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We've all been there. You spend every day at your dead-end job (or parent's sofa) furiously refreshing your emails for news of that grad scheme you did a video interview with six months ago. Your tiny heart does a somersault when you see that long-awaited email in your inbox, only to open it and find...
I have a love hate relationship with advice. In a nutshell, I love when someone advises me what I've already planned to do, and hate it when someone tries to get in the way of a plan that I'm forging on with against all logical reason (although, credit where credit is due, I'd like to thank my parents for advising me against renting that poky flat above the SPAR store in Staines).
Is there a better feeling than devouring a book cover to cover? When you're so engrossed that you'll carry it with you at all times, hoping to steal a few minutes to read the next chapter?
How often have you started a sentence with "If I had enough money...." then put whatever idea came next to the back of your mind, without giving it another moment's thought? So many young people have goals that can only be met with cold hard cash (be it travelling, paying off debts or cobbling together a house deposit), yet only a handful of us have enough disposable income to make those dreams a reality.
When I’m feeling sorry for myself, berating the state of the country, or trying to get my mum to buy me a takeaway, I’m wont to refer to myself as a ‘poor student’. The term is meant affectionately, ironically — my astronomical student debt spelt the kiss of death to Nick Clegg’s career far more than it ever will mine.
Past you has a lot to answer for. Getting that questionable fringe that took years to grow out in year 9, leaving study prep to the last minute, and now having the genius idea to go vegan for January.
Whether you’ve always wanted to try going vegan or made the decision at 11.58pm on New Year’s Eve, now is the time when your saintly decision to help animals the world over is seeming more like a prolonged way of torturing yourself.
But then, comes a time, somewhere between Boxing Day and New Year's Eve, when the Christmas magic starts to wear off. Without warning, my mother ceases to bend over backwards to meet my snack requirements, and begins to show worrying signs of wanting to get on with her own life.
Whether it's the amount of food we're consuming, the money we're spending on gifts, or not managing to find enough time to spend with loved ones, Christmas can leave us feeling drained and guilty rather than full of festive cheer.
We may not have known it then, but by assigning us the various roles of this timeless production, our teachers were doing more than getting out of having to do P.E. that day - they were earmarking us for a star-studded (or otherwise) future.
I bet I can tell you what kind of person you are by your role in the school Nativity (no prizes for guessing which one is me).
Over the Summer though, I began to yearn for something more. If Dickens is the 80% dark chocolate of the indulgent world of literature, I was looking for my large Dominoes with wedges - less refined but, in reality, a lot more pleasurable. Which is when I found Jilly Cooper.