Letter to my 15 Year Old Self

Dear Little Me,

1) Enjoy looking at the balance of your Halifax Savings Account. The ‘pocket money ‘ you have in there is the highest amount of disposable income you’re ever going to have. Sad but true.

2) Stop making notes from ‘Just Seventeen’ magazine on how to make boys fancy you. Some will. Some won’t. It’s a chemical thing. You have no control over that.

3) You are not fat. Ok, so you’re curvy with a round face and you don’t have that elfin, androgynous figure that boys your age like. But those ‘hideous’ bits that you cry over right now, will be the very things that men like about you in a few years time. So go on, have that extra donut.

4) On the subject of donuts, when Dado brings a plethora of pasties and cakes on Wednesday and Friday nights, don’t worry about how much you’ve eaten. Enjoy every morsel, lick every crumb, because in a few years time you’ll be told you have an allergy to wheat and you’ll be subjected to a lifetime of gluten free bread. And gluten free bread is the saddest thing to happen inside anyone’s mouth. Ever.

5) And whilst we’re on the subject of mouths, stop thinking you’re a freak for not having had your first kiss yet. Spoiler alert: you’ll actually have your first kiss in a week’s time in the dark recesses of the Arch nightclub in Neath whilst off your face on your first can of Hooch.

6) For the love of Christ, take those rocks off your bedroom shelf! Ok, you’ve got a mad crush on the boy that sneaked them into your school bag and you want to keep them as a memento. But he didn’t put them in there because he fancied you. He wanted your bag to be too heavy to carry all the way home. Us grownups frequently refer to that kind of behaviour as bullying.

7) Please stop playing Celine Dion’s ‘Think Twice’ over and over again. It’s not good for your psyche. Believe it or not, you’re going to tire of her voice in about 2 years’ time. You will, however, never tire of Tracy Chapman or Dusty Springfield. The love that you have for both ladies shall be life-long.

8) Put your homework down and go outside. There is a whole world waiting for you and it won’t cave in if you bring home less than an A just this once. I understand what you’re doing, but no one ever saved their family from the dark times by learning facts about Nazi Germany and reciting them parrot fashion in an exam.

9) You will go to drama school in a few years time. The teachers will encourage you to say vowels over and over again, until all trace of your Welsh accent is smothered by Estuary English. But as soon as you graduate, 99 per cent of the acting jobs you get will call for you to use your Welsh accent. For the rest of your natural life, every time you meet someone new, they’ll say this: ‘ARE you Welsh? It’s just your accent is a bit muddled.’

10) At the same drama school, the singing teachers will attempt to completely change your voice because it’s ‘phenomenal but f**ked-up’ (these are the actually words your singing teacher, Jack, will use). You will spend literally YEARS trying to contort your voice into weird shapes and sounds to fake that all-coveted ‘legitimate’ musical theatre sound. After almost a decade of rejection you will wise up and go back to using the very voice you already have now, as a 15 year old. And it will be this voice, your authentic voice, that’ll get you paid gigs.

11) You’re about to embark on years of relationships dominated my friendship because you think it brings stability and some kind of intellectual justification. F**k friendship. You’ve got friends for that. Save yourself for someone who makes you light up like a human glowstick.

12) You know that absolute chemical certainty you have, that deep-down-in-your-DNA-knowing, that you’ll be a mother some day? Well enjoy it, relish it, savour it: every self-assured day-dream about what your babies will look like, how many there will be, the people they’ll grow into. Because there will come a day when you’ll lose all faith that you’ll ever be someone’s Mammy.

13) So you’re still burning with shame from last week – when you walked all the way home from school with your skirt unknowingly tucked up in your bag. I’m sorry to tell you that you need to get used to this feeling. Because it’s going to be an intrinsic part of you. You have something innate in you that draws embarrassing situations like moths to a flame. Just try and style it out as best you can.

14) You’re going to spend a disproportionate amount of time singing with Elvis impersonators. Don’t question it. Go with it. Good things are going to come from it.

15) Sometimes you find the noise in the house overwhelming. But get out of your bedroom and go downstairs. Because a series of decisions you make in your 20s will lead you away from your amazing family. And their absence will put a dent in your heart that nothing else will ever fill.

