Back in the 1970s, in the resonant words of writer Susie Orbach, fat was a feminist issue. Now, as the snowflake generation thrives, it is becoming an issue of importance to all who value the freedom of expression.

I was surprised a couple of weeks ago to find the critic Philip Fisher (me neither) in trouble for writing of an “overweight little girl” in his review of a new production of The Pride of Miss Jean Brodie in The British Theatre Guide.

The description rankled with Nicola Coughlan, whom The Times – in reporting on the affair – was pleased to call an ‘actress’, though I feel it highly likely that, as with many female members of the profession – except at awards time – she would have preferred ‘actor’.

Ms Coughlan played the character of Joyce Emily Hammond, 16, a rich and “delinquent” schoolgirl who was eager to become one of the Brodie set, the “crème de la crème”, in the novel’s famous phrase.

Of Joyce Emily, Fisher observed that she was “the kind of overweight little girl who will always become the butt of her fellows’ immature humour”.

To this Coughlan replied: “#TimesUp on reviewing women’s bodies when you should be reviewing their work.”

But hang on. Fisher was commenting on Joyce Emily and her body as it was presented to him. As Ms Coughlan and her director chose to present it.

The great Muriel Spark, in the novel that supplies the play’s source, wrote of a very different Joyce Emily who – exiled from the Brodie set – “skipped leggy and uncontrolled for her age, in the opposite direction”.

Theatre audiences in 2018 must, it is supposed, be blind to what they are shown and instead accept what they are invited to believe.

But, unfortunately for people who wish it were otherwise, actors are what we see – if tall, then tall; if black, then black; if fat, then fat. Need I go on?

Most of us know – always have – that there is nothing in any degree shaming or distasteful in being fat. Many people tell us they are proud to be so.

This being the case, why should those of us unblessed by embonpoint desist from commenting on those lucky others?

Note, please, my use of ‘embonpoint’ which means ‘plumpness and stoutness’, not extra development in the top shelf, as the Daily Mail imagined it did when using the word with reference to Jane Russell last week.

Jane herself, with her 38D bust, chose to consider she was “full-figured” – the last syllable rhyming with ‘cured’ – as she told us an a memorable 1970s television advertisement for Playtex bras.

Anyway, back to the subject in hand. I mentioned in paragraph two that I was surprised to find critic Fisher in trouble for alluding to a person’s fatness.

My surprise turned to anger when I read of the craven way that The British Theatre Guide apologised “unreservedly for the offence caused by the wording of this review”.

Since when did it become a matter for apology if a critic offends an actor?

Some months ago, I reviewed a production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the New Theatre, Oxford.

Various of the title character’s brothers stood out for being considerably larger than might have been expected given the lean years of harvest in their rain-starved homeland.

I said as much in my review, which led to furious complaint from the producer Bill Kenwright. Demands for an apology were made but, happily, not acceded to.

If it is acceptable, even commendable, to be fat how can it possibly be a matter for complaint to say that someone is fat?

The entertainment business has a long tradition of celebrating the overweight.

Much of the fun found in William Shakespeare’s Sir John Falstaff, derives from his giant belly, of which he is inordinately proud, recognising his endowment as an important constituent of his wit.

Garsington Opera’s current production of Verdi’s Falstaff – based on the plot of The Merry Wives of Windsor – reminds us how cruelly other people, principally Mistress Ford, speak of his size.

Shall we soon have demands for censorship here?