Sometimes it seems like there’s a kind of competition to see who has the shittiest life. Does my adoption, bulimia and husband’s suicide beat your job loss, chronic fatigue syndrome and divorce? Who knows … who’s judging these things?
I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I left school. I had narrowed it down to a doctor, an actress or an interior designer.
‘Take shorthand typing,’ my mother said. ‘You never know when you might need it.’