Maybe my identity's been stolen. Or maybe I was sleep-shopping!

My childhood was spent embracing one literary heroine after another. I identified passionately with each one and would slavishly imitate them.

It's not enough to believe! Don't you see that, you stupid girl? You could spend your whole life hoping and believing! If a love affair is one-sided, then it's only ever a question, never an answer. You can't live your life waiting for an answer.

I can't cook. I don't have the right brain for it, somehow. I can't walk into a room and tidy it up. I get distracted. I pick up one thing and I start looking at it. And my cooking is truly heinous.

... what would Poirot do? Poirot wouldn't flap around in a panic. He'd stay calm and use his little grey cells and recall some tiny, vital detail which would be the clue to everything.

I need good coffee!" I say in horror. "It's my only luxury!" I can't live with my parents and drink bad coffee. It's not humanly possible. Becky talking about cutting back with her parents.

Ciao," I say casually, and flick my hair back. "Si. Ciao." I could so be Italian. Except I might have to learn a few more words.