I once had a large gecko inked on my back, which seemed like a good idea at the time. I was secretly relieved that it was gone within a fortnight; you’ve got to love henna ink. 

I’m not strongly opposed to tattoos, but my reasons for not personally having any are threefold:

1. They are permanent.
2. I am indecisive.
3. They are permanent.

Fortunately for me, the impact of most lapses in judgement is fleeting. Just imagine if every decision you made stayed with you forever:

At five years old, I gave one of my Trolls a particularly striking Mohawk haircut. Hairdresser of the Year, I was not – so I couldn’t wait for his radiant pink locks to grow back. Much to my horror and disappointment, they never did. 

At six, I decided that I wanted a fringe. I tried to bribe my mother with a fairy made from half a discarded kitchen roll, two goggly eyes, several pipe cleaners and some sticky-back plastic, but she was having none of it. So I resorted to the tried and tested method of pester-power. It went a little something like this:

“I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I want a fringe. I WANT A FRIIIIIIIIIIIIINGE!”

Just three short months later, my mother finally caved – and I was granted my wish. I changed my mind within minutes, cursing her for “forcing me to have my hair cut”. How dare she?  Stomp stomp stomp.

Studies have shown that it is beneficial to let your child dress themselves, to help them develop a ‘sense of self’ early-on in life. I have strong evidence to the contrary: 

I vividly recall a nativity play my brothers and I performed for my parents, at a young age. The shepherds wore towels on their heads, secured in place by y-fronts. My hobby horse was the donkey, Kermit the frog stepped in to play Jesus and our menagerie of barn animals present at the birth of the son of God included a giraffe, two lions, a talking parrot, three Velociraptors and a Tyrannosaurus rex. Eat your heart out Andrew Lloyd Webber. Regrettably, the pants-on-head look never caught on. 

At twelve, I wanted all the boys to fancy me – so decided that the way to their hearts was cropped tops and head to toe denim. It wasn’t.

At the age of fifteen, my parents foolishly allowed me decorate my own room. I think they hoped I’d favour sophisticated salmon pink or soothing lavender. I actually opted for a postmodern self-conscious homage to the Teletubbies – namely lime green and purple passion, with a hint of turquoise. It looked like Tinky Winky and Dipsy had collaborated with Laurence Llewelyn Bowen. Delightful. 

At seventeen, I was keen to find out for myself whether blondes really have more fun. So I saved my pennies and took myself to the best hairdresser in town, who dyed my brunette tresses a sexy shade of ash blonde. I smiled at the hairdresser, paid him a massive tip for doing such a fabulous job, then ran to Boots, bought a brunette home hair dying kit for £2.99 and ran home to change it back immediately. I really should have read the instructions – as not only did I ruin a towel and stain my forehead, but my hair came out bright orange (and to clarify – I really do mean ORANGE, not ginger). Not quite the look I was going for. Hats were my favourite accessory that season.

I’m pleased to report that my fringe grew out, I disposed of my denim jacket/skirt combo and the pants-headgear incident was a one-off. The bedroom I share with my husband does not glow in the dark and although I still don’t know whether blondes have more fun, I can verify that oranges certainly do not.

Dear 12 year old me,

I have some good news and some not-so good news about the next 17 years. Where shall I begin? 

I Hate to be the One to Break it to You, but:

• You do not marry Ronan Keating. Or Kermit the Frog.
• As yet, there’s still no sign of hoverboards. (That Michael J Fox has a lot to answer for).
• Take That split up. Robbie Williams gets fat. Gary Barlow also gets fat.
• You haven’t yet holidayed in Space. Though you do get as far as Cyprus – and it’s fabulous. 
• In your quest to find a boyfriend who looks like Grant Mitchell - you end up dating a lot of men who look unfortunately like Phil Mitchell.

Great News!

• You are no longer a short-arse.
• You know that gawky looking fresh prince of Bel-Air? Think of him as an ugly duckling. 
• Gary Barlow gets fit. Take That reunite.
• We have progress: Hillary Clinton is now officially more powerful than her husband Bill. Rugby Union legend Gareth Thomas came out. A black man runs the White House.
• The Lion King returned to cinemas in 2011, this time – in high definition and 3D. You still remember (some of) the words.
• You fall in love and get married. Your husband makes you smile every single day. I am pleased to report –he looks nothing like Phil Mitchell. 

Spoiler Alert!

• That thing you’ve heard about called the internet? It’s going to be huge. It may even compensate for the lack of hoverboards.
• You change your mind about the whole teaching career thing. Have a Plan E.
• Princes William and Harry actually become borderline hotties. (Briefly).
• Beware: Facebook.

No need to thank me.

Yours,

Me (aged 29¼)

Kisses xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Please welcome back my fake childhood pen pal Angie, with another one of her charming letters from America in 1982:

October 30, 1982

Dear Jessica,

I was happy to learn in your last letter that your Queen says you can have Halloween in England and wear costumes and everything!  Is that why Elton John went on The Muppet Show dressed like a space princess?  I like when men wear glitter.

I hope your witch hat turned out nice!  I get to be an Indian for Halloween!  My mom sewed my dress and strung little beads on the fringe!  When Halloween is over, I hope to stick those beads up my nose!  I like costumes.

E.T. was a good movie.  I liked how Elliott sticks a thermometer onto a light bulb and so his mom thinks he has a fever and so then he gets to stay home from school.  I also like how he gets drunk.  Beer makes you funny.

Do you like scary movies?  This summer my mom dropped off me and my brother and his friend at the theater and we got to pick out what movie we wanted to see!  We went to see the movie Poltergeist, which film critic Joel Siegel described as “so scary I peed right through my brown polyester pants” and film critic Roger Ebert described as “so scary that the current qualifications for a PG rating might have to seriously be reconsidered” and psychologist Dr. Joyce Brothers described as “so scary that I hope no children were allowed to see it because no doubt those children will grow to be cognitively stunted adults and will never again be able to look at clowns or television sets or other humans without crying.”

It was scary.

I loved the toy pictures you enclosed!  I have a View-Master and a Spirograph set!  Is Teddy Ruxpin some kind of a Muppet?

Well, I need to go snort some Kool-Aid powder now.  Happy Halloween!

Your pen pal,

Angie

P.S. I’m very sorry about Tiny Tears doll.  Has your brother seen Poltergeist?

Meet my big brother – Chris.

Chris is 31 years old, bright, witty and intelligent. He is also a very busy and important banker person, who (as far as I can tell) either lives at the gym, or frequently juggles elephants.

Long before Chris took up juggling large mammals, he was simply my very annoying big brother.

In 1989, when I was seven years old – he decapitated my Tiny Tears doll. One day I might find it in my heart to forgive him. But until that time – I shall write incriminating fake pen pal letters about him, from seven year old me.

Read all about it here.

Someone really ought to learn from my mistakes, so please consider the following life lessons my gift to you:

• No matter how much your brother tries to convince you – it is never cool to staple your own thumb.
• Swimsuits don’t respond well to being ironed.
• Fish Fingers take approximately 12 minutes to cook. Not 4½ hours.
• Cut your own fringe at your peril.
• As an A-level student, resist the temptation to change your answer-phone message to something seemingly witty and hilarious, like “Hi this is the tumble dryer. The answering machine can’t get to the phone right now, so please leave a message after the beep”. University officials prefer not to liaise with kitchen appliances to congratulate you on your A-level results.
• You will not make friends and influence people in University Halls of Residence by singing along to Destiny’s Child ‘Independent Woman’ at 140 decibels at 4:00 am, regardless of the fact you split up with your boyfriend 20 minutes earlier. Nobody cares that you bought the shoes on your feet, the clothes you are wearing or the rock you are rockin’.

• ‘If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck’. This methodology is particularly useful when applied to picking a mate: If he looks like a Neanderthal, walks like a Neanderthal and barks like a Neanderthal, I assure you he is a Neanderthal. No need to waste time testing this theory; I’ve done the ground-work for you.
• If it looks like it might rain – this is because it is going to rain. Unless you want to model the ‘drowned rat’ look for the third time in a fortnight, I strongly recommend you bring your umbrella.
• Always check yourself in the mirror before leaving the house for work. You can just about get away with odd socks, but wearing your top inside-out in the boardroom will start rumours.
• Never be afraid to try new things - apart from cottage cheese with pineapple. Big mistake. Huge.

Methinks I owe you something of an apology for the last 29 years. I am truly sorry for:

• Absolutely anything I have ever made from papier-mâché.
• Singing the Annie soundtrack in every car journey for the first 6 years of my life.
• Singing The Little Mermaid soundtrack in every car journey for the following 6 years of my life.
• Polishing your beloved bronze candelabra with brass cleaner. 
• Retuning the piano.
• Using your favourite saucepan as fashionable headgear.
• Watching ‘An American Tail’ no less than 365 times in 1987.
• The many inedible breakfasts in bed I prepared for you in the 80s with peanut butter, sugar, chocolate spread, sugar, jam, sugar, burnt toast, sugar, Coco Pops and more sugar.
• Ironing my swimming costume and thereby invalidating your brand new iron’s warranty.
• Taking a large bite out of mum’s delicious berry Pavlova. I honestly didn’t know it was reserved for Grandma’s visit.
• Using three quarters of your bottle of Badedas when running my bath.
• Giving the dog a haircut with dad’s clippers.
• Accidentally hoovering up 362 drawing pins, in my highly scientific experiment to establish just how many drawing pins it takes to break a Hoover.

For reference – it’s 362.

With love and heartfelt apologies, your only favourite daughter,

Jessica xxx

As I get older however, I can’t help but have second thoughts. I’m arguably becoming something of a wimp in my old age. A wimp with a plentiful supply of knitted cardigans.

Given that the vast majority of our fears are learnt and not innate – I can’t help but wonder whether such defence mechanisms are saving us from grave peril, or merely being party poopers.

Things I Will Never Do Again* – Thanks to Fear:

*In my defence – I was a child for at least half of these.

• Wave a red flag at a bull – or the neighbour’s Billy goat.
• Staple my own thumb.
• Drench a beehive with my Super Soaker 3000. Bees clearly have anger management issues and do not want to talk about it.
• Jump out of a first floor window with a bath towel as my cape. It turns out that multicoloured glitter is an unsatisfactory substitute for fairy dust; even if next door’s Saint Bernard is there to break your fall. 
• Jump off a moving swing, vehicle or roundabout. Head-first.
• Mistake a mouse trap for a toy.
• Look a llama straight in the eye without expecting it to spit in my face. 
• Trust a seagull.
• Play with 2,000 volts. Peeing on an electric fence is NOT the same as licking an AA battery. No matter what your brother tells you. 

Things I Probably Should Have Done By Now, But Haven’t – Because of Fear:

I haven’t ventured into my garden shed, cellar, attic, or that curiously shaped cupboard under the stairs in over 5 years – due to my totally rational and not at all ludicrous fear of blood-sucking flying vampire spiders. 

My failure to perform eye-watering acrobatic feats whilst wing-walking 10,000 metres in the air, aboard the Utterly Butterly plane is due to a silly little fear of falling to my inevitable and somewhat premature death.

Which brings me back to the my concern of landing in shark-infested waters or being eaten by crocodiles.

Ultimately, my highly political, though as yet unwritten bestselling children’s book ‘Carlos the Crop-Dusting Cuban Caterpillar Becomes a Quality Cambodian Cardiologist’ would have been published by now if it wasn’t for my fear of failure. 

Darn you pesky fear! You’re the sole reason success has eluded me ’til now.

Now how do you spell Chrissaliss Cryssalis krisalis coccoon?

Having just returned from a delightful mini-break in Wales, my extensive Welsh repertoire now stretches to ‘llyn’, ‘araf’ and (my personal favourite) ‘popty ping’. In English, that’s ‘lake’, ‘slow’ and ‘microwave’ respectively. When the time comes for me to order a slow-cooking waterproof microwave (as it inevitably will) I shall be fully prepared.

Meet Kevin: The only person I know whose favourite meal is Indian curry from the Chinese takeaway. A man of good moral fibre, with an excellent golf swing, strong northern accent, heart of gold and impressive jumper collection. He is also my father-in-law. 

To mark Kevin’s forthcoming 70^th birthday – my husband, his sister Louise and I embarked on a top secret mission to make him happier than Mr Happy, in his happy shoes, eating happy cake, dosed up on happy pills, riding a happy hippo, on a particularly happy day in Happyville. 

Easier said than done.

So we decided to sneak up on Kevin at the end of Llandudno pier, during his annual trip to Welsh Wales – and commandeer his holiday. At which point his face looked a little something like this:

That evening, we took him out for a meal with some very important surprise family guests, who snuck up behind him and shouted “boo” (or something like that). Which resulted in his next facial expression: 

It was here that we gave him a little clue towards his actual birthday gift – in the form of a small train-shaped pewter key ring. Sadly, my inspired suggestion of a life-size cut-out of Thomas the Tank Engine was pooh-poohed, but I stand by the fact Kevin would have loved it. 

The gift? Well, what every red-blooded 3 year old boy and 70 year old man dreams of – no, not slaying a dragon (that was fully-booked). He was going to drive a real-life steam train.

The following morning we took Kevin to operate Thomas the Tank Engine Holy War. He might have been just a teeny bit excited.

In fact he spent much of the day so deliriously happy – that he definitely drove without due care and attention. 

Facing backwards whilst the vehicle is still in motion has got to be frowned upon at train driving school, surely? 

We joked that we had found him a lovely little field in the Welsh valleys where the four of us could stay in a one man tent for the night and cook baked beans over a campfire. Disappointingly, he was really quite excited by the prospect. Such a shame that we’d booked a 16^th century grade 2 listed cottage instead. Never mind – he was more than welcome to camp out back while we slummed it inside. 

The following day – we embarked on Snowdonia’s Mountain Precipice Walk – which turned out to be really quite high up and pretty precarious actually. They really should warn you about such things – with a clue in the title, or something.

Having managed to complete the trek without falling to our certain deaths, we celebrated back at the cottage with homemade cottage pie (no popty ping required). 

Yes, that’s right – we ate cottage pie.

In a cottage. Which BLEW MY MIND. (It was also pretty tasty – thank you husband).

For Kevin’s final birthday surprise – we made a little detour en route home – to visit other very important relatives, eat lunch, scoff cake and pay homage to a wonderful man.

I’m not entirely sure how to say “happy birthday to the greatest father-in-law a girl could ever wish for” in Welsh – so instead I shall raise my glass to Kevin and say simply “araf popty ping llyn”.

I assure you – the sentiment is the same. 

You’d think with skills like that – I could turn my hand to anything; but no. Ever since the great GI Joe – microwave incident of 1987, I have not considered myself a convincing liar. No matter how hard I tried to convince my mum that GI Joe entered the microwave of his own accord – she was having none of it.

So imagine my surprise recently when my chum Angie and I received such fabulous comments about the ‘adorable’ pen pal letters we wrote when we were seven – having actually written them a little more recently. Like, yesterday.

I assure you – we never intended to weave such a wicked web of lies. It turns out we are just better liars than I anticipated – which gives me hope for later today – when I have to explain that iron-shaped scorch mark on my husband’s favourite shirt. 

For the latest exciting instalment in the Dear Angie / Dear Jessica series – 1989-Angie explains to 1989-Jessica why Barbie really shouldn’t date Richard Simmons. For the record – I wholly concur.

September 1, 1982

Dear Jessica,

How are you?  I am fine still.  How are your brothers?  Tell them I said hi and that I have a brother too.  Your brother Joe looks nice.  Is he mean?

Thank you for your letter!  I was so happy when I got it that I forgot to close the mailbox door and my mom yelled at me.

I liked your drawing of Snoopy and a dolphin jumping on a rainbow.  I think Snoopy would like dolphins if he saw them.  I know he likes rainbows.  Do you think dolphins would like Snoopy if he held back his ears so they would think he was a dolphin like them?  Sometimes I push down my dog Bandit’s ears so he looks like a seal.  A seal is kind of like a dolphin but they have fur you can pet.  Do you like seals?

Thank you for the bracelet!  I hung your drawing of the giraffe in my Barbie’s house.

My Barbie likes Outsider Art.  She is a collector of fine things like giraffe drawings, gold stuff, lacey underwear and my mom’s earrings.  She also has shiny pink pants.  She can wear them because she doesn’t have to bend a lot.  Do you have Ken?  I don’t like Ken.  You can’t brush his hair because it’s plastic.  I saw a Ken once with real hair you can brush and he looked like Richard Simmons.  I like Richard Simmons but I don’t think he’s right for Barbie.  They both wear shiny pink pants but maybe they should just be friends.

My Barbie’s house is not real.  It’s just an orange crate we got from Florida but it looks like a house.  I thought I should explain that so you didn’t get jealous.  The orange crate house doesn’t have a pink elevator or anything but it’s a good place for her to sleep and practice her modeling. 

I think you would make a nice princess if William says you can marry him.  My neighbor’s name is William and he mows his lawn really loud.

I can’t be a princess but I can be President of America if I’m 35 and I wear suits and shake people’s hands and junk like that.  Does Margaret Thatcher do all that?

I have enclosed more Kool-Aid for your dog.  My dog eats cat poop and moths but maybe those things taste like Kool-Aid.  My chapstick tastes like Kool-Aid.  If you try some Kool-Aid, you’ll know what my chapstick tastes like. 

