One.

Last year, somewhere between my fourth and fifth gin and tonic at my final year prom, I decided it was a good idea to discuss the disastrous all-consuming problem I had spent the last three weeks despairing over, with my headteacher.

"The problem, sir, is that I met this fantastic man in a club. I had to lie about my age; he didn't know I was a decade younger than him and still at school. He was, is, a brilliantly intellectual graduate who I lusted after as soon as Madonna was turned off and the club lights turned back on. I had to turn down his stay-over invite to catch the night bus home, in order to complete the A Level revision targets I'd set for myself that day. Two days later my mum dropped me off at a party in Hackney after a trip to see a West End musical, a friend at the party drove me to Camden, I met up with this guy, ended up staying over, losing any innocence I had once had and leaving home in the morning feeling blistering embarrassment. And, it's now been three weeks and the only time he contacts me is super early in the morning when he's drunk and horny, and to be quite frank, I don't know what to do."

Not quite what my headmaster might have expected from his head girl.

"Live life like a novel," he said, "what happens next, the following chapters are up to you. See it as an adventure."

And that is what I have decided this blog will be. An ode to adventure and disappointment and excitement and success that marks my nineteenth year.

To being 19, and to living life like a novel.

Cheers.