Copyright Kelly Rickard 11.08.14

Please like me!

Oh God. It’s exhausting, it really is: being one of life’s people-pleasers.

Only this morning, I was walking our dog, Otis, when he was attacked by another dog. And while my little treasure was being mauled, I spent the whole time apologizing to the other owner profusely. Worse than that, Otis has picked up my terrible penchant for pleasing others: as the other dog was tearing into him, Otis merely cowered and wagged his tail frantically, like a white (black in his case) flag of surrender.

I know what you’re thinking, I’ve written a thinly veiled account on ‘look how nice I am’, but no, I promise you, it’s not nice. I suppose it’s quite arrogant, really, to think you can keep the whole world happy.

No, it’s not nice. It’s an affliction. And it affects every area of my life.

Lets take…meal times. Just last week I selected a Mexican street food van in London for lunch for my family. When, unsurprisingly, there was nothing there for my ten year old niece to eat (what ten year old wants Mexican street food?), I was so worried that I’d ruined everyone’s lunch, that I burst into tears and…ruined everyone’s lunch: an alarmingly frequent self-fulfilling prophecy of mine.

Dinner parties at other people’s homes can also be particularly treacherous territory for me. I’m Coeliac (allergic to wheat and gluten), and most people just can’t seem to get their head around it (‘You can eat bread, right?’). But if the food has been cooked and put in front of me, I just can’t bring myself to say ‘no’ (it’s just too rude!) And even when forced to be honest by my husband, I find myself playing it down so they won’t think I’m a drama queen, ‘oh no, no, the allergy isn’t serious. What’s a bit of infertility and bowel cancer between friends? Pass me the breaded mushrooms.’

Oh and the trauma, the absolutely devastating trauma, when I find that someone doesn’t like me (a shiver runs through me as I type the very words). My poor, pathetic heart just can’t seem to cope with that simple fact of life: not everyone will like you. I was working on one show where the other singer just…well, she hated me, for want of a prettier, more euphemistic phrase. She told me I should buy ‘Singing for Dummies,’ and she spread a rumour that I’d had a threesome with two of my cast members (Ha! A people-pleaser in a threesome: can you imagine? No established etiquette, all those parts to keep happy, the balls to juggle, the ‘No, you first,’ ‘No, you go first,’ ‘No, really, I don’t mind…’ It would be disastrous.) Of course, with hindsight, I should have confronted her. Instead I lay awake at night trying to think of ways to change her opinion of me.

Work is particularly tricky: my people-pleasing won’t allow me to sell myself (no one likes a big head, right?), so I stay quiet about any qualifications or experience I’ve got, and nod my head and smile at the the ten-year-old-with-one-good-spelling-test-behind-him who just got promoted above me. I’m so bad at selling myself that at my own wedding, when my lovely, proud dad started boasting about my A/level and degree results during his speech, everyone burst out laughing – they assumed he was joking.

Teaching, as a people-pleaser, is particularly tricky. I live in constant fear that I’ll turn X Factor on, and one of my ex-students will be up there humiliating themselves, and it’ll be my fault, because I wasn’t brave enough to tell them they’re an absolutely shocking singer.

And it’s even worse with young children. Once, I’d been leading a workshop for 8 year olds (for a full 90 minutes) before a little boy said, ‘Howay, man, are you the teacher, like? Whey, I never! I thought you were just playing, like the rest of us…’

Oh and the subtext! I read subtext into everything. Someone could text me a completely innocuous ‘How are you?’ with a harmless smiley face at the end, but for me that opens a whole can of worms: Why would they think I’m not ok? Have I said something that worried them? Do they want me to ask them back because there’s something wrong with them and they need to talk? And why the smiley face, and not a kiss? Have I upset them?

See, exhausting!

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this.

No, I mean it, I really hope you did.

You did, didn’t you?

Oh God, why aren’t you saying thing? I haven’t offended you, have I?!

Copyright Kelly People-Pleasing Rickard May 2014

My friends have been chosen by God

Ok. That’s it. I can’t stay quiet about it any longer. I’ve tried. Really, I have. I’ve bitten my bottom lip. I’ve sat on my hands. I’ve made several cups of tea (after releasing my hands). But if I don’t write about this matter immediately, I shall burst.

