I'm going on holiday... and I'll be double-knotting my bikini!

Hello. My name is Mildred McManus and I am super-duper excited. 

My excitement may be a little bit premature, but I'm going on holiday in... hold on- let me work it out... just a moment... I'm going in... just 9 days!

Dave and I are going to Cyprus for a week. When we're there, I'm going to make friends with the sunshine whilst wearing factor 30 sunscreen- you can never be too sure. Safety first! 

We're going to go snorkelling and join the mermaid population. Can't wait- so exciting!

We're going to go to a ginormous (a cross between gigantic and enormous... only it's bigger!) water park, but to be honest- I probably won't do those stupidly high slides with a vertical drop. They are far too dangerous, but not for the reason you may think. Yes yes, I am sure that they are perfectly safe and that you won't plummet to your impending doom. No, I'm not sure that they are conducive to bikini wearing... Just one teeny tiny loose tie needs to get caught and ahhhh!, you're ever so slightly over-exposed. Plus the force of those slides can cause any item of clothing to- well, put quite simply- rise. So a rather foolishly dangerous slide to use I think you'll agree.

We're going to look at some old stuff that might be a bit crumbly but is supposed to be architecturally and historically significant. Perhaps I've made a mistake in using the phrase 'old stuff', as according to Dad the correct term I'm looking for is ruins. Looking at ruins never sounds that exciting does it? But I think once you're there and you're kind of living in the moment of the history, it's a bit more interesting. I mean, how cool is it going to be to stand in the same place where once upon a time a real life Roman stood? That's my inner-geek revealing itself right there!

One of the things I'm most looking forward to is the opportunity to spend my birthday money. I'm going to treat myself on something that I've always wanted to do: I'm going to get covered in mud and then wrapped in seaweed! Cool eh?! I don't really know why it's been such an ambition, but it has. I didn't fancy a conventional massage, but would still like to be able to indulge in something a little memorable. Roll on the seaweed! 

Anyway, I'm going to leave it here for now. Cannot believe that I'm almost ready for our holiday- such an unusual occurrence! Just take a look back at A whirlwind hello and goodbye! if you wish to see how unprepared I usually am. To give you an idea- I was packing within 24 hours of departing the UK. That doesn't give you any wiggle-room at all and I am determined to attempt to change my ways. I am going to become a reformed Mildred. Yes indeed.

In the meantime, I'll be sure to double-knot my bikini at all times as you can never be too sure.

Mildred x

PS Happy Easter to one and all!

Tarzan and Jane? I think not! Tarzan and Mildred? Oh yes.

Yesterday, I went on a tree-top adventure with the boys to celebrate my birthday... a few days late I must confess. And what an adventure it was.

I put aside any girlieness that I may have had and joined Dave, Dad and Harry the dude. We spent the day, harnessed up in harnesses that the boys thought were uncomfy, but- I had to disagree here, as I thought they actually had the possibility of becoming the next season's must have accessory. Remember- you heard it here first!

As if to prove how great the harness is, I have uploaded this picture for your delectability. Yes, I am on the ground, but I can assure you that I did spend much of the time in the air.

I have to confess, I did have visions of Harry the dude losing his shoes whilst 10 metres (30 feet up). I just imagined he'd be whizzing along a zip line and then, all of a sudden- poof!, his shoes (or shoe) is gone, lost to the forest below... Thankfully this scenario did not happen.

I'm going to keep this blog nice and brief, but tomorrow I'm going to include a video for you to watch that stars me, because if it didn't it would probably not make much sense as to why it would be on my blog. It is shot way up high and in the freezing cold. (I couldn't really tell the boys I was cold because I would have received zero sympathy. Likewise, I could show no sign of fear because otherwise I'd have been called that terrible below the belt insult: a girl. And I can tell you- no way was I going to be called a girl! No siree).

It was a fabulous day- so much good fun! Swinging through the trees, zipping along like a bird and just hoping and praying that my harness was going to hold!

I'm going to fly off now. Fandangoooooooo!!

Mx

I have a dream... Sort of.

