anxiety

8 thoughts it’s totally normal to have when you’re pregnant (I hope)

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8 thoughts it's totally normal to have whilst pregnant (I hope)“Oh my goodness, WHAT HAVE WE DONE”

There isn’t a bone in my body that isn’t happy that I’m pregnant (except perhaps the ones in my poor, squashed pelvis). But that doesn’t stop me feeling a bit panicked about the effect this decision will have on our life. So many of the things we can currently just do – go for dinner, bugger off on holiday, dance into the night at 28 weddings a year – are going to be either off the table or a much more complex process.

Parenthood will undoubtedly bring a world of joy and discovery like we’ve never known before too, and I can’t wait. But you’re still allowed to have moments to think “WOAH WE DID NOT FULL CONSIDER THE IMPACT THIS WOULD HAVE ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF COOL EATERIES,” too, I feel.

“It would be great if I could just not be pregnant for this hour/day/moment”

I am incredibly happy to be pregnant and grateful for the opportunity to have a child. That being said, the total takeover of your body is no small deal. Heartburn is a daily occurrence. My back hates me. My lower regions sometimes feel like they’re all just going to fall out. So it’s a bit tough and therefore inevitable that every now and then you wish you could have a brief break. That you had the option to pop your tummy and the baby down somewhere safe while you do the big shop or mop the floor without getting puffed out.

It’s worth every second of discomfort, of course, but it’s also OK to wish for the occasional bit of time off.

“What if my child thinks I’m a loser?”

I’m not scared that my baby won’t think I’m cool, I know they won’t think I’m cool. That’s the deal when you’re a parent, as I understand it. I just keep wondering what they’ll think about what I’ve done with my life. I have a terrifying vision of them being asked what their mother does and them saying “Well, she dicks about on the internet and talks a lot about writing, but I’m not sure if she’s really ever done anything.”

Every milestone makes us feel the need to assess whether we’ve lived a worthwhile life, so I guess it’s inevitable that pregnancy would do the same thing.

“But… we have absolutely no idea what we’re doing”

We didn’t have to take an exam to establish our abilities to look after another human being. We were free to get pregnant and then deal with the consequences. And it dawns on me a good few times a day – particularly at night when I’m definitely at my most rational – that we have absolutely no idea what we’re doing. If parenting was just cuddles and saying “HELLO SAUSAGE!” into a baby’s face every few minutes, we’d have it nailed, but I hear there’s more to it than that.

Everybody I’ve spoken to about this says that everyone feels the same way, which is reassuring. Perhaps if every parent wore a badge that said “I am making all of this up as I go along” we’d all feel better.

8 thoughts it's totally normal to have when you're pregnant (I hope)“If I’m not careful, one of these days I’m just going to wet myself”

Our baby can now put more pressure on my bladder than I’m comfortable with. With one kick or punch, they’re able to test my pelvic floor more than any yoga or pilates class ever could. He or she enjoys challenging me at the most inconvenient times – in the middle of wedding ceremonies, in meetings, during my commute. I’ve managed to stay on top of it so far, but the risk of a sudden damp incident has never been so real.

“Perhaps it won’t hurt that much after all?”

At prenatal yoga, the teacher gets us into positions that’ll be particularly ‘helpful’ when giving birth. The problem is, I’m in such denial about ever having to give birth that I tell myself this doesn’t really apply to me. I know the baby’s in there – the sight of my slowly expanding stomach is a handy reminder – but their exit isn’t something I’ve faced up to yet.

I think it’s human nature when faced with a major feat to either catastrophise or naively assume it’ll be OK. And although I do not believe for a second that it’ll be anything other than the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, I can’t face that thought yet. Not properly. So, to help protect me from the truth, my brain keeps suggesting that maybe it’ll be all right. You know, not as bad as EVERY SINGLE WOMAN IN THE WORLD says.

Could happen, guys. Could happen.

