How to be Champion

I often think it's not about what happens to you, it's about how you handle it.

I wanted to male it clear that your life doesn't need to be perfect; you don't need to look a certain way to be happy. You don't need to be amazing at everything all of the time. I am, at times, a shoddy daughter, friend, person.

In my handbag I always carry a small crocheted turd so that I never have to take any shit, because I’ve already got one.

People who wear glasses are all potential superheroes. Remember that before you take the piss.

For learning how to say no. NAILED. Tip: think of how uncomfortable it is to say no and compare it to how fucked off you’ll be when the yes appears in your diary. Another tip: you don’t always have to give reasons. Just look a bit sad at having to say no – then say no.

If what makes you happy makes me very sad then I have to put me first.

Have some gaps. Being on your own is brilliant and good for you. Let the dust settle after a relationship has ended. Allow yourself to blossom.

See bad times in your life as learning experiences. I know that if I’m ever on the bones of my arse again I could manage. I’ve had many times when I’ve had nowt, but this was probably the first and the worst. Families and communities pull together during times like this.

I think better of myself than I used to. I think that’s because now I allow myself to take my worth from me rather than from others.

Don’t be mean to people you know and don’t be mean to people you don’t. You have no idea what someone is dealing with at the time. Be nice or be quiet.

I think you have to take your worth from yourself. If you don't look like people do on the telly, it doesn't matter. If you have nothing in common with the women and men in magazines, it doesn't matter. They're not the norm. Magazines women are put there to make us buy stuff. All it makes me want to buy is food. And fewer magazines. Fuck that, none. If you know that you are a good person, kind, hardworking, interesting and interested then go with that. Fuck what your hair looks like. Or your nails. The heels of of my feet are covered in such hard skin that they make a noise on wooden floors. Do I dash out and get hard skin-melting shite from Boots? No, I just think, if shoes become scarce I'll be fine. My husband once said that skin is nature's shoes.

When someone dies, put up photos of them in happier times around the house. We had them everywhere when my granda died: on mirrors, back of the toilet door. That way, the image you had of them old and potentially ill is replaced by, in my case, a picture of me standing wearing a hat out of a cracker, beside my granda who is beaming in a brown cardigan.

Remember something you were good at as a kid and bring it back as a hobby now that you're an adult. I gave gardening a go and also crying whenever I drop something on the floor and can't find it. Crying always makes it appear againg, oddly.

It’s very interesting, and the old adage of finding out who your real friends are certainly rings true. Some are genuinely helping you clean all the shit off your fan, getting wet wipes out of their bags and checking the fan is switched off at the wall, while some peel away doing little retches in their hands. And your friends stay in your new formation – they don’t revert back to pre-shitstorm. I think when they slink away while you’re eating trifle with your hands, they know not to bother coming back. If you’re not there when I’m eating trifle with my hands, don’t come back when I’m eating it with a spoon. I

Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

That’s why it pisses me off when people comment on what I wear. It doesn’t matter. Fuck what I’ve got on. If I’m wearing it then I’ve picked it because I feel good in it. Is my head up? Am I smiling?

Be careful and be safe when on dates, but also put yourself out there. I had a friend who dismissed a bloke I pointed out to her because he ‘wasn’t her type’. She’d been single for years so I suggested that maybe she wasn’t doing so well with her type anyway.

But I suppose that is anxiety for you. It doesn’t make an awful lot of sense. It’s often not what does happen that causes my heart rate to quicken but what might happen.

I tried to think of what a tabloid newspaper might call my book and came up with ‘Cakey Cakey Fat Cunt’.