In the words of the legendary Martin Luther King and the even more legendary ABBA, 'I have a dream'. Yes ladies and gents, I indeed have a dream.

It has come to my attention, that now we are in the month of March- which, in case you didn't know, means that we are officially approximately 8.3 % of the way through the year of 2012. (Please don't ask how I reached that figure... it took a lot of time and patience... the story to finding this figure is deeply boring... but also deeply concerning. 8.3 % is almost 10 %. Did you know that?! I'm sure you did).

I find it alarming to already be in 2012's third month. I am now just 29 days away from my birthday and I'm starting to become a little bit concerned with what I've managed to achieve since my last birthday. (On a separate note- Mum, I haven't decided what I would like for my birthday. Thank you for asking me on a weekly basis since the 10th January. Unfortunately, you're persistent questioning hasn't sped up the pondering process. I'm sure I'll have decided something the night before D-day. If I haven't... well, we'll get to that later).

Anyway, anyway, anyway. As I was saying. Last year I wrote a blog about pre-birthday analysing (Why oh why do I find myself (year after year), doing the obligatory what've-I-achieved-in-the-previous-year birthday analysis?). Specifically, I wrote this blog on birthday eve- which, with hindsight, may not have been my best decision. However, I'm not going to dwell on it now as I still have a couple of weeks to (attempt) to achieve some of the goals I set for myself. Doubtless to say- I shall be reviewing this shortly.

Earlier, I mentioned that I have a dream. Just like Martin Luther King and ABBA, I too have a dream. But I have decided- now that we are in March, that I need to do more to enable me to achieve this dream. It's funny, but my dream actually stems from one of my New Year's Resolutions. I resolved that I would try to make other people around me happy. To achieve this, I will use various different means including writing this very blog, performing music, teaching, acting, entertaining and just being honest.

By now you'll all know that I write, but my problem is that I'm not very good at concentrating on just one thing and sticking with that. I'm more of a... what's the word? Hmmm... Not procrastinator, because I do do things. No no... I'd say I'm more of a... flitter. Yes, that's it: I'm one of life's flitterer's. Meaning I flit from one thing to the next and back again. I do finish things... eventually.

However, at the moment I am doing something pro-active towards achieving my dreams. Currently, I am sending demo CD's of my music to the record companies. It's a long and slow process, but maybe- just maybe, the right person is out there. I'll keep trying. In the meantime, while I'm waiting, I'll flit to something else. I don't suppose it's easy, trying to create a voice for yourself. But I'm sure that with patience, dedication and hard-work MLK and ABBA's hard work would have paid off.

We're now in March, so I have now resolved to work harder and to stop procrastinating (which I do so well). I'll play the waiting game, but I won't stop dreaming.

Mildred x

PS If you'd like a listen to a couple of examples of my work, they can be found here: Two of my compositions. I should tell you now- to avoid confusion, that I perform and write under the name of 'Francesca Cox'. She's my alter ego!

How to blend in when in London... by someone that didn't

Hello everyone, Mildred here!

I hope you've all had a fabulous week. I have had a stonkingly good one, (just in case you were wondering)!

On Wednesday, Dave and I ventured to London. Wednesday- you see, was the boyfriend's birthday (the real one, this time. Dave's fake birthday- as you probably know, was on Sunday last week).

Anyway, I was going to tell you before I got distracted with some small and trivial facts that, as a gift to Dave, I bought him a ticket to see the piece-de-resitance (said in a French accent, friends... pronounced pea-ess dir rez-east-ahnce... or something like that) of all things theatrical in the West End. Dave and I went to see the incredible Les Miserables- or as we like to call it, now that we've been: Les Miz. Sophisticated people. Nice.

What's this got to do with being a tourist in London?, I hear you ask. Well, it has everything to do with being a tourist in London. Because- dear friends, the remainder of this blog is devoted to advising you how to blend in with the indigenous Londoner's and locals. Basically- from the mistakes that Dave and I made, I am now fully qualified to dish out advice on what not to do if you want to look like you belong in this magnificent city.