There is a word. A word which has crept into public consciousness in recent years. A word originally reserved for the most sacred of situations, but now bandied about ill-advisedly everywhere, like a flasher’s erection.

‘What is this malaprop?’ I hear you ask. Could it be the word, ‘literally’? A word intended to mean ‘actually’, ‘exactly’, ‘word for word’, ‘verbatim’? A word also so acceptably misused on a daily basis that even our deputy prime minister has spoken of people ‘literally living in other galaxies’? (Does he know something we don’t?)

No, a close runner up but no cigar for ‘literally.’

The Winner of Most Malignant Malaprop 2014 is… drum roll please…. BLESSED. As in ‘I am feeling blessed.’

It has been all over my Facebook and Twitter feeds in the past few months. This word is so popular that the Little Feelings people at Facebook HQ (you know, those people whose job it is to decide what feelings warrant their own emoticon face), have elected to give ‘blessed’ it’s own facial expression: the one with a smug smile and a halo above its head.

There are many of you who are taking advantage of this new emoticon. I just have to know one thing: ARE you? Are you actually, LITERALLY, feeling blessed?

Do you genuinely think you have been selected by God? Are you convinced that The Lord pre-ordained you? Do you feel yourself worthy of worship? Because this is what the word actually means and this is what you are saying to the rest of us poor ordinary strugglers when you use it.

Now, if you literally (there he is again, our worthy silver medalist) believe God has marked you with a cross, chosen you as His, a la The Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, then go ahead, use it. Tell the world you are blessed because you’re pregnant, or pre-ordained because you got that gig you’ve wanted for a while. Bask in the warmth of your wondrousness, frolic about in this unknown-to-me feeling.

And I won’t say a word. I won’t. I won’t say that I think you’re just a lucky f**ker (sorry for the language, Mam, I couldn’t ignore the opportunity to use a double whammy: assonance AND rhyme!). I wouldn’t dream of calling you a cocky shite. And the fact that you might be self-deluded to the point of psychosis wouldn’t even enter my head.

But if, like me, you’re one of those ordinary human types, who avoids the cracks in the pavements, keeps her fingers crossed and prays to someone, ANYone for it all to be alright in the end then join me in this fight. Let’s stop this evil trend.

Share this, retweet it, let’s spread the word. Although not literally…

Copyright Kelly Rickard.

Why I’ll Never Be A Chick Lit Heroine

Why I’ll Never Be a Chick Lit Heroine

There are some fantastic female writers out there, @lisajewelluk and @MarianKeyes being two of my favourites. But there are also some not so fantastic female writers out there, (possibly unwittingly) lying to themselves and us, their female market, about what to expect out of life. Here’s why I would never be cast as a character in one of their novels.

Chick Lit Lie: The main woman always puts on a slick of lip gloss and some mascara and she’s good to go.
Kelly Truth: If I go out with just mascara and a slick of lipgloss on, I spend the entire day being asked if I have the flu.

Chick Lit Lie: She has no idea that she’s beautiful but at least two men fancy her.
Kelly Truth: I could count on one hand the amount of men that have really, truly fancied me (as opposed to the ‘I might, if she begged’ fancying kind). And they never come along in twos.

Chick Lit Lie: She’s hardly ever in work but somehow manages to afford a Burberry bag, Manolo Blahnik heels and a cashmere jumper.
Kelly Truth: I spend my life in work and I couldn’t tell you the last time I bought something that was over £10.

Chick Lit Lie: When she is in work she spends the entire time flirting with her sexy, stubbly male boss or exchanging hilarious emails with her best friend.
Kelly Truth: All of my bosses are female (hooray!). And there ain’t no time for emailing when you’ve got 28 teenagers waiting for you to teach them, or a 150 drunk wedding guests waiting to be entertained…

Chick Lit Lie: She gets depressed for a chapter and loses weight WITHOUT NOTICING (no actual human woman ever loses weight without noticing). And it’s always just in time for the conference/ball/wedding/ bumping into her ex moment.
Kelly Truth: Last time I had a Bumping Into an Ex Moment – I was hungover, wearing no make up, had leaked a bottle of water all over my crotch, had a spot that had just pussed all over my chin, and was crying after an argument with a friend. Bet he was dying to ask me back though…

Chick Lit Lie: She has an amazing best friend who is funny, quirky, supportive and available 24 hours a day.
Kelly Truth: Actually I do have some pretty amazing friends but I’m lucky if I get to spend 24 hours a YEAR with them.