“Life would be so much easier if it was socially acceptable to just make whatever noise you need to, when you need to”

I can no longer put on shoes, sit in a chair, get out of bed, or lift anything whatsoever without groaning. My chest and throat are home to such levels of acid reflux that I could burp or hiccup or both at any moment. And what pregnancy does to an already fragile digestive system, well, let’s just say, it doesn’t make it more predictable.

So, for those of us juggling a world of unexpected occurrences within our bodies, life would be a lot simpler if we could just let all the sounds happen, without fear of funny looks/social exclusion. But alas, we do not live in such a society, so I save as many groans and throat-based surprises as I can for the comfort of my own home.

“I just don’t want to let anybody down”

Although you know you’re not doing it on your own, there’s no denying that physically being pregnant is very much a one person job. So it’s normal to feel the weight of that responsibility. And with that comes a fear that you’re somehow going to ‘do it wrong’ or let people down.

There’s only so much you can control, of course. You can look after yourself, read all the advice, and ask for help when you need it. But you’re just going to have to take it day by day and expect the unexpected.

Nonetheless, it’s only normal to be afraid and it’s healthy to admit how you feel. Acknowledging that something this life changing puts as much pressure on your mind as it does your womb can only help to make us all feel less alone.

Body image: Why we shouldn’t feel ashamed when we change

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Body image: Why we shouldn't feel ashamed when we changeWhen I was first pregnant I found myself automatically apologising to my husband for the fact that my body would change.

And this is weird on several levels. Firstly, OF COURSE it’s going to change. How could you grow a new person within your own body without needing to make a little room?

Secondly, I didn’t do this on my own. I’m not going to draw you a picture but getting pregnant is very much a two person job and one we did on purpose. So, actually, I haven’t changed my body, we have.

And thirdly, why would a physical change require an apology anyway? Changing is what bodies do. We get older, we do varying levels of exercise, we experiment with the volume of Nobbly Bobbly ice creams we can consume during the summer months… We change together and support each other as we go.

But nonetheless, the instinct to apologise was there. He required no such thing, of course, because he’s not a dickhead, but this wasn’t really about him, anyway. It was about how I perceived myself, my own body image, and how we all respond to change, particularly when it occurs in women.

Several people have felt compelled to reassure me that ‘You can hardly tell you’re pregnant at all!’ or ‘Don’t worry, you’re wearing it well’ or ‘It’s OK because it’s just on your tummy and not on your face or anything’.

And it’s so strange because I’d be fine with it spreading anywhere it needs to go. I want people to be able to tell. A child is growing in here and I am happy to look however I need to keep us both safe.

When people say these things, I’m not even sure they know what they mean, only that, for the most part, they mean well. But I think it would be better for everyone if we stopped. There’s no need to panic. Bodies change and that’s OK.

Weight can, of course, be a huge trigger for insecurity, just like any other element of our appearance or lives. And I’m sure that many people who make these comments are just keen to keep everybody feeling good during such a gruelling process.

Body image: Why we shouldn't feel ashamed when we changeBut we mustn’t normalise the idea that a woman’s body changing is a bad thing. Because it isn’t.

What matters is how a person feels and that they’re healthy. And a positive status in both these areas looks very different from person to person. My healthy and your healthy, and my happy and your happy, no doubt do not look the same. And yours is absolutely none of my business.

Before I figured out that I was struggling with anxiety, I was often a little underweight. Nothing drastic but it was a side effect. When I look at my wedding pictures, I can see that although I’m happy in our relationship, I had some serious personal work to do. And since I’ve done that, I’ve had a steadier, healthier weight, which has involved getting a bit bigger, and that is a good thing.

I found it alarming that my instinct when I got pregnant was to say sorry for the changes my body would go through. That I felt the need to clarify whether my husband would manage to find me attractive during this time. (I am a constant source of Cadbury snacks right now – what could be more alluring than that?)

