Do you know where I can find ...

... some taupe coloured scaffolding?

It has to go under my clothes and be easily identifiable as a fat suit by a thin friend who comes round and decides to play dress down with my stuff.

On TV the other night, when Trinny and Susannah were trying to undress the nation, they took it on their size 10 selves to address the “problem” we plus size girls have finding things to fit us.

An hour in, it seems all you have to do to look good is buy something to suit your shape but which won’t zip up. But, once you get it home and you slip on your fat hiding body armour, hey presto, you’re suddenly deliciously curvy rather than disappointingly doughy.

But where does the blubber go? It doesn’t just disappear when you’re wearing a safety harness, does it?

It’s got to go somewhere, either out the top or down the bottom. And I’m guessing that the poor dab who was paraded around in it for the show now has size 786 feet. The irony there, of course, is that she’d get that size anywhere, but the shop would have to phone around to get the shoes in wide fitting.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to go out feeling that if I blew off, my head would come off my shoulders because my underwear is too constricting.

But that’s what T&S are suggesting we all do if we want to look good, but definitely not on the way to being naked

I’ve got to take their word for it because their wizard undies, which double as passion killing thigh trimmers and all-in-one belly busters, will slim me down, knock a dress size off me and pull me in and stick me out in all the right places.

I should also imagine that it would be impossible to eat with all that inward pressure going on, let alone worrying about not coughing while standing and not having enough give to cross your legs.

Oh go on, think about it.

Good underwear is one thing, but knowingly putting on something so ugly, so shape changingly dishonest, would be like wearing a second sausage skin of false hope. You take it off, and you’re still, well, you.

We know that people will do the most extreme things to look good because there’s that old saying that when you look good you feel good, right?

But I want to feel at the very least comfortable in my own skin, rather than a cheat in a reinforced, industrially knitted fantasy version of me.

I don’t know about you, but my blood needs to circulate otherwise I get light headed. And we all know that when that happens, you reach for SUGAR. See? Even pants can be evil.

As for what you wear on top, the skinny do-gooders tried to convince us we can all look great as long as we know what suits us.

Blimey, who knew! I expect their next piece of wisdom will be about how to lose weight by eating less and moving around more. God, they’re good.

They started their show by complaining that not enough clothes are made in big sizes, and that it was up to the shops to just make stuff, well, bigger.

Half way through, they’d changed their minds though and decided that, no, us biggies need special attention from the designers because, let’s face it, we’re never going to get away with Topshop patterns put through a photocopier and scaled up 200%.

No way! Really? And there was me thinking all outsized women can get away with waistcoats and ruffles and pencil skirts.

I don’t think even putting that little lot on top of magic (you’re going to like it, but not a lot if you’ve actually got to breathe) knickers would make the thin look work on everyone.

At some point, we’re going to have to come to the realisation that there has to be an outsize section in “normal” shops, rather than tokenist enlargements of skinny styles which are never going to work on women with bellies and boobs and bums anyway.

Magic underwear? Best avoided, unless you want to pull rabbits out of your arse.