A health minister, and I have to write that because there are no end of health ministers now, in fact there are no end of ministers for every department whereas there used to be one and then some junior ministers, has declared that we should stop using euphemisms and call a spade a spade, or more to the point a fatty fat.
She thinks a bit of hurt feelings following a barrage of verbal abuse might just be the thing to get the lard-buckets off their fat arses and away from the fridge.
Mr. and Mrs. Lardarse beg to differ.
Mr. L: We was at the doctor's surgery the other day wiv our little Cherryade....
Mrs. L: They call us in every so often. There's nothing wrong wiv 'er, they just like to monitor children.
Mr. L: Anyway, we was there, the two of us, with Cherryade. A nurse called us into a treatment room and she weighed Cherry, and then she measured 'er and then the cheeky cow says," Goodness, you int half fat."
Mrs. L: I couldn't believe my ears. I'm not used to 'earing language like that. Poor little Cherryade, 'er face just crumpled and she started to bawl 'er eyes out. I had to give 'er a five pack of Mars bars just to quieten 'er down.
Mr. L: I was fit to explode, I was. How dare she call my little Spacehopper fat. Yeah she's got a bit of padding on her, but it's just puppyfat. It'll soon turn into curves.
Mrs. L: I don't know what that nurse was thinking. Fancy saying that to an impressionable young girl. It's enough to turn 'er into one of the anaerobic thingies, like them models, all skin and bone and heroin addiction!
Mr. L: But then she turns her attention to us, Mrs. Busybody Nurse. She says to Mrs. Lardarse, "I see you are quite fat too..."
Well I interrupted 'er straight away, I did.
"Don't you go talking to my wife like that I says. She's got gland problems, she has. She hardly eats a fing and still she puts weight on. It ain't her fault."
I don't often have to stick up for Mrs. Lardarse that way, but she was so upset, 'er and Cherryade 'ad to start on another five pack of Mars Bars. Mrs Lardarse 'ere could barely control 'erself long enough to rip the wrapper off, she was so upset.
Mrs. L: An' then she started on Mr. Lardarse. "What's your excuse then?" she says. "Five foot six, a chest of 44 inches and a waist of 54, let me guess, you used to do a lot of working out but you haven't been able since you did your back in, probably carrying half a dozen family buckets to the car from KFC, so it's just relaxed muscle."
I couldn't believe my ears. There she was, this scrawny know-all, ridiculing my 'usband, them family buckets of southern fried chicken are quite awkward to 'andle I'll 'ave you know, he couldn't see where he was going and slipped down the curb and 'e 'a'n't been able to work since.
'onestly these 'ealf professionals, do a bit of training an' they fink they know everything.
None of my family is fat, we just 'ave a bit of medical 'istory between us, is all.
Still we decided to give KFC a miss on the way home.
We called in at the local chippie instead.