Look, I’m the first to admit that I’m a touch paranoid. I worry every cold will last for an eternity. I worry I’ve misread the parking sign and will return to my car only to find that piece of paper stuck to my windscreen which can mean one thing.
I worry that my five grey hairs are the beginning of the end. And – almost more than anything else – I worry I’ll come home from work to a burnt-out shell in place of my, once rather pleasant, apartment.
It's why I don't have scented candles... and it's no way to live.
Since I was a teenager I've struggled with my hair straightener. It's such a useful appliance and yet, it's probably my most hated.
The carpet of my former bedroom at my parents' house is marked with tell-tale Vs burned into the mint green shag.