The annual celebrations are putting years on me

CONFESSIONS of a MUMMY – that’s Moany, Uncensored, Menopausal Maw, Y’all. I try to be upbeat and to fake enthusiasm but, between you and me, I’m a firm believer that annual celebrations are usually overrated. I’ve made no secret of the fact that should I ever come across St Valentine, the patron saint of heart-shaped tat, I’d use pink furry handcuffs to chain him to a buffet bar in an overpriced restaurant and make him listen to a 3ft padded card that belts out The Power of Love until the end of time. When it comes to Easter, the religious significance is now overlooked in favour of a commercialised, bulk-buying frenzy on three-for-the-price-oftwo Buttons eggs. And don’t get me started on the bunny. We need to stop encouraging his poor dietary choices, otherwise we’ll be complicit when Mr Rabbit is suffering from obesity, fatty liver disease and type-2 diabetes, caused by over-indulgence in ovalshaped confectionary. Even Christmas has its downsides. Yes, I love the food, the family gatherings and the chance to watch Elf every day in December. However, it takes until long after the shiny baubles have been returned to the loft to recover from the excesses, the graft and the big fat huff caused by a Pictionary war with my nearest and dearest. If we’re lucky, we can manage a truce for Hogmanay, the evening we Scots undergo a mass psychological snap that compels us to demonstrate cheery optimism, to make promises we know we won’t

QUOTE of the Week comes from Best Actress Oscar winner Emma Stone, right, who said the incident where the gong was awarded to the wrong film was: “One of the most horrible moments of my life.”

Far be it from me to minimise the suffering of that most rarified of species, the A-List Luvvie, but while it was clearly disappointing for the cast of La La Land, it’s hardly a life-changing tragedy or hardship.

However, it does bode well for Stone’s chances of another statue… as soon as they introduce the Best Actress In An Overdramatisation category.

keep and to visit A&E because we’ve proven once again that our cultural DNA does not, in fact, give us a natural aptitude for wheeching around a ceilidh while wearing 6in heels.

Thanks again to the dedicated medical professionals for dealing with the lower limb injuries sustained in the early hours of 1995, 2000, 2007 and 2015.

Then there’s Mother’s Day. Sorry, had to pause to pick up a large box of Kleenex and a dose of self-pity.

You see, I live with three blokes, and the two teenage ones have inherited their father’s height, charm and complete ineptitude in the field of “Spoiling Your Loved Ones With Lavish Gifts and Thoughtful Treats”. Last year they forgot – which is better than the year they bought me wrinkle cream and a brolly.

Finally, there’s the big one – the birthday. This year I’ll be 50. Sob. I’d discuss it in more depth but I’m too busy planning my mid-life crisis.

If you have suggestions as to how to get a chunky woman into the front seat of a sports car, I’d much appreciate it.

Thankfully, though, there is one celebration that never lets me down – and it’s happening today.

Happy World Book Day, chums. All you need is a great read, a comfy sofa and some peace and quiet.

And, unlike real life, when you’re done with the family feuds, the relationship disappointments, the genetic flaws, the aches, self-doubt and misguided actions, you can turn the last page and put it back on the shelf.