So, the following pointer's I now bestow upon you are not necessarily foolproof... or guaranteed to work for that matter, but they are at least a step in the right direction in the efforts to make a rural country girl and boy into hip and trendy city dwellers:

1. Try not to wear your functional raincoat... even if it is actually raining. This says to the local that you are a tourist because you are far too sensibly dressed for a city that celebrates individual dressing. Instead, you should opt for a more fitted jacket- umbrella optional (applicable to both women and men). Alternatively, you just get soggy. Unfortunately, Dave is guilty of this offence.
2. Try not to loudly gasp in horror at the cost of The Tube/ Underground. This shows that you are out of touch. Dave and I couldn't bear to part with such a large sum of money to go just three stops, so we decided to embark on an adventure. That's right- we walked to the theatre. We walked to the theatre in the rain. We got lost once or twice, but we never had to...
3. ... ask for directions. Instead we used the special 'London walking signs'. By the looks of things, only tourists used these signs...
4. Never- and I repeat never, pull out a disposable camera and get snapping. If you must take pictures, a digital camera- of better yet; your mobile, are far more blendinable (... I know, I know, is that a word? Probably not... but it really should be). This time, I am guilty of the disposable camera display... I have no defence, other than I really wanted to use up the last 13 pictures. 
5. When you arrive at the theatre, don't pull out of your bag a pair of binoculars in a bid to save money. We were sat in the highest seating section and thought that we were being ingenious in taking our own bins. We weren't. We were highlighting our touristyness (... again, a non-word that should be a real word). But- I will be honest. When it came to actually using the binoculars in the theatre... we couldn't. We didn't. But we thought about it.
6. Lastly, when on the train home, sat amongst the London commuter's, best not rummage through your bag until you find your packed lunch. This definitely makes you look like a tourist. But by this point, Dave and I were past caring. We were tourists, we'd had a a good time and we were happy. Thank you London. We may not be cool (evidently), but we had a wonderful time together and wouldn't change a single second of the day... I wouldn't even change the fact that we got lost... three times. No no, because I was with the boyfriend, being a fellow explorer and having a jolly good time being a tourist. 

So that's that. I've just got to the end of this blog and I've realised: you know what? I don't mind being a tourist when I'm visiting somewhere for a special occasion. It made the day more memorable which- dear friends, leads me to conclude that I shall disregard my own advice and continue being a country girl in the big city.

Mx 

The story of the good deeds

This blog tells of the story of the good deeds.

Tomorrow is Dave's birthday.
Sunday (the day before yesterday), was Dave's fake birthday.
Trust me, these facts are both relevant.

For Dave's fake birthday, I decided to throw him a little party 'do. It was very nice, very quaint and oh-so-Britishly-old-fashioned! The party featured a small and intimate guest list... not quite into the region of double figures though. So I suppose that makes the guest list, well, minuscule. There was six of us (five if you don't include me as I was the hostess... and just four if you don't include Dave as he was the main shibang. Without Dave the party wouldn't have existed. Actually, without me the party wouldn't have existed as I was the party-organiser-extraordinaire).

Anyway, anyway, anyway, Dave didn't really know what to do to celebrate his birthday, so I took matters into my wonderfully cared for hands and decided to organise something. He said he didn't need to do anything, but I knew better. What he really meant was, he didn't want to cause any hassle, meaning he was happy to just chill out instead. I have to admit, it did take me a while to work this out. But once I'd got through the silly customary boyfriend/ girlfriend rule-thingy of saying one thing but meaning another, we were onto a stonkingly good party.

I bought balloons- two different sorts. One packet was a total success... in that they inflated. The other was a total party-pooping failure... in that no matter how much air was donated, the darn things wouldn't inflate! I mean, what sort of balloon doesn't become a balloon?? A bad one. That's not a joke, but a real true story.

I bought food and some yummy beverages. I also bought a birthday cake (failure rate was too high if I were to attempt to bake one. Last year, I attempted to bake a cake and it kind of erupted: it became a volcano cake. To disguise it, I cut off the burnt bits, covered it in green icing/ frosting (as that was the only colour food-dye in the cupboard) and then sprinkled a load of sweets on top to substitute for the rocks and lava). However, Dave's birthday cake was blueberry inspired and- if I don't say so myself, very tasty indeed... until it came to me adding the candles.

