I have never been a fearless flyer. To be honest, my parents said to me at an impressionable age, you're more likely to die in a car crash on the way to the airport than in the air.

As a result I've always veiwed journeys to airports as particularly perilous.

Despite the fact my dad and my brother have been driving since yesterday morning (ferry to Dover, Dover to Calais and then down through France to Spain), I am anxious about the taxi my mother and sisters are currently taking to the airport.

It might just be that I'm a bit anxious. I'm going to turn off Neil Young now because he's not doing anything for my nerves, not doing anything at all.

"That's a nice blouse" said my Nan, on Saturday when she was staying with us.

"It's actually a man's shirt, but it fits doesn't it?"

"It fits very well"

"My son" said my mum's friend in our kitchen on Tuesday, "only wears girls clothes these days. He says he wears girls skinny jeans because they're skinnier, and I found this pink top in the wash that other day that I thought was mine until he took it. And his friend wears these baggy tweed shorts and you know, paisley shirts. They're like... oh what's the comedy music thing? The Mighty Boosh?"

"Oh," says my mother, "but Noel Fielding is a bit lovely"

"Girls wear boys clothes now though" I say, "I don't know any girls who'd wear pink. Sister A's boyfriend has the nicest pair of trousers- they're pinstriped in purples- and I asked him where they were from and it's the women's section in Hennes"

"It's true" says my mother, "that's a boys shirt she's wearing".

Even so, it felt strangely transgressive buying boys clothes (the shirt and a waistcoat), despite the fact me and my sister have been stealing shirts from my father for years. Despite the fact that everyone does it.

I'm going to dye my hair blonde some time in the next week, before I fly out to meet my family. I had it cut yesterday.

Blonde, with perhaps a bit of sun in my skin, in my boys shirt and my high shorts and pencil skirts made out of curtain fabric, I might look pretty good.

And I am worried you see- starting my second choice university, because forget accademia (which I might as well, because it is a second rate university) I am worried because there's finally a chance someone might see me naked. I don't think I can do it, I don't think it's a very good offer.

I'm exercising a lot at the moment. Too little too late? At least I'm better at running for buses, even if the other day I had to take my shoes off and leap over broken glass. Which would be an incentivising work out.

Naomi Wolf was all well and good until it started to matter. But it's not her fault I've been lazy about going to the gym.