We even dream up our very own monsters


My taste in music? Crap. My voice, tone, clothes, recipes, ideas, certainly the ones about young teenage girls and selfies and Snapchat … that heavy eyebrows thing they like …. crap, crap and more crap.

And crap is just the polite word for it.

Who says so? Why my own full-time personal critic, my daughter K.

When she can be bothered coming off the phone to talk to me that is.

Talking crap? If it was an Olympic sport I’d sweep the medals, if there were awards for it I’d be a proper sleb, blinded by the paparazzi flashbulbs, I’d have red carpet fatigue …

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