You may wish to whip out this affidavit the next time you can't sleep. Or if you ever suspect that your own life is very boring, a quick glance back here should convince you of your rock star powers.
Who would play you in the film of your life?
I'd like to say Jessica Rabbit, but I suspect it would be Gene Wilder.
What is your favourite smell?
Earth after a thunderstorm.
Where would you like to live?
In a Taos adobe with a chilli patch.
What is your favourite book?
What is your most unappealing habit?
What is your earliest memory?
Discovering vertigo while riding around on my Papa's shoulders.
What is your guiltiest pleasure?
Cake (all flavours).
What do you owe your parents?
Lots of things, including a carrot cake.
To whom would you most like to say sorry, and why?
See previous question and explanatory letter (Mom, the cake is in the mail).
What does love feel like?
Even better than cake - which is a pretty high bar.
What is the worst job you’ve done?
Dishwasher at a country cafe. Putting aside issues of pay and boredom, melted cheese is murder to get off plates.
Which living person do you most admire, and why?
I admire my grandfathers. They are both veterans, humourists, wise men, and all round nice guys. One of them baptised me, and the other is a spitting likeness of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood fused.
Aside from property, what’s the most expensive thing you’ve bought?
A pair of car-seats. The deposit was modest, but the payment plan is quite long term.
How do you relax?
Hmm? Relax? Is that Latin?
What single thing would improve the quality of your life?
I once wandered off barefoot into a rattlesnake-infested Utah desert with no water, lost in thought. It got dark and I got actually lost. Years later I wandered off and got deeply lost in a bear-infested Wyoming wilderness. Luckily, this time I was armed with water and Papa. In both instances I (or rather Papa in the latter) muddled back to civilization eventually.
Happily, I now live in England, where one is never more than five miles from a pub, thus totally safe from dehydration and bear-snake attack.
When were you happiest?
Here's another Wyoming memory.
About six years ago, my beloved and I pitched a tent in Wyoming (not a euphemism). We cooked dinner over a pine fire, kicked in the coals and went to sleep. Deep in the night I heard a creature sniffling, circling, slouching towards our tent. My mind painted a picture of a huge ravenous woman-eating bear (not shocking considering my extreme fear of bears - they carry my mugshot and are sworn to eat me on site).
Being a sheepish chicken, I nudged Papa to communicate that he should go chase off the beastie with his bare hands, or with a can of soup, or whatever else he could find. With admirable courage in the face of extreme sleepiness, he stumbled out of the tent.
Silence. A spate of crackling. More silence. Then in a hoarse whisper: 'You better come out here.'
I swallowed my sheep-chicken instincts and pushed through the tent-flap. There it was - the brilliant Milky Way. It looked bigger and brighter and more beautiful than ever before - like all the stars of time and space collected in a net and scattered across my corneas. Papa and I held hands and gaped at the beauty of creation (again, not a euphemism) before retiring back to sleep.
As it turned out, the creature we'd heard was just nearly-spent campfire embers, crackling a last hurrah before returning to dust. We were better at putting out our fires after that (as above).
My fabricated bear-beast continued to stalk our tent for the entire duration of the trip, never quite showing its evil face.
Any victims you'd like to pass this on to?
Here is a no-obligation invitation to three lovely bloggers with far more exciting lives than mine to complete the Guardian questionnaire (or the bits of it they want to) should they feel inclined to do so:
Dummies and Dog Hairs
What Are We Doing Today Mummy?