Chick Lit Lie: She also has an amazing gay best friend who is funny, quirky, good with make up and available 24 hours a day.
Kelly Truth: Actually this is the one point on which I beat Protagonist girl. I am an actor so I have LOADS of gay friends. Both in and out of the closet. So there.

Chick Lit Lie: The sheer amount of TIME she has. Always meeting friends for coffees, having hours of sex with handsome strangers, having long, languid morning afters with handsome strangers, visiting department stores, going to gigs and after-show parties, beauty salons and cocktail bars, writing articles and taking mini breaks in Paris.
Kelly Truth: I have 3 jobs and a band. I’m lucky if I manage to fit sleep in, let alone anything else.

Chick Lit Lie: The leading man is always a foot taller than her and she loves it.
Kelly Truth: As someone whose 5ft 2 I’ve been out with plenty of men who are a foot taller than me. It’s fine – as long as you’re content with a permanent crick in your neck.

Chick Lit Lie: The leading man always has a perfectly toned body but never goes to the gym.
Kelly Truth: If you actually want a man with a perfectly muscly, inverted triangle of a torso, be prepared to spend LOTS of time on your own whilst he’s at the gym, and the rest of the time being bored out of your brain while he talks about the gym.

Chick Lit Lie: The leading man is invariably the Head of the Corporation in the city of London, but still has his regional accent.
Kelly Truth: There has NEVER been a successful Head of a Corporation in London who still has an Irish/Northern/Welsh accent. They’ve all had it battered out of them by the Old Boy’s Network (I could have said something a lot worse here…) .

Chick Lit Lie: Even though he’s a millionaire Head of Corporation type, he always has time for the girl: meeting her for lunch, whisking her away on mini breaks. To Paris.
Kelly Truth: Hugely successful men have reached such a status by making work their priority. You will never be top of this man’s list. Besides, his commute alone takes him two hours-the poor little soul will be sleeping in your lap before you’ve even had a chance to get the Paris brochure out.

Chick Lit Lie: He’s amazing at ‘dirty talk.’
Kelly Truth: It is impossible for a man to be good at talking dirty, until we re-write the names for female body parts. Boobs: Too Page 3. Breasts: something that lies frozen and dismembered at the bottom of your freezer. T/ts: Too full of consonants and sweary. And don’t get me started on the plethora of names for the other bit.

Chick Lit Lie: And as for the sex, well… The man never wears a condom but she remains totally STD-free and never falls pregnant. There’s no mention of how she takes care of her lady garden but its always, miraculously, a perfect landing strip (even though the sex was completely unexpected). He’s a Derren Brown in the bedroom, hypnotising her with his hips, making her come and go like the ebbing and flowing of the sea: he’s a veritable sex magician. And the acrobatic prowess she and he display together! He can lift her up against a wall whilst also managing to have both hands in her hair.
Kelly Truth: if a man managed to hold me up against a wall with just his hips, I’d ruin the moment by slipping down the wall in shock and telling him he should go on Britain’s Got Talent.

And that is why I shall never be a chick lit heroine. Sigh.

(As always, don’t take anything I say too seriously. I never do.)

Kelly Rickard xxx
Copyright April 2013.

50 Shades

50 Shades

I gave in to the social pressure. I read it. I had to – just to be able to join in conversations again. What hype there has been. If claims are to be believed it’s set sales of sex toys soaring, ordinary women are investing in extravagant pieces of lingerie, it’s even caused a baby boom. Not since Harry Potter has a man with props caused such excitement. Facebook statuses and tweets across class divides and generation gaps seem to concur that this book is something very new and something very exciting. So much so that within weeks of publication just calling the book by the first two words of its full title was enough to raise a wink or a cheeky smile between women. On public transport, around hotel pools, in staff rooms, women everywhere carry their copies, wearing them as a badge of honour. I suggest that they see it as their two fingers up to their husband/boss/father/miscellaneous male, a way of saying ‘We’re in a secret sexy women-only club that you can’t join. Nah nah nah nah nah’. So I’m taking a risk in what I’m about to say now, risking the fact that I won’t be allowed to join this Club, potentially alienating myself from the rest of womankind, but here goes: I don’t get it. It didn’t excite me. It bored me. And here’s why.

