Eventually, I manage to cheer Mum up by allowing her to go through my wardrobe and criticize all my clothes.

I am a child of Cosmopolitan culture, have been traumatized by supermodels and too many quizzes and know that neither my personality nor my body is up to it if left to its own devices. I can't take the pressure.

I will not Drink more than fourteen alcohol units a week.

I hate Christmas. Everything is designed for families, romance, warmth, emotion and presents, and if you have no boyfriend, no money, your mother is going out with a missing Portuguese criminal and your friends don't want to be your friend anymore, it makes you want to emigrate to a vicious Muslim regime, where at least all the women are treated like social outcasts. Anyway, I don't care. I am going to quietly read a book all weekend and listen to classical music.

I will not get upset over men, but instead be poised and cool ice-queen.

I am brave, though I am alone.

Valentine's Day purely commercial, cynical enterprise, anyway. Matter of supreme indifference to me.