One of the lesser joys of England’s glorious run to the World Cup semi-finals has been the resurfacing of pictures of a young Harry Kane – notable not just because, in one of the images, he is kitted out in full Arsenal colours celebrating the club’s unbeaten 2004 season (he is more often seen in the strip of arch-rival Tottenham these days). He is also pleasingly … big-boned. So big-boned, in fact, that Arsenal made the error of releasing him from the club. “He was a bit chubby,” said the club’s then head of youth development, Liam Brady. “He wasn’t very athletic, but we made a mistake.” That’s an understatement: the player is now valued at more than £100m. Arsenal demonstrated just how much fat-phobia can cost.

But that is not all Kane’s success has achieved. He is an inspiration for all the chubby kids out there. If he wins the golden boot, he will provide a better comeback for all those being teased than the classic “I can lose weight, but you’ll always be stupid” mantra that I was forced to trot out.

Being a fat kid isn’t easy: last to be picked for the football team, dreading the side you end up on in a shirts v skins match, constant nagging from teachers and parents. How I could have done with a young, plump role model. A wheezy, middle-aged darts player just didn’t cut it.

Chubby children are often spoken about in hushed tones; a burden on society, a problem to be solved. As someone who went from a fat kid to a not-quite-so-fat adult, I can promise you, we can feel it – the message hits home. The idea that what lies in store for us may be not be a lifetime of mockery, but instead a life of goals, gold and glory is going to provide far more inspiration to shrug off the taunts and kick a ball about than a million hectoring, government-sponsored Jamie-Oliver-fronted healthy-eating campaigns. As with so much in life, hope is the best motivator.