But I caught myself just in time and do not apologise any more. I am instead trying to enjoy this process, as much as the exhaustion/crying fits/surprise nausea will allow, anyway. Because this is a journey to something I want, so I wouldn’t have it any other way.

If we want to live in a world that’s kinder to women’s bodies, we have to start being kinder to ourselves. 

We need to be more honest about what’s fuelling our thoughts. Are you apologising for your weight/look/whatever because you have done something wrong? Or because you’re afraid that if you don’t, somebody else will suggest that you should?

Because, you know what? That is one risk you can afford to take. Because anybody who suggests that is wrong. And they should be the one to say they’re sorry.

I am brave and so are you

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I’ve been thinking a lot about bravery. Not large-scale, obvious bravery, deserving of medals and ceremonies, but everyday acts of courage that can easily go unnoticed.

What requires each of us to be brave varies enormously. Something I have to be brave to get through might not even make it onto the list of things you’d worry about. Similarly something that keeps you awake at night might feel as simple to me as opening the fridge, or buttering a piece of toast.

And I think that’s what makes it difficult. That sometimes we feel we’re wrong for needing courage to endure parts of life that others would find easy. But we’re not.

Sometimes it requires bravery for me to go and meet friends for dinner. You wouldn’t think it – I’ll enjoy getting ready, I’ll be the one to suggest a restaurant, and I’ll crack jokes every ten seconds from the moment we sit down because HEAVEN FORBID there should be a moment of silence. But my heart will be beating faster than it should. I’ll be hoping hard that I won’t f*ck up. I’ll be giving myself silent pep talks throughout, including reminders to breathe. And I’ll be looking forward to getting home and looking back on another night where I proved to myself that I’m OK. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy going out, there’s just a lot going on behind the scenes, as there is for all of us.

But then other typically scary activities won’t frighten me at all. I’ll happily do a bit of public speaking and (as long as tripping hazards are kept to a minimum) I’ll probably enjoy it. I’m also rather partial to a roller coaster. I like interviewing total strangers too. But ask me to walk into a pub full of friends and I’m gonna need a second to prepare myself. We’re all different. There is no right or wrong way to feel.

But it can feel like there is, and that influences how we deal with it. It’s much easier to berate ourselves for feeling nervous, worried or upset than it is to just admit it and accept that it’s OK. We assume others would judge us if they knew how we felt so we get in there and do it to ourselves first. How remarkably unhelpful our brains can be.

I am brave and so are youBut this is not how we treat our friends. So many of our conversations with each other are about courage. About being brave enough to speak up at work, to ask for what we want from a relationship, or to overcome our imposter syndrome and keep following our dreams.

We use such kind language with each other. Any time a friend says they’re ‘ridiculous’ for feeling a particular way our immediate response is “No, you’re not”. It’s so obvious that it’s automatic. Their feelings are never invalid, so why do we think ours are?

Ever since I started freelancing, bravery has become a much bigger part of my life. And I think it’s done me good. I simply cannot make any progress at all if I’m not brave. No emails would be sent, no fees would be discussed, and no articles would be written as I’d be too afraid to start typing. But every time I overcome a fear I’m encouraged to do it again. Because each time I’m gathering more evidence that it’ll all be OK. That I will cope and I will learn. And that the worst-case scenario is not just bearable, but worth the risk.

When my anxiety was as its peak I used to sit on the train and wonder how many other people were having to work as hard as I was to hold it together. Now I know that the answer was undoubtedly loads. Every person is being brave in some small way, you’d just never know it from looking at them.

We should all be better at acknowledging when we’ve been brave. We should swap the story we tell ourselves around so that what we hear is that we coped brilliantly, not that we were stupid for ever thinking otherwise.

Because it’s OK to be who we are and that doing so takes courage. Accepting that might be the bravest part of all.

