Ever licked a crab? They taste like glue. I know this because I licked a scratch and sniff sticker of a crab once – and it tasted like glue.
Let’s face it – sporting events just aren’t what they used to be. If they were, I’d be a dead cert for multiple chocolate-gold medals.
Ricky Martin wasn’t the only one livin’ la vida loca in 1999. Oh no. Much like my teenage forefathers before me, I was answerable to no-one. Well, apart from my parents, my boss, several teachers and a boyfriend.
After several failed attempts, involving one giant paper aeroplane, thirty-six helium balloons, a home-made tea towel cape and a regrettable leap of faith from my best friend’s swing set, it became apparent to me at a young age that I was not meant to fly. Over the last twenty-nine years, I have also made several other painful realisations.
Along with my house keys, odd socks and random bits of fluff – I often find wisdom in the most unlikely of places:
I have four brothers. The eldest – Oliver, selfishly made life particularly difficult for the rest of us growing up, by being so goddamn brilliant. How rude. While I struggled to make a three legged cat from Stickle Bricks, he built the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World using matchsticks and wood glue. His Hanging Gardens of Babylon were particularly stupendous.
I was made redundant today, a scary prospect to say the least. To mark the occasion (aside from the obligatory job hunting) I thought I’d take stock of what I’ve learnt so far in my fourteen years of employment. Please remember, I was young and needed the money:
I heard a vicious rumour that confession is good for the soul. With this in mind, I have decided to share my many crimes, faults and misdemeanours with the world. Brace yourselves.
Facing imminent redundancy from work, I have decided to do the only sensible thing and prepare an acceptance speech for my next role as British Prime Minister. There are the very small matters of starting up my own political party and getting elected for parliament to contend with first, but my mother reliably informs me – I’m a shoo-in.