Stuffing the empty wrappers of four Mars bars down the side of my bed after getting home from school, I chugged a full-fat Coke before placing the empty can in the bin next to me.
That was before going downstairs to a greasy, chip pan meal served by my mum Pam, 57.
She wasn’t the best cook, but if she did decide to rustle something up it would be a plate of ham, egg and chips, drenched in oil.
And despite all that, I’d still find the appetite for excessive amounts of bread and pasta throughout the day.
Using any spare change I had, I’d buy whatever chocolate bars were on offer in the off-licence after school had finished – hoping it would cure my never-ending sweet tooth.
Yet, there was another reason to my eating habits…
‘Why don’t you have another burger?’ boys in my class would tease, trying to trip me up in the hallway.
I felt alone and
