I kid you not - OK it's for a regional newspaper, not American Vogue, but this could be progress. I find out in the next few days whether my stunning interview technique and follow up begging e-mail have managed to convince the editor to take me on as the journalist for the daily lifestyle magazine pages - which will cover beauty, health and fashion.

I astounded myself at the interview by managing to reel off three celebrity launched high street fashion ranges AND knowing who the 2007 British Designer of the Year is (Giles Deacon, of course) and comforted myself in the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, the £2 a week I fritter away on reading Grazia on the train wasn't wasted. Hell, of course it isn't, how else would I keep up with Victoria Beckham's latest eating disorder tips or find out that Brangelina are splitting up/getting married/buying more kids!?

So...everything is poised for the telephone call telling me I'm going to be a *real* journalist again. You'll hear the yelps of delight from wherever you are, I promise. And if I get the job, fat girls of Norwich can rest assured that I won't be leaving them out in the cold...oh no, I'll be straight on the 'phone to Anna Scholz's PR wanting a fashion spread...and onto the Evans management wanting to know why they think that all fat girls are like barrels with no discernible shape...now listen up, Evans. I am not a walking stomach. I have a big bum and chubby legs, womanly thighs and hips, and a waist that goes IN and not OUT. I do not wish to be wearing psychedelic kaftan-style dresses that hide any trace of a figure and make me look like I dressed in the dark. I'm fat, not stupid, and I didn't lose my fashion sense the day I stopped being able to get into my size 14 jeans!

On the subject of clothes - I'm adding them as I find them, but the Plus Size Clothing Scoop is a fab place to snoop around for fashion inspiration - all collections and shops are recommended by a real life  blogger and not just foisted upon us by marketing bods who assume that being chunky also means you just want to cover yourself up - or blend into the curtains (see above!) It's American, but I don't suppose that makes any difference.

QUESTION

So why is it that despite being curvaceous and happy, I still get the 'fat photo' blues? I was just rummaging around on Facebook, looking at my wedding photos, when the dreaded 'God I look fat' thoughts crept into my head. I also looked happy, smiley, excited (and downright cold in a few as I was in Banff, Canada, and freezing to death just to get the outdoor mountain backdrop in some of them) but why did *fat* leap out at me as the first adjective I thought of? Too much reading Heat Magazine a few years ago I suppose. We're trained to pick out our faults and magnify them. I have some work to do - don't we all....