I don’t really know what I’m doing here anymore. I might just start saying the first thing that comes up. Or maybe, like the embarrassing stuff…

Because it’s not like you’re going to bump into me in Trago Mills, or tell my parents.

Like when I did school work experience I spent a week sweeping up hair off the floor of a salon. And because I wore open toe shoes someone’s hair took root in my little toe and I freaked out and had to get my mum to remove it.

Or I went kart racing with the guys and I had to stop because when the kart was going flat out, the vibrations was giving me “a nice feeling”. I mean, I wasn’t done but I certainly got off that kart the way Tina turner dances.

My French teacher would openly laugh in our faces, having thirty kids with West Country accents trying to say “ J'habite à Penzance en Angleterre”.

That’s all I’ve got for now. I’ll have a coffee and do some work and come back to you…