In order to be turned on by what two characters get up to in the bedroom (or as is the case with this book, the ‘Red Room’) I the reader need to fall a little bit in love with the both of them. I don’t even LIKE these two. I’m assuming ‘Grey’ and ‘Steel’ were intended to make us think of hard, shiny, phallic things – gun metal maybe, or money and excess. Unfortunately their specific brand of greyness is, for me, more the type associated with bland old underwear or cheap prison porridge. Our female protagonist is traditionally a better version of ourselves, someone we can relate to or aspire to become. This one is a wet (no pun intended) blanket with no ideas or opinions of her own, no spunk(!) if you like, who cries continually and constantly forgets to eat lunch! What sort of woman forgets to eat lunch? How can I relate to THAT?!!! And him?! I was expecting to read a character who re-defined masculinity, stretched the boundaries of our imaginations, made all of us women want to hold out for a better, newer version of what it is to be male. Instead, he’s a grumpy, selfish, ginger, 26 year old bully with long thing fingers. And he’s a pianist! Was there ever a less sexy instrument for our fantasy man – our ‘Mantasy’ if you will- to play? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not magically immune to ‘the musician thing’. So a guitarist is apparently good with his hands, a drummer has excellent rhythm and brass players are rumoured to be clever with their mouths. I get it. But a pianist?! It just makes me think of Art Garfunkel or Barry Manilow – privileged, sensitive types who were bullied at school so their wealthy parents paid for lots of extra-curriculur lessons for fear that otherwise THEY should have to spend time with their odd little son.

And as for his penchant for sadism, I have no issue with consenting adults indulging in dominant/submissive role-play. But let's not pretend its NEW. What's new about a man who will dominate a weak-willed woman? It's been happening since time began. So he's got a dark room with lots of gadgets in it? His 'Red Room of Pain' just conjures up images of the average teenaged boy's bedroom for me. Step inside one of those and you'll find things a hundred times scarier than a pair of love eggs and a leather flogger. As for the way the mild sado-madochism makes our 'leading' (as if) lady feel, she's degraded, confused, she's emotionally at his beck and call – and this is sexually liberating for women?! How? Far from doing something new, he's actually a bit behind the times with his props too. He doesn't need a whip to make her feel degraded. Just a few ignored texts and unanswered calls will do that.

I feel genuinely sorry for the generation of girls growing up after ours. We gave them the ‘Twilight Saga’ first, which taught them to abstain from their sexual desires for fear that, should they succumb, they A) would have the blood sucked out of them by a vampire and thus become bloodsucking murderers themselves or B) be mauled to death by a wolf (albeit a wolf with waxed pecs). And now, we’ve given these young women Christian Grey: a controlling half-arsed-pervert whose only defence is the Jeremy Kyle justification – that he had a messed up childhood. Uh…it’s 2012. If something dysfunctional DIDN’T happen in your childhood then you haven’t lived. The book suggests to these post-Twilight girls that if they hang on in there and just bite the pillow during the odd bit of abuse then they might just get rewarded with everlasting love. They might, in fact, just be the one that this man changes for. Oh dear God.

Now I know that there is a recession on. I can see the appeal of a man with money. As a girl who has suffered on public transport for years, the thought of being taken everywhere on a private jet is quite nice. Plus, I like to make an entrance. But my issue is, he didn’t MAKE this money. It was handed to him on a silver platter at about the same time that his new Mummy shoved the silver spoon into his miserable little mouth. Yes, success can be sexy, money can be moreish, power can be well, powerful. But a little rich boy that didn’t work for a penny of his money, success or power? Hmmm, not so much. And let’s say he was to spoil you with his Mummy’s money – if he took you out for a posh meal, for example, you couldn’t choose what you wanted from the menu. He’d do that for you. How crap is that?!

