Yesterday I signed a contract for my soon-to-be employment. This will be my best-paid job yet (admittedly not difficult for a journalist. I was once asked if I was prepared to earn less than my then already embarrassingly low salary during an interview at Condé Nast. Needless to say, my new job isn’t in journalism). I’m in my 30s and starting to feel like a proper grown-up – I cook (with mixed results) for friends, I’m a book/booze club member and I have a walk-in wardrobe.

However, there remains much evidence that I still have some way to go before being a fully-fledged responsible adult:

• Hot Danish and I have awful rows. Last week I texted ‘leave me alone’ after refusing to answer his calls.
• I lose things – a lot. Currently, I can’t find my passport and I need it for a flight this weekend.
• There isn’t any money in my account (and I’m close to my overdraft limit).
• If anything goes wrong I call my mum despite the fact that she proffers the worst possible advice (which is usually ‘come home’).
• There is nail varnish and wine, but little else in the fridge.
• I can’t get through a day without chocolate.
• The last time my nephew stayed with me for a weekend I cried because our train journey was delayed.
• My mum looks after my cat.
• I don’t have any indoor plants.
• Or even a goldfish.