Life advice: Focus on the things you can control

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All of a sudden we’re a pair of Londoners who own a car. It’s been a while since I was behind the wheel so I’ve been a little nervous. Partly because this is London and people here aren’t exactly known for their patience, and partly because I’m in my thirties now and a lot more aware of the vast array of things that could kill me than I was when I was younger.

But I read something this week that’s helping me build my confidence – in the car and elsewhere.

My brother bought me Derren Brown’s book ‘Happy’ for Christmas. (That I have been to see DB several times and am a huge fan of his always comes as a surprise to people, so SURPRISE, I love a good mind game). The book’s about how we can reframe the way we think in order to feel happier. I’m already pretty content, but I also spend a disproportionate amount of time worrying about what people think and the range of ways in which I’m failing, so I’ll take any help I can get.

It was this part that made me stop in my tracks and which I’ve found myself referring to ever since. Two lists – the things we can control, and the things we can’t:

It’s obvious when you see it written down, and yet so easy to forget when you’re busy or stressed or running low on self-esteem. He also suggests saying to yourself “It’s fine” when somebody does something that you don’t like but can’t change, to stop you from dwelling on the wrong things. (This obviously doesn’t apply in the face of crime/injustice; it’s for more small-scale, day to day irritations.)

When you realise what’s within your control, life becomes easier to handle. You can control what you say, but you can’t control how people respond. You can tell what you believe to be the funniest joke you’ve ever come up with, but you can’t control whether anybody will laugh at it, or if doing so will make them like you (heartbreaking, I know). You can be a super polite person who says please and thank you and excuse me may I sit down on that chair currently occupied by your bag? But you can’t stop people sighing like their possessions are more deserving of a seat than you are. You can only ever be you.

The more you adopt this way of thinking, the more you find yourself at each moment of the day spotting the things that you can and can’t do anything about. A bus driver flashed his lights to let me pull out of my driveway today, but when I was about to set off I saw that the bus was still moving so I stopped. The driver mouthed “GO ON THEN” and did a little angry-looking wave. I felt like a dickhead for a second until I remembered – I made a decision based on what I thought. How he responded was up to him. Previously I’d have gone over and over this but now I feel better equipped to prioritise what I should worry about. Make all the facial expressions you like, my friend, my judgment is all I’ve got.

You also can’t control the state that you find somebody in in any given situation – nor can you be expected to somehow know everything about them in advance. Their past, their fears, whether they’re hungry or tired or sad, if they’ve got a cold or a headache or a nasty itch on their back that just won’t go away. All you can do is try to be nice and fair and perhaps guide them to the nearest tree to use as a scratching device. Every time I remember that the way people behave ALWAYS has a billion times more to do with them than it does me, I feel a lot calmer.

When you’re reading a book you think you’ll remember every part forever, but then you move on to the next one and the next one and the memory starts to fade. So I’ve written this down to make sure I don’t forget, and because sharing bits of advice I’ve picked up about how to feel more confident has become a big part of what this blog is about, and I like that.

I hope you find this useful, but, of course, how you respond is very much up to you.

How to survive the festive period (and hopefully even enjoy it)

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1. Watch It’s A Wonderful Life and pretend that’s the reason why you’re crying

Thank goodness for this film and the perfect excuse it gives us to ball our eyes out without drawing anybody’s attention. This film breaks me every time – the bit with Mr Gower and the wrong pills, the part where Mary tells the children to pray for their father, and the bit at the end (which I won’t spoil, just in case). I’m welling up even as I write this.

But as well as crying at the film itself, I know I’m also blubbing about the year gone by, about all the emotions that Christmas makes you feel, and out of sheer bloody exhaustion. After the year we’ve had, it might be a good idea for us to pop the film on now in the hope that we’ll have pulled ourselves back together by Christmas day.

2. Repeat after me: I am not responsible for anybody else’s fun

I feel a bit anxious ahead of social occasions, but saying this to myself – and truly believing it too – has really made me feel better. You are not responsible for other people having a good time. Be nice to people, sure, and buy them nice presents if you’re that way inclined, but don’t panic that if you’re not on absolute top form then the entire festive season will be thrown in the bin.