Instead of traditional ones, I'd decided to get candles that spelt out 'h-a-p-p-y b-i-r-t-h-d-a-y'. The only problem with these was that they took about a zillion years to light, so by the time I'd finished, the candles read 'n-a-y-p-y o-i-r-t-n-d-a-y' (which I believe is pronounced as 'naypy oirtnday'). And then, as a consequence of the quick burning, I was left with puddles of wax on the cake! Honestly, what is it with me and birthday cakes? None of my plans ever go right...

Not to worry though, as it was rather amusing; as was the rest of the afternoon. Everybody had a wonderful time and laughed. A lot. So what a party-pooper I was to be the person who had to put an end to the shenanigans as I had work later that evening...

A little while later, Dave and I collected two lovely lady OAP's* called Joan and Sylvia. I have known them both for an awfully long time and thought that they were thoroughly deserving of a night out. So Dave and I took them to see me... in concert. And what a marvellous time they had! Which in turn, made Dave and myself feel great as we were doing something that brought so much happiness to other people. More to the point, I am also fulfilling New Year's Resolution number three: to make other people around me happy. Does it feel like a chore? Not in the slightest.

So dear friends, I am going to end this blog with a smile and hope that you have one too. This is the story of the good deeds; something that can't help but make you feel fabulous for doing a few simple things. I shall try to do them more often.

But for now, I am going to end this blog by wishing Dave a very naypy oirthnday! Happy birthday's so last season, don't you know?!

Mildred x

* If you are American or of non-British decsent, an OAP is basically an old person.

Coming soon... The new and improved Mildred!- the New Year's blog. 

Oh blast. There's a hole in my wallet... (or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it).

I write this post to you as a previously wealthy woman. (Usually, Mildred and the term 'wealthy' are not found in the same sentence, but today they are... albeit for the wrong reasons). You see, having just recently had a birthday, I received several paper gifts (better known as money). But the problems with receiving such gifts are paramount:

• It is very easy to become quickly accustomed to this new-found wealth. However, in an instant your pocket can become even lighter than it was before. This is because you make an impulse purchase that you've been desperate to have for months, yet haven't quite managed to scrape together enough coins to make them stretch. Beware of this technique, because when the money's gone, it's gone good and proper.
• In my experience, birthday money seldom makes it into your bank account, which means that it only ever gets spent on unnecessary goods. How many new items of stationary can I possibly need? I must learn to say to myself enough is enough, before I end up penniless. But the problem with this is, I have never to this day followed my own advice. Other people have, and they tell me it's very good, but I'm yet to find out.
• An excess of money in one hit may suddenly make you exceedingly generous, so keep an eye on charitable spending.
• If you accumulate too much money too quickly, it can make your purse bulge and possibly cause it to go out of shape, which would not be good. (This of course depends on the establishment where your purse came from and if they made provisions in the fabric for those wealthier moments in life).
• Often, when you receive birthday money, you may or may not decide to use it to buy 'that new iron', or 'that new notebook'. However, next time these thoughts pop into your head, ask yourself if the money donor thought 'hmmmm, what shall I get them? An iron or some cash?' The question has, in the history of mankind, never been asked.
• Do not under any circumstances use your birthday money to pay off your credit card bill. I have done so in the past and it only leads to disappointment.

So, taking my own advice into account, I decided to treat myself to a few new things and went shopping for the day with my good friends, Ted and Nora. Luckily (you'll be relieved to hear), we all had the day off. There's none of this 'sickie' nonsense for Ted and Nora. Sadly, they've both been afflicted with the condition 'oh-my-goodness-I've-got-a-conscience-itous'. (And naturally, I'd like to here add that I too have this same condition, though I'm not sure if it's the same if you're out of work but looking? That's a grey area, a real grey one).

