When I was a little girl of nine I used to think old people were tremendously clever

They knew how to do things that I couldn’t, like buy houses and run bank accounts and navigate airports.  The fact that I didn’t know how to do these things did not worry me unduly.  I assumed that, given how complicated it was to live in the adult world, I would at some point be given lessons in how to be a grown up.

I imagined the curriculum: how to choose a car, cook a sausage, read a map, paint a ceiling and in those days, wire a plug.  Perhaps a course in household finances, covering stuff like how to buy insurance or qualify for a mortgage?  It was a given these lessons would occur; I could not imagine a society so irresponsible that it allowed a person loose in the world with no clue of how to be a proper grown up.

I waited patiently for my tuition to begin.  In the meantime I went to big school, and then bigger school, and then I sat exams and went to university.  And then I sort of managed to find a flat and a job and later a husband and some kids and a house and a mortgage.  I can’t quite remember how I managed all this. The details are a little hazy and my approach was haphazard; but nonetheless I managed although I have no idea how since I almost always have no idea what I’m doing.

There must have been a terrible mistake.  Someone has lost my file.  While you were all busy learning to be as organised and incredible as you all are, I got left off the list.  Did I miss a meeting?  I am definitely not a fully-fledged adult, you see. 

The skills I have acquired are eclectic to say the least.  I have no idea where my pension is, I can’t cook and I haven’t been to the dentist in at least two years. There’s bare plaster in my hallway, I can’t work my printer, and I have spectacularly forgotten every single family birthday so far this year.  I peer in awe and confusion at other people, you people, who appear completely in control of what you are doing.  Who have already started their Christmas shopping, know when half term is, do proper jobs, and have dinner parties.

On the plus side, I can pole dance and tell a good yarn, and my freakishly large hands make me your “go to” person for opening jars.  None of these things qualifies me for much, although I make a mean Cosmopolitan so most of my friends have forgiven me.

It’s my birthday next month.  I will be 42. I’m pretty sure that I should have got the hang of this by now but since I haven’t, I’ll continue to wait patiently.  I remain confident that any minute now someone from the Compliance Department of the University of Life is going to pitch up, apologise for the oversight, and show me how it’s done.