I just finished reading Judith Moore's Fat Girl.

Not an easy read, in fact at times it was painful.

I was a fat girl - a fat baby, a fat child, a fat teenager and a fat adult, so I knew what Judith meant when she talked about her thighs blistering and chafing to raw red agony where they rubbed together. I understood her pain when she was told by someone she thought was a friend that she was "too fat to fuck". I, too, felt the same ache inside as I looked at boys (and men) who made my heart beat faster with lustful longing, but who I knew would see me only as someone to ridicule - a figure of fun.

I envied (and still envy) beautiful women.

I watched the American Idol auditions recently and there was a pair of twins, 25-ish, absolutely, totally gorgeous. Only one sang that day, the other stood to one side and 'coached' her twin. The singer was okay, probably average or below.

Simon Cowell, usually so cruel, hit the nail on the head. He acknowledged that she was undoubtedly beautiful, but said that, because of the way she looks, she's probably had most things in life come to her fairly easily without having to make too much of an effort. But that this was different and that to get a ticket to Hollywood, looks weren't enough.

Watching TV home alone on a Saturday night, I punched the air and cheered. The other two judges voted her in, bastards.