Through my blogging and my daring interpretive dance set, I’ve reached a certain level of notoriety recently.

The public have begun asking questions, most commonly, “Who the fuck are you?”

I take this as an invitation to share my life story, such as it is, with the people. I’ve entered into talks with a leading publishing house (for legal reasons, I can’t reveal which – but if I drop the hint that it was founded by a prominent quantity surveyor, I think you’ll probably guess) and I’m hopeful we’ll have ironed out a book deal by the new year.

Whilst I’m waiting for the go-ahead to actually start writing my memoirs, I’ve been weighing up a few prospective titles. Here’s a sample.

• Writing self-deprecating notes to yourself doesn’t make you modest & other closetothebone home truths.

 

• Having never had a boyfriend AND having cold sores is really just adding insult to injury & other tales from my adolescence.

 

• Maybe you should try NOT thinking that way & other pieces of useless mental health advice I’ve received.

 

• Esoteric & other $5 words I pretend to know.

 

• Camus? I love him. He’s so esoteric. & other lies I’ve told to sound smart.

 

• Bedheads and Hockeysticks: PE at 8am – a Survivor’s Story

 

• Oh wow it turns out getting a tattoo actually hurts quite a lot & other things I’ve said after making a snap decision.