Everybody participating in Christmas – or any other holiday – has to bring something to the table, whether it’s good humour, cracking anecdotes or, ideally, gin. It’s not all on you. Now breathe deeply, have a mince pie and enjoy yourself.

3. Buy something new to wear on Christmas Day if you want to – but don’t if you don’t

Be honest, how inadequate are you currently feeling about the glittery-ness of your wardrobe? Your total inability to transform from a normal human being into a sequin adorned princess? I’m guessing quite. Advertising is good isn’t it! But you do know you can just wear something you already own, don’t you? Or that if you do buy something new it doesn’t have to double up as a light source? They should really cover this in school.

I have the Christmas day outfit dilemma every year. This December’s quandary goes like this – do I wear my gold skirt which is covered in so many sequins that every time I walk one of them tries to take a slice out of my leg? Or my new silver skirt, the material of which is so synthetic that when I wear it with a coat, the lining lifts it entirely, exposing, well, everything? As long as I’m not required to move an inch throughout Christmas Day, I guess either outfit will be fine.

4. Reserve the right to say no to social activities

Just a short sharp reminder that your human rights remain intact at Christmas time and if you don’t want to do something, you don’t have to. Or if you do want to but you’re already party-ed/shopped/prosecco-ed out, you’re free to make a wise decision and just stay home. Nobody is keeping tabs on how festive you’re being this year, or any year. Do what you like – as Anne. T. Donahue always says in her excellent newsletter: NOBODY CARES.

How to cope with the festive season5. Make plans to see people in January 

“I HAVE to see you before Christmas!”

“But we’ll see each other before Christmas, RIGHT?!”

Umm, probably not now. We’re into December and any days or nights people do have free are being kept that way to help them recover from all the days and nights they’re out celebrating this joyous time of year.

But guess what – it’s OK! We can see each other in the New Year when we’re all just counting down until March and the prospect of daylight lasting for longer than an hour and need some social interaction to help cheer us up.

I understand the want to see friends and family before Christmas, to remind them that you love them at this oddly emotive time of year, but don’t create pressure that doesn’t need to be there. Sometimes the kindest thing you can say to someone you care about is: you don’t need to worry about seeing me right now, let’s do it another time.

6. See the ‘end of year effect’ coming

Every year on about the 16th of December I start to feel sick. There’s nothing wrong with me, my body just becomes desperate for a rest. All of a sudden I’m making it participate in more socialising in a month than I’ve done throughout the rest of the year and, frankly, it’s not having it. Add that to tiredness I’ve accumulated during yet another 12 months of being a grown-ass woman and I’m just about ready to collapse into a heap at any moment.

This has happened enough years in a row now to make me think it must happen to other people too. But now I prepare for it and this is my advice should you wish to too: see it coming. Avoid going out multiple nights on the trot. Re-read point 4 on this list. Try to eat some of your meals in your own home. Drink plenty of water. Do some really good, deep breathing. Schedule a bath and an early night. Everything really will look and feel better in the morning.

7. Don’t fall into the ‘I haven’t bought mum/dad/the dog enough presents’ trap

BUT WHAT IF THEY DON’T HAVE ENOUGH TO OPEN? is my number one Christmas Day based fear, closely followed by ‘What if I accidentally catch my hair on fire on a candle’ and ‘What if my Christmas socks are in the wash and I don’t get to wear them on the ONE day they were designed for?’

It’s always there, waking me up in the middle of the night, listing everything I’ve bought so far, tutting and whispering “Really, is that all?”

But this year I’m determined not to fall for it. We are all so extremely fortunate that it is ridiculous to think that if we don’t all have thirty five presents to open we’re going to suddenly combust. So say no to the Christmas Eve panic that sees you dashing to the novelty gift section of your local department store and seriously considering buying your nearest and dearest a book of fart jokes just so that there’s more under the tree.

