The severity of this crisis means we need an overarching “obesity test”, now. Photo: Getty
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Why all new legislation should face an obesity test

Obesity is not a future theoretical threat, it is a present catastrophe.

David Cameron convened another COBRA meeting last week. Normally associated with terrorist threats and natural disasters, this time it was for a crisis in health. We’ve known about it for years, we’ve seen the catastrophic effects on individuals, we have had a plethora of advice on prevention and we have some frightening numbers of the cost to the economy. Were they discussing the greatest threat to the nation’s health and possibly economic security, ie obesity? No. Obesity, which has been blubbering for attention from politicians for a couple of decades, was elbowed aside by the far more fashionable ebola.

Obesity is not a future theoretical threat, it is a present catastrophe. In the past 20 years, the proportion of adults that are obese has risen from 13.2 per cent to 24.4 per cent among men and from 16.4 per cent to 25.1 per cent among women. Including being overweight, the numbers are far worse: 57.6 per cent to 66.6 per cent among men and from 48.6 per cent to 57.2 per cent among women. Most people have heard of the repercussions of being obese: diabetes, heart disease, joint problems, though less known tends to be the rising association with cancer. In 2007 the cost to the UK economy of overweight and obesity was estimated at £15.8bn per year, including £4.2bn in costs to the NHS. 2007 was also the year that the Labour government brought out its seminal Foresight Report on “Tackling Obesities” which set out to answer the question “How can we deliver a sustainable response to obesity over the next 40 years?” The project assembled evidence and expertise from diverse academic disciplines as well as interested organisations within and beyond government.

Eight years on, one fifth of the way through the report’s timeline, and it’s safe to say the situation has not improved. We’re still getting fatter and we still have fat-sugar-responsibility-blame demonising headlines on a loop. The Foresight Report rightly asked for a system-wide approach and a portfolio of policies to be put in place. Politicians can point to things that have since been done, but they are self-evidently inadequate. The approach has remained to piecemeal, to voluntary, to weak, to uncoordinated and to blaming.

In “Careless eating costs lives” we have responded to the obesity crisis by putting together a portfolio of policies, acknowledging both that only a cross-cutting, robust approach will suffice and that there are more avenues to explore. Where previous activity has been limited, we are calling for extended application; where schemes have been half-baked, we are setting out a considered whole-sector approach; where good things have begun, we ask for them to be embedded in law as the new foundations of progress.  For instance, the coalition government’s much debated voluntary “Responsibility Deal” has actually seen 713 different organisations and manufacturers sign up to one or more “pledge” to improve labelling, content, nutrition or workplace health. They have shown it can be done, so why not now phase in this deal as mandatory for all manufacturers, just as the Disability Discrimination Act was phased in over a period of years, allowing a reasonable amount of time for companies to adjust? Likewise, the ban on advertising unhealthy foods on TV aimed at children, needs to be now extended across daytime TV, not just during the early-afternoon. Having calories detailed on some menus now needs to become the norm, from KFC to Starbucks to Pizza Hut.

Above all, the severity of this crisis – the drain on individuals, economies and the NHS – means we need an overarching “obesity test”. All government departments need to consider the impact of proposed policy on eating behaviours and public health, to ensure it does not compound the crisis. This is essential because the causes are so complex and multifaceted. Health, education, business, treasury, transport, trade, farming and local government all have their part to play, but if the “obesity” question is not being asked, the unintended consequences of policy could be a more obesogenic environment than we have already.

If a new policy or initiative makes it easier to supply fast food, harder to walk to the shops, more difficult for schools to serve balanced meals, cheaper to buy junk grub then it should be rejected. Those are obvious. But due consideration should also be given to prevention: mental illness and counselling services, early years support and cooking classes are all vital to ensuring problem symptoms are tackled before they turn into the signs of excessive weight gain. One friend remarked to me that everyone in the over-eaters anonymous groups that she had ever attended had reported a history of abuse.

No, obesity isn’t as captivating as ebola. And as ever, those with the least resources, the lowest resilience, and often the easiest to ignore are the hardest hit. But with a tidal wave of calories surrounding us, we can’t go on ignoring obesity – because it will sink all of us if we do.

Julia Manning is Chief Executive of 2020health

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism