Overlooking the glaringly obvious – like the fact I am a twenty-nine year old married graduate, with a mortgage and interest in current affairs, it hadn’t dawned on me until recently that I’m actually now a grown-up. When on earth did this happen and why didn’t anyone tell me?

In my defence – I still know all the words to Disney’s ‘Beauty and the Beast’ and the dance moves to ‘Backstreet’s Back’.

I was hoping this would be sufficient to keep me young, hip, happening and generally down with the kids, forever. Apparently not. It seems the following truths go against me:

I have no desire whatsoever to throw my knickers at Justin Bieber. A rock, perhaps…(Kidding, obviously).

I almost hyperventilated with delight when my brother gave me a toaster last Christmas.

My husband and I have an emergency fund, just in case:

The boiler breaks down.

I flood the bathroom for a second time.

I accidentally leave a fork in the microwave again.

I have more fruit, salad and vegetables in my fridge than wine or beer.

I can no longer go out three nights in a row and function normally. (Or at all, in fact).

The deciding factor for all shoe purchases is whether or not I will be able to walk in them for more than three minutes without being crippled or maimed. I’m sure this was never an issue in my teens.

I hugged, rather than swore at the cashier in the Poundshop who asked to see ID for my recent tin-opener purchase. Who knew you needed to be eighteen to gain access to chopped tomatoes?

I have an outfit in my wardrobe for every occasion – yet nothing to wear.

I own three houseplants, countless ornaments, roughly thirty-two spare light bulbs and a dozen scatter cushions.

The latter, incidentally serve no purpose whatsoever and should be outlawed. I’m starting a petition. Who’s with me?