Perhaps the one element of his portrayal that I agree is appealing is this: he constantly keeps in touch with her. The older generation would say that he ‘chases’ her. In the age of the passive aggressive male trying desperately hard to claw back some semblance of control over women by ignoring their texts and phone calls, playing boring, predictable mind games and dragging their feet over commitment, I can see the attraction of a man who constantly calls, emails and follows you around in his helicopter. But let’s get real here. He’s contacting you to get you to sign a contract. A contract. Form filling is mind-numbingly boring at the best of times but in the beginning of a relationship?! He’s like an annoying, overbearing estate agent – not a lover.

To be fair to the lad I can understand why he wants to cause her pain. If I had to cope with her constant simpering and blushing and unfathomable indifference to food, not to mention her inability to understand what a SUBconscious is despite being an English Graduate, I’d want to whip her into next week as well. I’m guessing that the reason he wants her to eat all the time is because she can’t harp on about her inner goddess when her mouth is full.

Just to be clear I’m not trying to be mean to E L James, she obviously understands a great deal more about female sexuality than I do. Hats off to her success. And I’m not judging ANY woman who enjoyed reading it. I’m just sad that the book that finally made it ok for women to openly talk about their desires and fantasies is this one. A story where our main man laughs at our leading lady instead of listens to her, dreams of causing her pain instead of pleasure, wants to gag her instead of hearing her speak, and wants to blindfold her rather than showing her the world – a story where the man wants to keep her tied up rather than setting her free.

Copyright Kelly Rickard September 3rd 2012

What the Relationship Book Won’t Tell You…

What the Relationship Books Won’t Tell You about Surviving the Love Jungle.

(If you’re male, don’t bother reading on. Chances are it’ll make you feel objectified and degraded. And we would hate for you to feel the way that we’ve been feeling… for THE LAST TWO THOUSAND YEARS!!!)

1) If you’re on a first date, ignore all that ‘ask him loads of questions’ advice. It will FREAK him out for two reasons. For 1, he’ll feel interrogated. And 2, his brain is slower than yours so he won’t cope well with the rapid changes in subject.

2) If he says he’s never looked at porn, he’s one of three things: lying, repressed or asexual. None of these is a good option for you.

3) If you never catch him looking at other women, he’s gay. Run.

4) If you always catch him looking at other women, he’s a disrespectful @@@@. Run faster.

5)If he starts spouting the ‘I love you, I’ve never felt this way before’ cliches within the first few months, do NOT (no matter how tempting it is) respond in a mutual manner. Society is full of double standards – if a man says ‘I love you’ early on you’ll deem it cute, if a woman does, he’ll deem you a psychotic bunny boiler and run screaming for the hills. Even if he said it first.

6) If he tells you he prefers you without your make up on, he’s lying. Through his teeth. While it is tempting to get the wipes out and the joggers on, do this at your peril. There are, however, two exceptions to this rule: 1) If you work on the stage and therefore your make up routine results in you resembling Lily Savage. 2) If you are really bad at applying make up (and therefore your make up routine results in you resembling Lily Savage…).

7) So you’ve survived the ‘dark times’ of the early days when your head hurts from staring at your mobile screen so much and your heart hurts from willing the damn thing to bleep. You’ve gone and got yourself a boyfriend. Congratulations! First hurdle over.

8) Think of your new boyfriend as a lovable but stupid Labrador puppy who needs lots of guidance and clear boundaries. Discipline him harshly when he has been bad and give him a treat when he’s been good. A simple but effective technique.

9) A word about labeling. Never be the first to label yourselves as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend.’ He needs to think it was all his idea. The North/South divide is never more evident than here. You may be ‘seeing’ a Southern man for years before you officially progress to ‘going out.’ A Northern man will be calling you ‘his’ lass from the moment you meet. Try not to be offended by the implied ownership – he means well.

10) Before you get in any deeper, now is a good time to start testing him for wife-battering potential (don’t miss out this stage – domestic violence is the number one killer of women in the UK today. Fact.). Find his Achilles heel and go for it. Repeatedly. Subtly at first and then up the ante until you finally evoke a response. If it took ages for him to react, good news, you’re probably going to live! If he NEVER EVER loses his temper however beware! He is probably doing sneaky passive-aggressive things to you all day long. See the 1940s film ‘Gaslight’ for examples of this behaviour (the man keeps switching off the gaslight and denying it so that the woman thinks she is going insane. The ending isn’t pretty.)

