A LETTER TO MY 30-YEAR-OLD SELF

I’m looking at a photograph of a 30-year-old woman at her leaving do. She seems happy enough (drunk, excited about the new job) but slightly dishevelled. I want to reach across the table - in motherly fashion - and warn her not to leave her wallet open with all her credit cards on view. The dangly tin earrings she’s wearing are fun, but will give her contact dermatitis. And why on earth is she dressed in severe black? In your 30s your skin still has that wonderful youth ‘glow’. I want to shout, ‘Remember to show