Read more
Informationen zum Autor Cherry Whytock's shoe collection has increased dramatically since a recent trip to Morocco with her husband. When she's not rearranging her footwear or waiting for her two beautiful daughters to become fabulously famous, she can be found upside down in her Kentish flowerbeds, weeding. Sometimes Lily the boxer helps, but not often. Cherry loves Vogue magazine, lacy underwear, and face cream, and would like to become a style icon when she grows up. Klappentext I'm, um, LARGE.Yes, "large" just about covers it,although to be quite honest,not many things do -- cover it,I mean.Angelica Cookson Potts, better known as Angel, loves food, both cooking it and eating it, and plans to be a famous chef someday. But she thinks she's just too big -- her mother is a skinny ex-model, her best friends are all smaller than she is, and she feels like a huge, wobbly whale in comparison. In addition to food, Angel also loves Jamie Oliver (the Naked Chef) and Adam (who doesn't know she's alive). In order to get Adam's attention, she tries making major Life Changes, including a cabbage-only diet that has...well, explosive results. Through it all her best friends, Minnie, Portia, and Mercedes, are there with her, and when the school fashion show comes around, Angel discovers that her size might not be such a bad thing after all.Everyone knows an Angel, and readers will laugh out loud at her take on life. Angel's own recipes are included so that other "foodies" can cook along with her.Chapter One Parents, Pals, Pets, and PASSION Did I forget to wake up this morning? This can't be true. Here we are, four totally gorgeoise girls, just about to put on the MOST horrible, stiff-petticoated, frilly-aproned, lacy-bonneted, puff-sleeved (yes, I did say PUFF-SLEEVED), grotesque waitress outfits. Our evening is to be spent stomping up and down stairs with dishfuls of delicacies, which are to be served to a collection of squawking old fossils that belong to my mother's vast circle of "terribly close" luvvie friends. Honestly, it's not as if I even agreed to do this. I'm sure I never heard my mother say, "Would you mind being a cutesy-wootsey, dahling, just for me and wearing this oh-so-sweet little waitress outfit for Mummy's party?" I mean, I would have said no, wouldn't I? But as it is, Mercedes, Portia, Minnie, and I are about to squodge ourselves into these gobsmackingly ghastly frilly things (with HATS to match, when hats are just SO last season). Well, actually, I'm the only one who's going to be squodged, as Mercedes, Portia and Minnie are all -- how shall I put it? -- well, TINY, slim, skinny, itsy-bitsy and I'm, um, LARGE. Yes, "large" just about covers it, although to be quite honest, not many things do -- cover it, I mean. Things went badly wrong about two and a half years ago when I was twelve. I went to bed all innocent and sweet with my teddy bear and my picture of Brad Pitt, as you do, and suddenly during the night, BOOM! -- bosoms. Not those nice, well-shaped, pert little numbers that I had hoped for, but HUMUNGOUS, great barrage balloons that started under my arms and seemed to end somewhere near my navel....Then the rest of my body decided it wanted to match my boobs, and there I was -- a great, big, walloping whale with a wobble rating of about a zillion. I don't know why my mother has decided to have a "drinkies" party tonight. I mean, we've done the Christmas and New Year bit and now all I want to do is to curl up in a (huge, heffalump) heap, finish my Christmas chocs and dream about seeing Adorable Adam at school on Monday. But Mother just had to have "a teeny-weeny party, dahling, to round off the festivities." How pointless is that? Especially when some of us are quite well rounded off already, thank you. Mother used to be a model, way back in the mists of time, and she still likes to surround herse...
