If they were giving out prizes for the most inappropriately dressed person at a mammogram appointment, I'd win hands down. I did give my clothing some thought in the morning, quite a lot of thought actually, just reached the wrong conclusions.
My television has been permanently stuck on Channel 5 since I moved house and lost the remote control. I turn it on, get cosy, then remember I have no remote, so Channel 5 it is. Channel 5 has been an eye opener for me, and I've now become a reality TV addict.
I have fallen victim to social media envy on more than one occasion. There, I said it, I'm a bitter, twisted, envying billy no mates. I didn't used to be, there was a time when I had a large circle of friends and my home was a buzzing social hub. Then I moved away from London at a time my son was of an age that I wasn't going to make any new friends through him.
My favourite days of the week are the ones just after I've done my laundry. I don't have a whole week's worth of the best big knickers, just four pairs, four days of bliss. I'll approach that clothes airer with a spring in my step as I take the biggest pair and smile, safe in the knowledge everything will be in the right place that day.
You think you're getting a handle on managing your excessive number of social media accounts, then they start making extra demands of your time. Come on, do the quiz that your mate only got nine out of ten correct answers, it's the hardest quiz, like ever.
You often find when you're dating in your forties that men are one of the above. When you meet the divorcee, more often than not, he's come out of a long marriage and has children who are almost ready to fly the nest.
We laugh at the sitcoms when, during intercourse, couples start discussing the shopping list, or on staring vacantly up at the ceiling remember it really does need painting. We laugh because we recognise this scenario. Momentarily we consider spicing up our love lives, planning romantic evenings that'll get the old juices flowing again. But then that hormone gremlin says, "Nah! Can't be bothered. I really would rather have a cup of tea".
There are some men to avoid, actually probably a lot of men to avoid. Let's start with the ones that 'still' live at home. Clearly I'm emphasising the word, 'still', as there are men who have to move back home after a relationship break up, or may be carers, or have basically had some life event that has forced them into that position.
We had just settled ourselves in the deserted garden when three chaps in football shirts piled in. To be honest they looked a little old to be wearing football shirts, but as I said don't judge a book by its cover (well, only in your head, never out loud).
I know I'm a funny lady because my mum told me so. And I see the fruits of my labour on the face of the person I'm talking to as it contorts into the kind of expression reserved for private appearances only. That's when you know you ARE bloody funny.
I found myself at a bit of a loose end on Sunday; I thought I should do something completely different (usually Sunday afternoon is spent in the pub). I would learn how to survive a Sunday on my own, not just survive but enjoy, without the pub.
I'm mostly writing this because social media has been ruined for me, and many others like me. If I didn't need it for work I would flounce off in a huff (for at least a week) and refuse to look at my timelines ever again.
February has arrived. It's that month when you start to feel that Christmas is really behind us now. Time to start thinking about the summer and where to go on holiday. Fed up of the short, cold, days we dream of the sun on our face and sand between our toes...
There is a lot of emphasis now on body positivity, I for sure struggled with that my whole life. When I look back at photos of when I was 16 I feel so sorry for that girl, so much time spent thinking I was fat; I wish I was that 'fat' now.
Hand in hand St Valentine and Cupid (great image) contribute to this multi-million pound industry without even signing off on it. The names of a Saint and a God used to line the pockets of the fat cats, would they approve do you think?
For the sake of argument let's call her, anything other than her real name, Liz. Liz is 51 and filled with a truck load of insecurity; this is what her profile would look like if she was brave enough to be honest. After all, they all find out in the end.