The family caught my attention in the supermarket’s fruit and vegetable section. I was busy gathering my usual breakfast berries and the carrots and cucumbers I typically slice for lunch snacks.

As I observed, I speculated whether they had accidentally strayed from the confectionery aisle. Clearly spanning three generations, the group included an overweight grandmother, mother, and teenage daughter, each appearing to wear at least a size 20.

My curiosity, typical of someone nosy, compelled me to move in closer and glance at the items in their cart. It was no shock to see it loaded with Wagon Wheels, Krispy Kreme Doughnuts, white bread, Pringles, and sugary drinks.

I had to fight the urge to tell them that Kallo Organic rice cakes are only 27 calories each and, honestly, just as tasty as crisps. Or that they’d be surprised at how satisfying one small square of dark chocolate can be. Instead, I merely shook my head in disapproval as I smugly went in search of cavolo nero for my stir fry.

Do I sound like the most sanctimonious, judgmental old bag whoever lived? That’s because – when it comes to body shape and diet – I am. I get unavoidably ‘triggered’ when I see an obese person and doubly so when I witness them shopping for or tucking into fattening foods. Why, I find myself wondering, don’t they do something about it?

You may think me awful, perhaps rightly. I haven’t always been this way though.

Four months ago, I was just like them. I was the size 18 woman pushing a crisp and biscuit filled trolley around Sainsbury’s, prepared to ram it into anyone I thought was viewing me the same way I now view others. Today, I’m a size 12 and still shrinking, thanks to the weight-loss jab Mounjaro. Not only have I dropped 3st and three dress sizes, I also no longer eat junk food.

They say that nothing is more annoying than a former smoker. Evangelical about their improved taste, better fitness and skin, they can’t wait to lecture the unconverted about the errors of their ways. Well step aside ex-smokers, because a new breed of born-again bully is in town. I’m here to tell you that the patronising judgment of a former fatty like me beats you hands down.

I can’t help myself. Whenever I see an overweight person, I want to march up to them and ask why on earth they aren’t taking Ozempic, Mounjaro or some other form of skinny jab. In my circle of friends I know six people who are using these injections and all have lost huge amounts of weight effortlessly with no side-effects.

Like most overweight people, we’ve all endured a lifetime of yo-yo dieting, putting ourselves on miserable eating plans only to regain the weight as soon as we return to normal eating. No more! Whereas before trying to eat less was hellish, my stomach always groaning, on Mounjaro it only takes a small portion to make me feel stuffed. I never feel hungry. Ever. I also don’t think about food. Ever.

No more getting a Tesco Whoosh at 10pm and paying them £5 to deliver an 80p Twix because I’m craving one so much and can’t be bothered to walk to the petrol station to buy it. And I feel amazing, physically and mentally, enjoying a sense of confidence and self-acceptance I haven’t experienced since my 20s.

Is it any wonder I want to recruit those struggling as I once was and convert them to the new religion of jabbing? Freedom from yo-yo dieting, freedom from excessive ‘food noise’ and the opportunity to fit back into all the clothes you haven’t worn for years.

I realise that, despite their popularity, many view weight loss jabs as an extreme measure. Some may be deterred by fears of the long-term consequences of taking these drugs. I acknowledge that little is known about what they might do to our bodies, aside from helping us shed the stones. But surely that needs to be weighed up against the dangers of obesity?

And with the jabs being hard to get on the NHS, the cost of buying them privately can seem prohibitive – even before last month’s 170 per cent Mounjaro price hike, taking the highest dose to £330 a pen.

However, while I know they are out of many people’s financial reach, for those who fall into the middle bracket of earners like me, I would say that the expense quickly cancels itself out because you spend far less on food. The cost of my food shop has now halved to around £40 a week and consists of fruit, vegetables, yogurt, chicken, fish and eggs.

The contents of the trolley I saw the gran, mum and daughter push around must have topped £250 and I doubt it lasted more than a few days.

Yet (so far at least) I haven’t acted on my judgy impulses because, despite being a born-again slim person, I still have the memory of what it’s like to be tubby and preached at. The embarrassment, the upset and, yes, the total and utter fury.

One skinny friend once suggested that every time I found myself reaching for something sugary and fattening I should place my hand on my heart and say aloud: ‘Lillie, do you really want this?’

I nodded then sweetly told her that I had a better idea. Why didn’t I put my hand over her mouth instead, so I didn’t have to listen to her patronising waffle? That was two years ago and we haven’t spoken since.

For that reason I will stay silent while continuing to judge and pity any overweight strangers I see, resisting the urge to ask why they aren’t joining us jabbers.

There are already enough outside factors that make those who are larger feel bad about themselves and I don’t want to make that worse. But in the age of Ozempic, I can’t help but wonder if we’ll all eventually lose our inhibitions about public fat-shaming along with our excess pounds.

If so, despite my genuine happiness at being slimmer, I’m not sure we’ll be better for it.

Lillie Woodall is a pseudonym