By jove, I've done it: I've only gone and become a fully fledged adult this morning!

Friends,

On a day like any other with no particularly redeeming features, I had an astonishing realisation. I realised that I have indeed become a fully fledged adult today. Technically- age wise, you might argue that I was already there (which would be rather tricky to argue with as I am in my mid-twenties).

However, I have never really considered myself a 'proper' grown-up... until today that is. For a while now, I have felt as though I am floundering between young-adulthood and official adulthood- as if I don't really have a place in either. For want of a better phrase, you might say I have been in 'no man's land'. And if you did say that, I think I would have to agree with you. 

Anyway, I had my moment of realisation in a place I seldom visit, whilst partaking in an activity I seldom do. That's right; I was having my hair dressed. (Why they call the hair salon a hair dressers is something I had previously never stopped to question... until today. But I didn't question it out loud- only in my head. But really, dressing your hair? A most peculiar phrase).

I feel I should explain, as I believe that there are two camps of women when it comes to hair dressing experiences. There are those that savour every moment of it as they chat with their regular stylist, whilst enjoying a nice cup of tea (due to being regular clients). And then there are those that don't particularly enjoy staring at themselves in the mirror for the duration of the cutting, whilst you talk to a stranger wielding a pair of scissors.

I, fall into the second camp.

Usually, my normal hair dressing experience consists of the following:

• avoiding making an appointment until strictly necessary.
• planning in advance a new drastic haircut, and then doing nothing about it, apart from maybe having two inches cut off instead of just the one.
• sitting uncomfortably in my seat as I make chit-chat with my reflection and the hair dresser.
• moments of awkward silence between topics of conversation.
• and of course, the obligatory 'yes, I can see the difference' bit at the end of the event when they show you the back of your head in the mirror. Normally I can't really see the difference as I don't study the back of my head enough to know if a substantial difference has in fact resulted.

Today, however, was different.

I arrived at my 9:30 appointment ten minutes early. Instead of having to sit down on a really low sofa, I was ushered straight into one of the salon chairs and wrapped in the customary cape. At this point, I usually start to feel uncomfortable as I have to watch my floating head make expressions I don't even realise I make, but that discomfort never arrived. This did surprise me because nobody looks flattering in those wraps, or when under the harsh lighting. But today, I thought I didn't look too bad, (even when under the lights that usually leave me looking like I departed this planet many years ago).

I managed to deflect the subject of conversation from me and onto a load of hairdressing stuff that I was reading on a sign in front of me. As a consequence, my trip to the hair dressers became an educational experience. I learnt about things like hair extensions, creating volume and  foils- all stuff I'm sure will come in useful (one day).

The best thing about this appointment, was that I was in and out in no time at all. There was no dilly-dallying. Just quick scissor snipping and that's all folks (!): my kind of session.

As I was walking back to the car (after paying, of course), I realised I had become a grown-up. Gone was my younger-person awkwardness that usually accompanied a hair dressing venture. And gone was that peculiar sensation that you get when you talk to your reflection. Until those things had passed, I don't think I was ever going to be able to join the ranks of real adults the world over. So all in all, not bad at all.

Although, I do think- with hindsight, that the eradication of these awkwardnesses may have had something to do with the hairdresser being a fellow named Freddie. I must thank him for properly- and at long last, inducting me into the world of adulthood. It was my first experience of having my hair dressed by a man, but it was an experience that exceeded my expectations as Freddie coiffed my barnet to perfection.

Mum- Dad- if you're reading this, you'll be pleased to read that I have finally become a fully fledged adult. It has been a long time on the horizon I know, but I was just waiting for a pivotal life event to make me realise. I mean, I know I'm debuting my life story  in a short time in Scotland (which does happen to be a real job ******- you know who you are), but now I feel ready. And I'll tell you why I feel ready.

The girl staring back at me in the mirror was me. For the first time, I realised that I didn't want to change a single thing about me- nothing.

And that was when I knew I had become an adult: when I accepted I was who I am.

So, with that I draw this entry to a close. I write, wearing a smile of contentment, happy with the knowledge that I have finally transitioned through an invisible barrier, out of no man's land and into a life I am very happy and excited to lead.

From a now real grown-up,

Mildred

My body has waged war on me when I need it most

As I write to you on an otherwise dreary British July day, I can't help but feel disappointed in myself. Why, when I most need my body to co-operate and be on top-notch form, has it decided to launch a full-blown attack on me?

