had her toned abs on show. Even at the age of 8 a bikini gave me an anxiety attack. I much preferred my crochet yellow one piece, whilst Annie tottered around in her polka dot bikini. It's fine though, she can't swim for shit, I felt better about that.

Then along came Hercules. Probably my favourite Disney film, so much so it inspired my degree - although I learnt nothing about Zeus in my degree...what a load of shit that was. The songs, the pecs, the witty one liners - the film had it all. It also had an array of beautiful (dark sinned!!) muses who sang all the great songs (which of course I still know all the words to), but alas there had to be one fatty in the film, who of course in the game of who's who...was me.

Undoubtedly she had the best voice, and the best personality but she also had thunder thighs and a jelly belly. My thinspiration is the middle Muse. She has no waist and seemingly no knees. All my other friends were the sexier Muses and of course Meg was off limits - too white, way too skinny (she was deffs ano), so like or not if I wanted a part... I was the chunkier Muse.

Although Disney has been a source of much happiness in my life, it has also perhaps without ever realising until it has been written down...scarred me for life. The next Disney film, better be about an Indian princess (who looks like Adriana Lima) who marries Jonny Wilkinson (or now Michael Phelps), has four Ralph Lauren looking children, has a holiday home in Malibu and of course....lives happily ever after.

Until then I fear I will be forever cast as the little fat one.

Fatty BB xxx