I sometimes worry about the age-inappropriate nature of my cultural tastes. I am 40 but I still love high-school comedies, despite the subject matter revolving around adolescent dilemmas played out by actors young enough to be my children. I still buy clothes from Topshop when I should probably be ordering sensible grip-soled slippers from catalogues, and I switch over to Radio 1 when the afternoon drama is on Radio 4 (particularly if said drama features a British actor pretending to be American; they are the worst).
Continue reading
Get unlimited digital access, first month free
Try for free
Already a subscriber?
Sign in
I text David to tell him I’m so nervous about moving and marrying him that I wake at 4am every day, stomach churning. Even the dogs are still snoring. I’ve never been vulnerable like this with him before. I have always put on a brave face, leaving him to read about my insecurities later. But he surprises me by being incredibly supportive.