I think I might actually die of showing off. It'll be on my headstone - Cause of Death: Showing Off. I know I'm no good at things like singing - anyone who saw me on Comic Relief Does Fame Academy had the existence of tone deafness confirmed for them - but I think the voice-box fairy might have suddenly sprinkled some magic on me. It's a ridiculous sense of optimism that always lets me down and sends me straight into crushing defeat mode, where
I hate everybody and everything. But I never learn. I still think I could be a 48-year-old prodigy.
I prefer highs and lows to an even keel. Moderation is never something I've been good at.
I'm the least spiritual person in the world. I can't even abide a smelly candle. I know it's meant to make me relax, and that immediately makes my hackles rise.
I wouldn't say I was grumpy. It's more pathological - I have seismic tantrums. I get red in the face and cry at least three times a week, and I have to lie down and have a nap afterwards. You know that saying that you live your life backwards, and you end up back at the start, dribbling and eating crushed bananas? I'm in that late forties/early fifties second-toddlerhood phase.
I have a fear of poverty in old age. I have this vision of myself living in a skip and eating cat food. It's because I'm freelance and I've never had a proper job. I don't have a pension and my savings are dwindling. I always thought someone would just come along and look after me.
I'm getting better at domesticity. I never used to cook - we lived on take-outs. I don't know whether it's the first signs of madness or maturity, but I've started making soup. It's therapeutic - I gave up smoking a couple of years ago, and I've become hilariously fat - but it's also because my daughter's gone off to university and I'm suffering from terrible empty-nest syndrome.
Everyone should have northern parents. It's such a good grounding. My dad's 83, and he phoned me the other day to say he'd had his first bout of depression. He said it was like all the lights in the world had gone out and he couldn't see the point any more. I said: 'How long did it last?' He said: 'An hour and a half.' Then he snapped out of it and did the cryptic crossword. And my mother's beyond stoic. She had polio and only has one kidney. She was born without sentiment - she cut up her wedding dress and turned it into a lampshade. If Michael Jackson or Amy Winehouse had northern parents, they wouldn't be in half the trouble they're in.
I was anorexic as a teenager. Now I'm a size 14, and there is a part of me that misses being a size 10. But there's a bigger part of me that can't be arsed. I did a lot of yoga, but I got athlete's foot on my eyelid from one of the mats. I took that as a sign to give up and make more soup.
I don't do marriage. I think it's incredibly naff. And I don't like vulgar displays of ostentation. My partner Geof and I have been together for 26 years and we've never considered it.
I'm very jealous of my daughter's education. She's been inspired by her teachers, and nobody inspired me as a teenager.
When did the people who are leading the world get to be our age? You realise they haven't got a clue. I want some old brigadiers to come marching in, in cavalry twill, with pipes, and get us out of our various messes and make us feel safe. Because I don't feel safe any more.
I find Madonna depressing. Has she ever said anything funny? Come on, Madonna - one joke in 30 years, please?
Everyone needs a smacked bottom now and then. Including me.
• Grumpy Old Women Live DVD is out now. See also www.jennyeclair.com