I have also enclosed a catalog picture of a Barbie house that isn’t an orange crate.

I better let you get back to drawing more pictures of Snoopy.  I hope you still like rainbows and dolphins!  Don’t forget to tell me if you like seals!

Your pen pal from the U.S.A.,

Angie, age 7

There was however one major problem and his name was Oliver. I was utterly convinced that as my big brother, he was put on this Earth solely to make me look bad. 

When Oliver was eight, he started programming computers. By nine – he moved on to assembler programming. It is fair to say he was a bit of a nerd and a total goddamn genius. This didn’t help much with his popularity at school, but it did put him on a path to greatness. 

With aspirations of world domination from a young age, Oliver founded his own internet solutions company in 2001. Silktide has grown at a compounded rate averaging 100% each year thereafter. My piggy bank contains 27 pence and 1 Euro.

When I’m bored – I like to see if I can lick the end of my nose. When Oli’s not preoccupied with taking over the world, he likes to set himself ludicrous challenges, like producing a work of art every day for 30 days.

Yes, he drew that. Annoying, isn’t it? His latest challenge was to take a photograph every day for 30 days, though current work in progress is an animated music video. He just needs to learn how to animate first. (Minor detail).

To pass the time, Oliver likes to run marathons, play a touch of Handel on the piano, strut his funky stuff at Salsa and Zumba classes and wrestle crocodiles. 

Okay, it was just the one crocodile – in Ghana. Following which, he narrowly avoided getting eaten by sharks in Barcelona. 

Charmed snakes in Moscow. 

And practised Yoga on top of The Grand Canyon. 

You can see why I have trouble. 

Inspired by the fabulous Project1979‘s Faces of 1979 – I thought I’d interview him. Here goes:

So brother, when did you first decide to take over the world?

Saturday, 11^th December 1993.

It looked like any other Saturday, until the news broadcasts started coming in. I didn’t want to – couldn’t – believe them at first, but there they were – confirmed relentlessly by multiple sources.

I knew then humanity needed my help; that conquering the planet may be their only hope of salvation. For Mr Blobby was #1 in the UK charts.

How does it feel to be so very busy and important?

Well for starters, I haven’t got time to answer that question.

What did it take for you to get to where you are today?

Our brother Chris has an opinion on this. He said “I’m like a smarter version of Oliver, except I don’t work as hard”. So I’m going to say it’s because I work hard. 

How did your time at school shape you as an adult?

School was not fun for me. Pretty much the only thing I enjoyed about school was studying; the rest of the time is a blurred montage of being thrown off moving buses and having my head smashed into sinks by classmates.

Turns out that’s not entirely without an upside. Almost as much as Mr Blobby’s sacrilegious ascendency to the charts, that quite painful time gave me motivation. Learning and creating things was what I enjoyed, so I focused on that.  Turns out it pays dividends later.

Where does your crazy ‘can do’ attitude come from?

This is going to sound weird, but mostly “computers”.

I began programming when I was 8. That taught me a tonne of things early: algebra, for instance, but also that these amazing plastic devices could accomplish things based entirely on our instructions.

You might think of this as a kind of mini Age of Enlightenment, compressed into my childhood. Rational thought, study, experimentation were all rewarded. The only limits were your own brain and willpower.

This was a great foundation for believing anything was possible, but I was still a pretty shy and awkward kid. Much of my adult attitude has come from relentlessly studying others, and getting things done. Confidence is earned, attitude can be learned. But not by sitting on your hands.

What’s the best piece of advice you have given or received?

Read the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.

I usually have several copies on hand and give them out with impunity. Anyone who masters the first habit will outperform 90% of people on the planet; master the first 3 and you’re nearer 98%.

I won’t pretend to have mastered any, but I re-read this almost every year.

From whom do you draw your greatest inspiration?

It’s really hard to narrow this down because I find many people inspiring for different reasons, and the kind of people who are truly great are usually so because they were quintessentially themselves. At a push, Steve Jobs.

Tell me about the highlight of your day.

I get to work on what I love and I get to decide what that is. 

What makes you feel proud to be part of our generation?

Being proud about something you never had control over seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? It’d be like being proud of having brown eyes.

Our generation is luckier than all the ones before us though.  No major wars, better education, technology, healthcare, mortality, freedom, equality, opportunity, knowledge, prosperity and best of all, The Internet. We owe all of that to the generations before us.

If you could get one thing back from your past, what would it be?

I’d probably insist that my mother didn’t cut my hair.