For everybody’s sake, hold onto your money.

Solitude is good for you, loneliness is not

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IMG_7519No matter what I’m doing, where I am, or who I’m with, I’m always conscious of the next time that I’ll get to be on my own. It doesn’t matter how much fun I’m having, the knowledge is always there, like a security blanket I never thought I’d need.

For me, solitude is as important as breakfast. I need a strong dose of it everyday to help me stay upright. Partly because I have social anxiety, so get-togethers can be a bit exhausting, but also because I’m 30 years old and this is what it’s like to be a grown up – we love other people’s company but we enjoy our own just as much.

Sometimes I wonder if I look forward to a social interaction being over as much as I do the event itself. I feel a great sense of achievement when I’ve been out and had a great time – when I’ve been to a party and stopped noticing whether I’m enjoying it or not because I just am. I love coming home knowing I’ve done some seriously good socialising and then feeling free to enjoy a spot of solitude because I’ve earnt it.

Time alone hasn’t always felt so precious, though. I’ve written before about how we all have to learn to love our own company. When I was at university, my friend Emma and I would hang out – sometimes in lectures, often at her house, mostly in Primark – and then she’d disappear off for an afternoon nap to prepare for whatever evening activity we had planned. She needed a rest and some shut-eye before further fun could commence.

But I didn’t need this break. We still laugh now about how I’d say “If you need me, I’ll be at home, lying down with my eyes shut,” because I wanted to join in but I just couldn’t nap. (I still can’t, actually, unless I’ve had an alcoholic drink, in which case NIGHT NIGHT.) I didn’t know what to do with the time. I was bored on my own, I’d have to go and buy a magazine to entertain myself. I’d will the time away until somebody was free to come and play with me.

And yet now I crave that time. Modern life demands a lot from us. We work, we go out, and we’re all constantly in touch with each other via phones and emails and apps I sometimes wish had never been invented. If a colleague says they have no plans for the weekend, you can hear the office groan with envy at their freedom, everybody else’s diaries gasping for a gap to pop a wash on, do the weeding, or just lie down.

IMG_6523It’s hard to keep going non-stop for days on end. We need time when we don’t have to think about making the right facial expression or saying the right thing. A bit of space to think it all over, or to think about nothing; to be alive but hardly moving. I like to have a bath and do a face mask. I like to watch Friends episodes I’ve seen so many times that it feels like some of the storylines actually happened to me. And I like to go to bed without having to set an alarm because – for once – nobody is expecting me to be anywhere the next day.

I say all of this mindful that I can enjoy occasional solitude because it’s a treat, not a constant. I’m not lonely. Leon will be home again in a few hours, all being well. I have dates in the diary to see my friends and family soon which I’m looking forward to. Without these things it would be a different story. It is for so many people. The joy of solitude is not to be taken for granted because it’s only a pleasure when it’s a break from the norm.

The realisation hit me hard after we got married that even forever has an end point, that we’d signed up to be each other’s world and that we were relying on each other for company for the rest of our lives. I’ve had to force myself not to worry about it all the time, but I try to hold this knowledge close when I’m frustrated to find the fridge door has been left ajar, or that a world of grated cheese has mysteriously appeared on the kitchen worktop after somebody has come home from the pub. I try to think – what does it even matter? A love of cheese was all I ever wanted in a man. We can buy more. I’m just glad you’re home.

Like everything in life, it’s all about balance. I’ve spent today alone. I made a bacon sandwich and set the smoke alarm off. I listened to Hugh Bonneville’s Desert Island Discs and cried twice, as is standard for an episode of D.I.D. I saw for myself what it means when a cat starts digging a small hole in your back garden (no, it is not treasure they’re planning to bury). And I sat outside and wrote this.

