Page 51 of Who’s That Girl?

7. Do your bikini line.

I know for a fact I didn’t have my first bikini wax until I was thirty. A fact I remember because it was that painful I still bear the emotional scars. Grabbing some hair-remover, I throw it in my basket.

8. There is such a thing as too much eye make-up, so throw away the silver eyeshadow.

And while you’re at it …

9. Throw away the mousse too.

Scrunch-drying is not a good look. Never was. Never will be.

10. Neither is trying to lighten your hair with lemon juice.

A) It doesn’t work and b) it attracts wasps.

11. Start doing your pelvic-floor exercises now.

Remember Vanessa’s advice? Kegels are like shoes – there’s no such thing as too many.

Reminded, I pause in the aisle to do a couple and notice I’m standing right by the sunscreen section. Like I said before …

12. Wear A LOT of sunscreen.

I chuck in a couple of family-size bottles of SPF50. Then a couple more. Well, better safe than sun-damaged.

13. Put down those PVC trousers and back away.

Yes, sadly it’s true. Last night I found the damning evidence: a photograph of myself vacuum-packed into a pair of skintight, belly-button-skimming, shiny, PVC trousers. The word ‘mortified’ doesn’t even come close.

14. Cancel that trip to Sicily in 1998.

It rained all week and I was forced to comfort eat pizza and gelato.

15. On second thoughts, don’t cancel that trip.

Reaching the end of the aisle, I turn into the next one. There are still a few things I haven’t found yet, I muse, as I spot that rare creature: a sales assistant.

‘Excuse me?’

For a moment I think she’s going to pretend she hasn’t seen me and dart off into the back – a bit like Vanessa’s cocker spaniel if you catch him sitting on the sofa – but at the last minute she seems to change her mind. ‘Yes?’ she asks, turning. ‘Can I help you find something?’

‘I’m looking for Nicorette patches.’

Which brings me to …

16. Stop smoking.

‘Oh, I see.’ She nods briskly. ‘To help you with stopping smoking?’

‘Oh, no, I don’t smoke,’ I say, quickly putting her right.

Before realising by her confused glance that that might not have been the best answer.

‘Um … I mean, I don’t smoke any more,’ I correct myself.

She peers at me in confusion. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I quite understand …’

Welcome to my world, I think ruefully, switching my basket on to the other arm. I’ve thrown in quite a lot of stuff and it’s really heavy.