- I always have to put my right sock on first. If I don’t I have to take my socks off and rub away the ‘sockness’ on the floor before starting again.
- For a long time I thought that Mauritania was a fake place, like Outer Mongolia and Narnia. I hang my head in shame. I also work in business travel so I hang my head further.
- I don’t understand how wifi works so I just explain it away by fairies fannying about sprinkling little wifis around the place.
- I’m great at writing cards but rubbish at posting them. When I moved desks a few months ago I found Christmas cards from 2015 at the back of my drawer. I’m also the type of knob who writes ‘Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2015′ so it’s not even like I can re-use them.
- I buy Tatler. My friend Harold always winds me up about this and we once wrote our Tatler profiles – his was ‘Harold, 32, collects fine wine, enjoys rambling in the country with his rare breed dog Luna and has a love of Chomps.’ Mine was ‘Alice, 35, enjoys collecting antiquarian books and pieces of statement jewellery as well as playing parlour games on her weekends in the country.’
- I love a good G&T, my favourite gin is called Barr Hill and is a small batch gin from the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. This makes me sound like a total wanker but it’s delicious.
- I call my Dad ‘Popsicle’ and my brother ‘Humphrey Big Bear’. His name isn’t Humphrey, and he’s not a bear, but it has stuck.
- I keep buying books. It’s fatal if I wander off piste at the supermarket and I actively have to stop myself going to Waterstones. When I was in New England I came home with nine new books and narrowly avoided an excess baggage charge.
- I’m an equal opportunity flirt. I’ll flirt with anyone and sometimes there is nothing better than a flirt with a cheeky old man. It makes their day!
- I know I’m hitting a depression when I get sad looking at old people. I imagine them hungry and lonely huddling round a one bar fire and it’s a smack upside the head that I need to start looking after myself.
- I used to hate the thought of being single, the stereotype of a ready meal for one and no social life. I’ve now realised that is total bollocks, being single means I’m not tied down. Hobo has a lovely cat sitter and I’m free as a bird. Well, one with bills to pay, a job to go to, and the neediest cat in the world.
- I want to be someone people talk about long after I’m gone. Whether it’s good or bad, philanthropist or dictator, the thought of being forgotten upsets me.
(With thanks to ‘My Life: An autobiographical journal from adventures to zealous plots’ by Mr Boddington’s Studio)