But tomorrow I’ll be in company again and I wouldn’t have it any other way. What’s important is to know yourself well enough to build in what you need, and to try not to budge if anyone suggests that you do otherwise. You can feel it in your bones when you need a rest. Look in the mirror and your eyes will beg you not to leave the house, to stop just for a little while.

I am grateful for a life that is busy enough for a spot of alone time to feel like a treat. Like all luxuries, a life filled with solitude just wouldn’t be right, but a regular dose will do wonders for your health.

A love letter to Desert Island Discs

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I love Desert Island Discs with all my heart. And if that means I’m getting old, then I bloody love being old.

Desert Island Discs really helped me out a few months ago. I was going through a particularly anxious time and happened to be travelling on a train with my brother. In a quiet bid to help me out and calm me down, he popped his headphones on me, and hooked me up with a podcast from the DID archives. And after a few minutes, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, I started to feel calm. And ever since then, it has been my go-to whenever I need to breathe. If you find yourself in a similar state of mind, I really recommend giving it a listen.

For anybody who isn’t familiar with the format – firstly, you are MISSING OUT – Desert Island Discs is a BBC Radio 4 programme, hosted by Kirsty Young (owner of the world’s most soothing voice and one of the best interview styles in town) which sees a different guest invited on each time to talk through the eight tracks they would take with them to a desert island. If you can listen to it without thinking about what your own choices would be then you’re much better at controlling your day dreaming than I am.

And aside from being calming, I also find it hugely inspiring. The guest list is filled with actors, comedians, songwriters, journalists, entrepreneurs – an endless stream of people to learn from, admire, and glean some new musical knowledge from too. So many of the people interviewed are creative in one way or another, that I often sit listening to it whilst in the bath (BONUS TIP: for maximum calming add a sweet smelling bath bomb, a candle and absolutely no appointments for at least an hour) and think about how I can try to channel their wisdom.

And as it’s one of the rules of being on the internet that when you experience something inspiring, you should share it, I thought I’d write down just a few of my favourite quotes I’ve heard on the show so far. I’m only part way through the back catalogue so I’ve undoubtedly got a lot more blog content to come…

“There has to be a certain kind of truth in everything that you write. If it’s true to you, it’s going to be true to someone else.” Noel Gallagher

“My self-esteem is intact because I have made sure it’s intact. I know I will make a good life for myself with all sorts of armour.” Dawn French

“The best piece of advice [my dad’s] ever given me if that there’s no such thing as can’t. There’s only one thing you can’t do – and that is stick your bum out of your bedroom window, run downstairs into the garden and throw stones at it. Everything else is achievable.” Sarah Millican

“I reserve the right to change my mind and to have a different opinion from one day to the next.” Lily Allen

“No matter how insecure I may be, there’s a part of me that says if I stay relaxed, I can achieve anything. It’s not true but it’s a wonderful trick to have as part of your armour.” Tony Robinson (quoted by Kirsty from a previous interview)

“People always used to say you need something to fall back on but I would always see that as contemplating failure. I really had no other. There was nothing else.” James Corden on wanting to become an actor.

“You are gonna have to meet your career half way. You’re gonna have to really show people you’ve got something to say.” James Corden

“… because also: here comes the reaper. Don’t, when that moment comes, say ‘Wait, hold on a minute, no! I’ve not watched the last Godfather!’ Be aware that this is it.” Russell Brand

“It’s no-one’s responsibility but yours to make your business work. Surround yourself with people who believe you can, not you can’t. And you need to fail as well as succeed. Great business people are not born, they’re made. And not all of us are gonna go on and build global brands. You might be a business that employs two people – make sure those two people are happy.” Jo Malone

“The wonderful thing about being with a partner and sharing your life with someone is that you can look back when you’re older and talk about the past. The best thing about life is sharing it – otherwise it’s of no importance.” Steve McQueen

See what I mean? It’s just such a great programme.

You can find the archive here, friends. Enjoy and let me know your favourites. Believe me, it’ll be a long list.