Men's Fitness magazine, for want of anything better to do, has established that Bradford is the fattest city in the UK. In a report compiled from sales of junk food, incidence of heart disease and levels of gym membership, the home of Hockney, Delius and the Brontes has now been named and shamed as the Lardbucket capital of our adipose isle.

Residents of Bradford do not reap. Neither do they sow. All they do is sit on their fat arses necking fast food and booze, the notion of 'exercise' a mere mythical chimera to them. Reflecting on the ghastly findings, MF deputy editor Michael Donlevy sent up an anguished lamentation: 'You can ban smoking in pubs and arrest drunks, but who is to stop people gorging on junk food in their own front rooms?'

This rather begs a question. Would it not be possible to establish a national inspection network, rather in the manner of those eminences grises who apparently choose deliberately awkward times to doorstep people who haven't got TV licences? In a warning ad for the system, we see a lonely old dear in her kitchen, abstractedly stirring cake mixture, stopped in her tracks by the doorbell. Apart from a haunted glance in the direction of the sound, she doesn't move a muscle. This is a surveillance world in which anybody who comes to the door might be about to ask you a question you can't answer, haul you off or do you in, like thugs posing as meter-readers.

In a world run by the fitness industry, there would be a similar army of inspectors who might at any stage have the right of entry to your home, where they would hope to catch you in the very act of unwrapping a Kit-Kat or stuffing down crisps, impound the offending materials, and issue a caution or a spot-fine. Initially concentrated in Bradford obviously, these teams would eventually be rolled out across the country, the data they collect being stored electronically on our ID cards. It would only need a small modification in biometric technology to enable scanners to recognise not just iris colour and facial shape, but our body mass index too. Anybody above the crucial 25% BMI cutoff point could then be denied access to social services, medical care, even passenger aircraft or theme-park rides (where their obscene bulk can only be accommodated in two seats rather than one).

Fat is such an ugly word, but if the inhabitants of Bradford know what's good for them, which seems highly unlikely, they'll mend their sedentary ways as fast as their inflated physiques will allow. Either that, or just take out gym membership. Whether you actually go near the treadmill is up to you, but the annual subscription itself will help to bring down the shameful statistics next time the fitness inspectors come snooping.