But anyway, I know what you're all waiting to hear... what did I purchase? Well, I can tell you that I bought six whole items (fortunately they were whole, because otherwise that would not have been cost effective). I bought:

• A packet of hairbands/ hair elastics, because I am very boring. But in all seriousness, I must ask if you are privy to the answer of one of life's greatest mysteries: where oh where do all the hairbands go after you've bought them? I worked it out, that in the last 10 years, I've probably bought over 350 hairbands... and do you know how many I am left with? 4, in a pot at home (evidently not where they needed to be). But please, if you do know the answer to this deep and meaningful philosophical pondering, please do let me know. Ta.
• A new pair of jeans that are truly fabulous. They look absolutely ancient, which means that they are very fashionably perfect (according to my Mum's weekly women's magazine, though they may be wrong as their target audience is 50+). Ted turned around in shock and asked me why I was going to buy a pair of second hand jeans. I told him they were first hand and he was so shocked, he spun around and accidentally knocked over a display tower of t-shirts with his flailing arm that the dude had just finished folding. Yes, it was a blush inducing episode, but I kept my cool... (at least until I saw the price tag)...
• A Jennifer Aniston DVD. (Sshhh, keep this one to yourselves, otherwise I'm sure to lose all my newly gained street cred).
• A book that had over 683 pages and was going on the cheap for £1.00. What a bargain, I thought to myself, so I got myself a bargain. Just don't ask me what it's called, because I didn't concern myself with the title.
• A t-shirt.
• A jumper with strategically placed holes (as well as the ones for the arms and brainal region). Nora thought I was joking. I was being serious. In fact, I'm wearing it right this instant, as I write to you.

Oh, the other thing I wanted to tell you was that yesterday, I road-tested a very small bag that I'd got for my birthday. Surprisingly, I found it to be not too shabby. In fact, I may even ditch the larger carrier in favour of the tiddler (but don't quote me, as this will probably change next week). But all in all, I had a lovely day with Mum and Dad... Whoa, did I just say that out loud? I meant Mum and Dad. No I didn't! I meant Ted and Nora. Yep, Ted and Nora. (NOTE TO SELF: stop talking Mildred, just stop).

Now, I have thought at great length (8 and a 1/2 minutes to be precise) about any morals that I have taken from my trip and they are:

• Take the train for a novelty experience if you are not a frequent railway user as the seats are surprisingly comfy and the scope for gossip is on a par with a nosey-parker's Heaven.
• Always request the gift of the classic, timeless 'cheque', from those who insist on giving money if you wish to have any left a week after your birthday.

Anyway, I'll see you again soon and let you know how my job interview goes. (But quick question: is honesty really the best policy when in a job interview? I think not. I mean, I think so!)

Oh, PS, yes, I confess, my parents were masquerading as my friends Ted and Nora, though in real life they are actually called Ted and Nora...

The day after the day before the day before: PBA time (Post Birthday Analysis)

I write this blog to you as a new woman. One who is not only another year older, but most importantly, another year wiser (however, since I have no wisdom teeth left, I'm not sure if this still applies).

But anyway, the reason we're all here. It's time for what I have over the years come to call 'The Post Birthday Analysis', AKA 'The PBA'.

So, I woke up in the morning (phew, because otherwise this blog would've been a very different story) and I had breakfast by myself- nothing out of the ordinary there. After, I got dressed and then set about doing the ironing, all the while waiting, for that inevitable moment when my stomach would drop to the floor and I'd think 'oh shoot, I'm another year older'. But it never came. I never experienced such thoughts... which now makes me worry slightly. Am I going to be walking along one sunny afternoon and then suddenly BHAM!, it hits me: my life is leaving me behind and the process of marination is quite simply accelerating? I mean, I hope I get some warning before the oh-crikey-I've-passed-the-quarter-of-a-century-mark moment. I'd at least like to be seated in a dimly lit room with a nice chilled glass of fruit and barley squash (preferably orange), and be able to ponder and experience the moment before it passes.

.........

Right, we're okay, we're back on track. The moment has been and gone. So where were we? Oh yes, I was telling you about my nothing out of the extraordinary day. After I'd done loads of stuff (the technical term used to imply that someone has done loads, when in actual fact, they've basically day-dreamed the day away and end up flummoxed when questioned on their day. The word 'stuff' is used, because it is the only word that pops into the mind when under the pressure and scrutiny of inquisitive parents). However, I did decide that the whole 'getting older thing' isn't really that bad. Personally, I think that the extra year gives me a bit more of a standing compared to when I was but a young girl of 25. I think that 26 makes me sound a bit more distinguished. In fact, I think that I'll skip my next birthday and bypass the one after that and stay at this age for the next few years. Yep, I'll do that.

