At the weekend, I attended a lunch at a scenic pub in Kew, west . A gaggle of middle-aged women, we spent a leisurely two hours laughing and tucking into a traditional roast – well, all except me.
I picked at a lentil and beetroot salad. Then, when the cake tray came round, one of my friends pointed at the tiramisu and said: 'Kate, have some – you're a beanpole, you can eat what you want.' The others nodded encouragingly.
Here we go again, I thought. The belief that slim women simply don't put on weight, at any age, no matter how many slices of tiffin they scoff.
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