Yes, I had to have it explained to me that if Barbie’s proportions existed on a real person, she’d be in a freak show. Look at the size of her head compared with her hands! This made me feel a lot better.

But playing at Miss Bimbo, a kid knows what’s fake and why. It shows her that being a bimbo is a full time occupation that leaves little room for anything meaningful. She knows her bimbo looks the way she does because she’s spent thousands on boob jobs and face lifts. She won’t be allowed to have them until she’s an adult and she’ll be long finished with the game by then. But for now, she can play grown ups and learn about what’s instore. That’s probably better for a little girl than gazing wistfully at Barbie and genuinely wondering why she doesn’t look like her.

I’m a bit more disturbed by the sugar daddy bonus though…

I also went to Costa Rica for three weeks in August to work on a turtle conservation project. I actually fulfilled my life’s ambition of spotting a wild sloth and also had a fleeting glimpse of an anteater, as well as some slightly iffy encounters with peccaries and crocodiles. I was kept awake by howler monkeys and scarlet macaws, but didn’t really mind.

 So no more intrepid trips for a while now. My next jaunt is a two week holiday in South Africa visiting the guy who moved away.  That will be weird, because I haven’t seen him for ten months, but we’ve been getting on very well online.

When I got home, I was disappointed to discover that he still has a difficult relationship with his phone and seems unable to reply to text messages within 72 hours of receiving them. He has always been like this and it is something that frustrates everyone and which is nothing personal. However, it reminded me that I don’t want this again, it’s a waste of time, so I tried to contact him to say we should leave it. I wanted to get it off my chest immediately, so I could just put the episode behind me. However, he refused to call back and I had to call him at his parents house, since he has returned there for the fourth time and is apparently waiting for his own house to be built. By the time I spoke to him, I was very wound up and upset and the subsequent conversation served only to open old wounds and it felt like breaking up all over again. He conceded that the meeting had been a mistake, which he realised as soon as I started trying to call him. I was then , of course, accused of being irrational and expecting too much because he had automatically assumed that I was upset simply because I wanted him back and couldn’t have him.  Actually, I was upset because I was appalled that he could treat me with such disrespect and that through his inconsiderate behaviour, he had cheapened what we had had. Before he sent the text, I had decided not to contact him, despite missing him, but to let him go and be happy with someone else. Evidently he was unable to afford me the same courtesy. Surely, what is irrational is to text your ex after such a long time apart and hint at getting back together. I accept that I shouldn’t have gone, but at least I would have had the sense to leave well alone, had he not bothered me.

Of course his excuses including “I found it hard to let go,” “feelings like that don’t just go away,” “maybe you moved on, but I didn’t.” Now, because I committed the outrageous act of calling his parents’ house at 11pm, it seems he wants nothing more to do with me. So, if feelings don’t go away after two years, why do they after one day?

To quote Amy Winehouse, “…I question myself again…what is it about men???”

 Going to see The Glass Menagerie tonight in the West End. I haven’t been to the theatre since my second year of uni, when I fell asleep during Julius Ceasar and later had to write about it.

At the back of my mind, I have always harboured the notion that something extraordinary will happen to me at the right time. So when faced with a decision, I am always concerned that I could be fucking with my own destiny. 

 So, back to square one…teach English abroad or do work experience here?

 Oh…and incidentally…he’s gone.

How can someone hurt you without having any idea that they have done so?

And how do you decide between your feelings and your pride?

I have all but given up my short and relatively fruitless modelling career because, quite honestly, I don’t want it enough to go through the hell that models go through to do well. It doesn’t matter who you are, you can’t please everyone. I had one photographer tell me I was short, crooked-nosed, double-chinned and “problem-legged.” Another, responding to the comments, was horrified and immediately arranged a shoot with me to prove otherwise. Yes, I did have to get down from a size 10 to a size 6 before I felt comfortable modelling. But I am 5’4 and my BMI has always been healthy. At 8 stone 3, (on a good day!) I am perfectly happy with my figure and I have decided that if it’s not good enough, I am not going to change to fit the current mould. That’s my choice, I don’t chastise anyone who decides otherwise, instead I admire their determination.

People complain a lot that high street retailers do not stock fashionable plus size clothes. I’m sure there would be an outcry if they stocked clothes for anorexics. If it is just as dangerous to be overweight, as it is to be underweight, stocking clothes at the higher end of the plus size scale could be seen as condoning dangerous overeating. I  understand that some people have medical conditions that make them big and they should be entitled to decent clothes like anyone else. However, I do think it is fair to say that very large people are unlikely to feel comfortable wearing the full high street range, so just making the clothes in bigger sizes won’t help. At the same time, introducing a separate plus size range may not make economic sense. At the end of the day, fashion is business, it’s not going to be fair and people will get left out.  I have no hips so I sometimes actually need clothes from the petite section, but those are too short. Therefore, I have to take up nearly every pair of jeans I buy, even though I am of around average height. I get over it.

The only thing we can do is find our happy weight. This is the weight at which we feel attractive, healthy and comfortable. Whether that is a size 6 or a size 18, it’s perfectly ok if it works for the individual. And if that’s the size we choose to be, we must be proud of it, even if we must accept the implications.