Anyway, after the day passed without much event, so did the evening. True to form, the parents had arranged a birthday do. We went to a nice little quaint restaurant that served basically, any concoction you could think of. Neither of my brothers could go (Scott was on a date; and Graham? Well, Graham's just Graham. Enough said). So Mum and Dad invited our long-standing neighbours- Marjorie and Alan, and Gma (Grandma). Oh, of course, I was there too (for obvious reasons).

When we were at the restaurant, I thought that I'd try something different to drink, so I did. I thought, let's see what all the fuss is about. Let's see why James Bond always has the same thing- shaken, not stirred, no less. So I ordered a James Bond with high expectations.

My verdict? Urgh! Don't even go there. Steer well clear and only drink it if your life is dependent on 007. A James Bond drink is seriously over-rated. I mean, I didn't even attract any smouldering stares from all the good looking extras and love interests that I thought I would, simply because I'd be giving out the Bond aura of chicness and sophistication that says 'I'm too cool for this establishment'. Did my drink provide me with that? No. After a while, I swapped it with Gma's Cointreau and lemonade (you'll be pleased to know, she didn't notice, but I think that's because she was on her way to being slightly sozzled. I know this because, Gma said 'oh b*gg*r' instead of 'oh blast' when she draped her sleeve in her soup and Gma NEVER swears...).

A bit later on in the evening, I had the obligatory sip of Mum's wine that I've been having for about 10 years now. I was really expecting that this would be my year; that this would be the year when finally, I could proclaim that I'd like a glass of wine with my meal. Sadly, it was not to be. Within the standard three seconds my face did the involuntary shudder that always follows the testing of wine. I can't tell you how much this disappointed me as I was hoping that by now, my taste buds would have matured. Oh well, until next year.

Luckily, I didn't receive any liquid (alcoholic) gifts. However, I did receive a fabulous pair of pants and socks from Mum and Dad. (More Mum really, because that would be weird otherwise. But you know, I love my birthday for the reason that I can always rely on Mum to ensure that my drawers and foot warmers are always replenished. Always. Year on year without fail). I got a few other bits and bobs... you know, perfume, money, hub caps, blanket, bag, jewellery, cards, etc. But nothing compares to the excitement and relief at the unveiling of the undies. Fabulous!

All in all, I had a lovely time for the simple reason that the day was simple. Of course it would've been nice to see my uni friends, but there's always next year- provided I send out the invites SOON. I just enjoyed being in good company and of course, the bonus game of Birthday Scrabble... Moving on!

In seriousness, I have learnt a few morals from my big day (and the one and a half days after) though:

• Do not be concerned that the quantity of presents depletes as you age. It doesn't have to be that way! If there are three pairs of socks and each is wrapped individually, do not despair, for that can result in six individual parcels.
• Skipping years can be done, provided that you do not inform too many people of your age. When your birthday does come around the following year, simply develop an allergy to birthday cake (or all cake if you want to cover all avenues) for one night only so that NO candles can be displayed to dispel the myth.

Until next time, I, 26 year old Mildred, bid you farewell.

Farewell.

Why oh why do I find myself (year after year), doing the obligatory what've-I-achieved-in-the-previous-year birthday analysis?

Is it just me, or do you guys do the same? Why do I punish myself every year? The parents are forever talking about what I should have achieved by now/ where they were in life when they were my age: "when we were your age Mildred, we'd already been married for over 4 years and" (this word can't be stressed enough) "we already had a baby". The thing is, though I might be their daughter, I'm really nothing like them. I don't like... I'm not... I don't... er...