11) Beware of slipping into a ‘damsel-in-distress and her hero’ dynamic. It may be cute in the beginning when he calls you ‘dippy’, ‘dappy’, ‘blonde’ and it may feel lovely when he laughs at your feigned uselessness and then comes to your aid but a few years down the line and you’ll both start believing the act. He’ll have lost all respect for you and, this is infinitely worse, you’ll have lost all respect for yourself. Picture yourself naked and shaking in the corner of a room somewhere, jobless and friendless (you stopped being able to dress yourself and your friends got fed up of hanging around with a complete sap). This should be enough to frighten you away from this kind of behavior early on.

12) It takes a confident man to be with a clever woman but do not dumb down to make him feel better about himself.

13) Do not waste your time on men who use a ‘difficult childhood’ as an excuse to be all flakey and non-committal on you. It’s an excuse. And a crap one at that.

14) So… You’ve been officially going out for a few months and you’re sure that he’s not a wife batterer, not gay, and not a flakey time-waster. Yeay! You will start to relax. Unfortunately, so will he. He will wrongly assume that he doesn’t need to romancify you anymore. Now, this is so unromantic but so necessary: you must TELL him what you need eg. a date every week, a text every lunch break, flowers once a month – whatever is important to you. Remember, he is a Labrador. You must train him. You are setting a pattern for your future happiness together. Get your wish list in now…while he is still listening to you.

15) At this stage it’ll be tempting to give up all your hopes, dreams, wishes, friends and hobbies and just sit at home, smugly basking in the warmth and glory of your so-far so-good relationship. DO NOT DO THIS! Keep your life full of wonderment and continue doing all the things that made you happy when you were single. But don’t do it for the reason the books tell you to, ‘because men love happy women’, that’s pathetic. Do it for yourself.

16) If at this stage you get irritated at that old cliche ‘you’ll know when you’re with The One’, it’s only because you aren’t. With The One, that is. End it. Nicely, of course. He may act like a Labrador but he is in fact human.

17) Never understood that cryptic 1950s advice that your mother gave you to ‘keep the mystery’? She was telling you not to wee in front of him or let him in the bathroom when you’re getting rid of facial hair.

18) Whatever you do, don’t listen to those stupid books that tell you that friendship is more important than physical attraction. You’ve got other people in your life for friendship. You NEED to fancy the pants off him ‘cos it’s the only thing that’s going to keep bringing you back together when your male/female differences are driving you insane.

19) If he’s gone a little bit quiet, don’t kid yourself that his silence is a sign that he’s having all kinds of intellectual, interesting, analytical thoughts. They aren’t like us. (It’s not just the Dalai Lama that can make his mind go completely blank. They all can.)

20) So you think you’re with The One? I’m sorry to tell you this but he will not be thinking the same. He’s just thinking (at least he IS thinking something…) ‘I’m happy at the moment. That’ll do for now.’

21) Do not be tempted to start dropping ‘hints’ like singing ‘If you like us then you shoulda put a ring on it’ whilst doing the hoovering. Yes, men are a bit stupid. But they are not that stupid.

22) Many books will tell you not to have the ‘Where do you see this going?’ conversation. When the alternative is you, aged 40, with one hopeful egg left, and shattered self esteem from waiting round trying to figure out if he ‘is ready’ or not, you will be sorry you never had The Conversation. Happily married women who tell you that they never had to have that conversation are one of 3 things: lying, married to a gay man, or born under a lucky star.

23) Be wary of a man that shows no interest whatsoever in your friend’s children.

24) Be even more wary of a man that shows a bit too much interest in your friend’s children.

25) If you’ve fallen in love with someone good and proper then rip up the relationship books, ignore all these daft tips, switch OFF your brain, switch ON your instincts and open your heart. Make a fool of yourself, go after him with everything you’ve got and enjoy every delicious/painful/amazing/confusing moment, because you may only get to feel like this once.

Copyright Kelly Roberts Jan 2012.