At five years old, I gave one of my Trolls a particularly striking Mohawk haircut. Hairdresser of the Year, I was not – so I couldn’t wait for his radiant pink locks to grow back. Much to my horror and disappointment, they never did.
Dear 12 year old me, I have some good news and some not-so good news about the next 17 years. Where shall I begin?
Someone really ought to learn from my mistakes, so please consider the following life lessons my gift to you. You’re welcome.
I had one major problem growing up and his name was Oliver. I was utterly convinced that as my big brother, he was put on this Earth solely to make me look bad.
I can’t help thinking that Prince Charles really needs a contingency plan, just in case the King of England thing falls through. So having picked out his key skills and experience, I have a few suggestions.
If only we could maintain our childhood innocence forever. We’d be delighted to win a jam sandwich at the Olympics.
I don’t make a very good jobless hobo. It seems good breeding and a decent education go against me. If I were to suspend all of my self-respect and decency, then I’m pretty sure I’d master it.
Things that make you want to punch your host in the face or spit in your guest’s starter.
I have a confession. I secretly love it when other people say really dumb things. Does that make me a bad person? Quite possibly, but I can live with that.