Five minutes later and I'm trying to think of at least one thing that I don't like that the parents do to earn me a little bit of kudos/ street credibility. But the problem is the truth. I can't lie to you and say yes, I really loathe the fortnightly Scrabble evenings, because the truth of the matter is that I secretly enjoy them. As tragic as it may be, I think that I am a bit of a dork as I really like to hang out with Mum and Dad and all the other oldies that they know. Perhaps that stems from the big age gaps between the brothers and myself, but I find it hilarious being a fly on the wall.

Like when Mum is talking with her other 'we're-going-through-a-specific-time-in-life' transforming friends. But it's rather hilarious, because Mum and her friends often share a bottle of red... or white... or both and somehow, they always manage to involve me in the conversation as if I'M transitioning! When they ask how I manage with various symptoms I can really throw the answers out there: "oh, you know me... once it started I was anybodies... there was nothing Bill could do to prise the rolling pin/ stapler/ hole punch/ mop" (delete as applicable) "from me. Yep, it was a big one. Totally wiped me." (Or something like that). But what then happens is I get free advice on how to cope with the symptoms, but most importantly, how to cope with my long-suffering husband of thirty-five years- poor old Bill. (Often, he gets more sympathy than I do).

But anyway, I'm sorry. I seemed to go off on a bit of a tangent there. I was just trying to prove to myself that I'm unlike the parents, but honestly, there's no hiding the evidence: I'm their daughter.

Right, let's get back on track. So, it's that time of the year (well, in my personal calendar at least). That's right, it's Birthday Eve. The moment has now arrived when you start to scrutinise your life and look at what you've REALLY achieved in the last 365 days. This is the part that is much worse than the actual numerical change. You see, I don't mind getting older. What I do mind though, is finding that each year my birthday comes around, the amount of days in the year seems to decrease. Every year, just after my birthday, I create a list of goals that I should achieve in the following year. When I was emptying out my desk, I stumbled across my list from last year. I'm telling you now, it makes for sad reading...

Ask me now if I've achieved any of the items?

Ask me.

Have I?

No.

Of eleven objectives, I have achieved NONE. Oh demoralisation, let's set up a time and a place to meet properly as I think that I can be diagnosed as seriously demoralised. Here is the list of things that I have NOT achieved since last years birthday:

• I have not... won the lottery. Highly disappointing (as this is the reason I could not achieve my next objective).
• I have not... paid off the staggeringly large student loan that is accumulating a better interest rate than my savings account as we speak. Need to win the lottery to enable bulk payment. (When I say 'need to win the lottery', I'm not referring to the £10's that you get every now and again. I'm talking proper serious money, but no more than about £50,000 as that would be a bit greedy. 50K would allow me to pay off my loan, buy a trampoline and still have some cash to spare for Mum and Dad).
• I have not... penned the next piece of phenomenal literature that changes our lives. I have tried- unsuccessfully (evidently so, otherwise this would be crossed off the list).
• I have not... seen the Northern Lights. (Also categorised as 'Life Ambition', making this objective transferable).
• I have not... met the Queen. (Need to do sooner rather than later as she's not getting any younger and neither am I).
• I have not... fallen in love.
• I have not... worn something outrageous.
• I have not...guest starred in an episode of Friends or Sex and the City. Either or, I'm not fussed.
• I have not... discovered something deep and meaningful and rather philosophical.
• I have not... arranged a fabulous birthday party. Unfortunately, have left this one too late as it is now Birthday Eve and nothing is arranged. Inexcusable really, given that I've had well, a year, since the last date to get the RSVP's in.
• I have not... found a job. However, I have secured an interview at a garden centre. Ah, progress. 

As a point of contrast, here is the list of things that I have achieved that I sought to achieve:

As you can see, it's very short.

So, all in all, looks like I'll be transferring last years objectives to this year. I know things may not have turned out the way I'd have hoped, but it's okay. I'm happy. And secretly, I'm looking forward to the Cake Job (Birthday 'do) that I know Mum and Dad have organised for me.

And the Birthday Eve moral is?

• Do not (under any circumstances) analyse the previous year. It seldom yields good tidings.

Lastly, I am...
... highly excited at the prospect of turning 26 as I think (well, it's really more 'hope'), that this will be the year that my life starts to become a bit more exciting.