As you know, I'm shorty off to debut to the world my life story- which, by the way, has suddenly become interesting. I recently applied for a job- World Minister, which- for those of you who aren't sure what that is, is basically Prime Minister of the world. Yep, it's a big under-taking I know, but I thought hey-ho, what's the worst that could happen? So I decided to apply. I mean, I'm not really politically orientated, but maybe that will work in my favour. After all, variety- as they say (whoever 'they' is), is the spice of life. I, am simply providing the bit of cinnamon that is needed to make this job interesting. Anyway, the results of this job apparently coincide with my time in Edinburgh, which is when the first World Minister will be unveiled to the world. You never know, it could be me...

I'm sorry- I do digress (as you probably know by now).

I was going to tell you that I have developed a sore throat and am in the primary stages of a cold. Unbelievable! I never get ill (touch wood), and now, when I need my body most does it decide to turn against me? I mean, I treat it well, but perhaps that's no longer enough. I just don't understand why- when my body has the option of rebelling against me for 365 days in a year, it opts to do it now, at a crucial moment. It's like, it's been dormant for months on end and suddenly gone- 'aha, let's make life interesting for Mildred- keep her on her toes.' Well thank you body, but you should be prepared, for I am armed and ready to fight back with the most sophisticated weaponry known to man- medicine.

That's right. I'm taking action. In my artillery I have:

• assorted throat sweets (all as unpleasant as each other).
• vapour rub (to steam 'it' out of my system).
• hot berry drinks (not the lemon ones- eww, gross).
• throat spray (tastes vile, but blissfully numbs the offender).
• two different cough syrups- the first, mentholated; the second, honey and lemon.
• multivitamins (because you can never be too sure).
• a pot of honey and a lemon (there were two lemons, but one ceased to be yellow, so we parted ways).
• various cold/flu tablets for the daytime and night (to ensure that battle can commence for 24 hours, not just in my waking moments).
• nasal spray- I'm new to this product. Delivers an unusual sensation, but I guess that means it's doing it's job.
• my hands- the operatives and administrators that allow this operation to run smoothly. 

Let battle be won through mentholated madness, soup, hot honey and lemon  and regular nasal dousing. I will not succumb to the battlefield, nor will I succumb to snoozing drowsily in bed with a hot water bottle. I will fight this cold valiantly until the end. But first, I think I might indulge in a nice hot bubbly bath.

And then, I launch my first wave of attack via the nasal passage, the teeth cave and some uncomfortable inhalations. This plan I confide to you in utmost secrecy. We can only hope it doesn't end up in enemy territory, lest they launch a counter attack.

As of 12 hundred hours today, Mildred v MB (Mildred's Body) has begun.

May the best Mildred win.

Gee, no one ever says how tricky writing your life story is... (except me, because I'm saying it now).

Hello there friends!

Apologies for my detainment. I have been- as you know, attempting to write my life story. Unfortunately, my attempts are not going well.

So, I've made a tactical evaluation and decided that a change of course is in order. No longer will 'The Life of Mildred, as lived by Mildred, as told by Mildred' be published in book form. No longer will 'The Life of Mildred, as lived by Mildred, as told by Mildred' be published in downloadable form. No longer will 'The Life of Mildred, as lived by Mildred, as told by Mildred' be published at all.

No no. It was too tricky and too time consuming, having to scavenge in the depths of my memory banks for something worth writing down. Plus, it was exhausting. So I've decided to switch to another avenue, for I will not let my time spent self-analysing have been time spent in vain. Nope, not at all. Because friends, I wanted you to be the first to know my new news.

I am writing a play instead! It's based on my life and will star... me, as Mildred, the main character. Well, she's actually the only character, so it should be rather interesting. My friend Sophie- (the florist), is helping me to co-direct, which is fun. Though at times, it is slightly demoralising, having to relive the same experiences over and over again.

I mean, take what happened to me a few weeks ago. (I didn't tell you about it, because I was a little bit embarrassed, but now that I'm going to be broadcasting it to the world, I may as well tell you). Basically, I got fired from a little job that my brother Scott found for me. If truth be told, I wasn't particularly bothered about losing that job- I didn't like the boss, I didn't like the staff, I didn't like the restaurant and I most definitely didn't like the food. Doesn't take much to realise why I was fired does it?

My first job was as a waitress when I was 13. Twelve years on and I'm back where I started. I suppose, my morale was at an all time low. What with turning up at the wrong garden centre for that notoriously disastrous interview, and now this... I'm rapidly realising that despite my degrees, I am becoming unemployable.

Did I tell you why I was fired?

No, I don't think I did.

Here in lies the problem. I was fired for being too honest.

Again.

You see, it's not the first time. But the problem is, I'm just not prepared to lie (even if I am being paid to do so). And this problem is further exacerbated by having a conscience that I can't control, which means I find it almost impossible to lie (almost, but not quite).

Anyway, that's my news- I am Mildred McManus the playwright.

Having made this decision, I thought: 'let's spice things up a little', so I'm going to debut my life story at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in August. Crazy, or what?!