|Me, sporting some fabulous beads, and my mum, Lyndy, who passed away when I was 25|
So, like Johnny Ball, I will reveal all...
My first boyfriend – if you can call the boy who I exchanged Snoopy Valentine’s Day cards and hung out with at the monkey bars during break time, ‘a boyfriend’ – was called James Hunt.
James was in my class at primary school, a teeny, weeny school in the teeny weeny village of Frieth.
The son of a farmer, I recall going to James’ house for a birthday party, where the only entertainment laid on was to ‘pet his ferret’.
That’s not a euphemism.
First person I kissed?
James and I were little more than friends who swapped novelty rubbers now and again, so the hot stuff only started when I started at secondary school.
I remember being invited to a girl’s party where we played spin the bottle. I had to kiss a boy from the neighbouring boy’s grammar school, called Mark. He had a receding chin (quite a difficult thing to achieve at 13) and wore a cricket jumper.
I was horrified as he tried to make the kiss more exotic by putting his tongue in my mouth. I squealed.
After graduating from Leeds university with my degree in English Literature and Theatre Studies (I quickly ditched the theatre studies part after my first successful audition was to win a part on a topless stone age darts programme) I returned to my lovely home town of High Wycombe.
The first job I took was at one of those hideous telephone research centres for minimum slave, no sorry, minimum wage, where you call people at home to take part in market research interviews.
I was shown to my booth (also known as ‘a trap’) which contained a telephone, a script, a knackered old computer system and some pornography. I don't think the pornography was meant to be there but clearly the last trap occupant had had some time to kill between calls.
Naturally the job was hell (‘Piss off will you love, Countdown’s started’) but my fellow trap occupants were wonderful.
An enclave for post graduates (not to mention some of the human race's finest broken biscuits who also needed to buy cigarettes and provide their mum’s some rent), it is to date, one of the funniest places I have ever worked.
What did you buy with your first pay packet?
Gosh, something sophisticated like 600 Marlboro lights and a bottle of Pol Remy.
First album you remember buying?
It was an album by eighties dazzling pop duo, Dollar. My 11-year old self was utterly smitten with David Van Day. The toad.
First holiday abroad?
My parents were quite young and rock and roll so we used to pile into a jeep and go camping in the South of France. I loved it, as being an only child, we used to go with another couple (‘Bryan and Sylvie’) and their three daughters.
Our parents drank like fish for two weeks whilst we lived like feral children, playing in the dirt and eating sunflower seeds. Holidays like this would end up in the Daily Mail now.
How old were you when you left home?
I never left. Sadly, my mum passed away when I was 25, so I inherited home. I also inherited mum’s 170 year old shih tzu, Mr Toad.
Both Mr Toad and the house were a weight around my neck in my mid twenties but I came to love them both dearly.
Mr Toad died a few years ago (he’s fertilising a white standard rose in the back garden) but the house is now home to me, my partner Matt, a filmmaker, and our two-year old daughter.
So now i get to foist my meme baton on to another two bloggers.
This can be time consuming, especially the remembering part, so no pressure if you don't have the time or the will to take part. However, if you can find time in your child-addled lives, mother.wife.me and Shouty Dad I am sure you will find this an enriching exercise. But mostly I'd like you to do it so I can have a squiz at your answers.