to egg or not to egg: that is the question

I never go to the January sales. It's as if all the savages on earth congregate in one area, just to see what is available-and they fight over everything. This year, someone stabbed a young man to death-just for a pair of Nike trainers. Excuse me! I really like my Nikes, but not enough to kill someone for them!! I swear, the world has gone mad-or, perhaps, this country has gone insane. What was the killer thinking-apart from the fact that he wanted to buy the trainers, and God help anyone who stood in his way.

I also avoid the supermarkets immediately after Easter-for the same reason. People will fight to the death over Easter eggs that are on sale. Yesterday, I forgot my golden rule: if there is even the most remote possibility of a sale, I avoid the shop like the plague. But-I needed a pint of milk, so off I went. Who would ever stab someone over a pint of milk? Who knows? People never cease to amaze me!!

So-I went into my local supermarket, whose identity shall remain anonymous (sounds a lot like Tesco. That is because it was Tesco!!). And two enormously fat women practically knocked each other unconscious, just to get the last of the Cadbury eggs that were half price. You should have seen it!! It was a free-for-all between two - well, to be perfectly blunt, they looked like Sumo wrestler wannabes. Obese? They were in danger of being chased by Captain Ahab and his harpoon.

Now, in this country, 40% of the population are obese-and a large percentage of those are morbidly obese. They have the nerve in this country to criticize Americans for being fat-well, eeek!! The words "pot", "kettle" and "black" spring immediately to mind. There are as many fat people here as there are in the U.S. And I usually get one sitting next to me when I am brave enough to ride on public transport! I end up with one side of my body being taken out...imagine 50 pounds of fat sitting on your leg for half an hour. At the end of the journey, I am numb for hours.

I must add that I am not against fat people (I'm not "fattist") - and when I see the looks on other people's faces when they encounter a would-be Sumo, I cringe. I was fat when I was growing up. When I was 17 I weighed in at a hefty 140 pounds (10stone in UK language). For me, at 5'3" and a very small frame, I could have just as easily weighed 300 pounds-because I didn't walk. I waddled. And the fat served a purpose: it didn't hurt as much when they hit me. And, did they ever hit me!! My parents were highly educated, intelligent, upper-class professionals who should have known better. I'm sure they DID know better; they just didn't care. In fact, my brother used to delight in using me as a punching bag. I was little, so I was an easy target. I remember the first time he punched me in the face, breaking my nose, which ended up all over my face. There was a lot of blood, and he then pushed me down a flight of stairs, dislocating my shoulder. When my mother got home and saw all the blood, I told her what had happened. She asked him, and he said that I slipped and fell down the stairs. What did she do? She told me that I was fat and clumsy. And that was my usual experience of childhood. Until I was 17 and escaped to go away to university, I wished constantly that someone would adopt me-or, at least, get me out of there before one of them killed me. I say "one of them" because my father choked me until I was unconscious, and my mother once chased after me with a carving knife. It took the other two to get her off me. Some things you never forget.

I see a very fat person-and I wonder what their story is, and why they ended up the way they are. There is always something behind it-and I don't think it is always just gluttony.

How very strange is this!! It all started with two fat people beating each other up over a couple of Easter eggs-and suddenly I have taken a trip down Memory Lane. Sometimes I do that: something will trigger an old memory, and it is usually a memory I really prefer to forget.

I reminisced last night, and it occurred to me (and not for the first time) that nobody ever had my back. Nobody. I even married an emotionally abusive bully-he most certainly didn't have my back! In fact,when I left him, he behaved like he wanted to stick a knife in it. Lucky for me I could move faster than he could.

Thank goodness Easter only comes once a year!!