But I don't wanna be a grown up!

Getting my first job back in the UK was one of the best things that happened to me last year. Being chosen and feeling like I'd earned a place within a company was the best thing for my self esteem and also took away the stress of job hunting. Seriously, the Gregg's test was one of the hardest things I could have put my mind through - I just couldn't get it right. But thinking purely with my belly, I applied for every position that became available. But to no avail.

It took me 6 months to eventually get a job and when they (not Greggs) rang me up and said that they wanted to offer me a position, it was a massive relief. 

Since then, I've felt like the experience in retail has set me up. I have now managed to get another job which had me selling sandwiches in corporate offices. 

I was so glad to have the experience and the money I've saved will help me a lot with paying my way through accommodation at uni. But every job I have, makes me lose my childhood. Every new qualification that I get deletes the last. Who really cares what I got at GCSE now? Every new job makes me more into an adult.

When I was younger, all I could think about was growing up. I wanted to be a zoo keeper. I wanted to skip all the education and just get myself into a zoo feeding elephants their breakfasts and making toys for monkeys. 

But then, I began to realise that the older you get, the less holiday you have and, suddenly, I didn't want to be an adult anymore. Since then, I found every reason and more for not wanting to grow up. 

There's something about the mind of children that just mesmerizes me. I don't know how anyone creates stories like that. Save for all the toilet training, nose picking and burping, I reckon that when we're children, we are actually in our prime. 

But there are still those adults who are shy or who are extra specially polite and still go red when you speak to them. 

Speaking to people who work in law firms, you seem incredibly young. But there was this one man who usually comes to buy a sandwich and he's always very polite. So much so that I think of him as a growing child. 

And, in that moment, just this morning, I realised that you don't have to every grow up, if you don't want to. You can mature, learn table manners and grow up in that sense, but you never have to lose that childhood imagination. 

Run, run, run away Baby!

There was something so special about being back at a school sporting event at an athletics club. Seeing colours. Children screaming, ice cream vans, sun glasses and the relay. Everything about it brought back sweet sweet memories. 

As a child, I told myself that I hated sports day. It was partially true. I hated sport but yet I loved the day as a whole. No school, tanning, eating outside and a general sense of happiness. What could be better? It was like a holiday, in the temperamental English weather of a field just at the back of our school. 

I relished in the idea that I would be part of one of the activities, every year. I was disgustingly below average at everything but half decent at running. As much as I hated it, I knew that I couldn't have a sports day without joining in. I replaced injured or reluctant classmates (and never managed to live up to their expectations) and I was buzzing. I was secretly waiting for my Usain Bolt moment. When I suddenly, after no training at all, flew across the track in record time. I thought it every time. And every time I was disappointed. 

On my last sports day, in Dubai, I felt like life as I knew it was over. No more days of boosting school morale in an attempt to promote sport. None of that. Just adult life. End of story. 

Now, I don't feel like I ever get an opportunity to go back onto the athletics track. There is no need. There aren't hundreds of children anticipating their run and waiting to pick positions for sports. Just me. 

As my cousin flew round the track on her relay run, I was on the verge of needing a pee. I knew that feeling. The baton handover. When it was all up to you, and I would always need a wee. 

And then when she won, that was the proud icing on the top moment which requires such pre-planning and effort. She sat in the 1st spot, smiling. A winner. But she would have been that to me anyway, even if she hasn't won. (I, finally, understand all this parental pride!) 

I wished that I could go back to those days, however uncomfortable and embarrassing they were. I have a feeling, in another 'Olympic super-athlete moment' that I might actually be good at the hurdles. There are days when I see a nice field in the sun and just want to run and run and run and run and run. That's got to count for something. 

I'll try it. 

I'm pretty surprised with myself at the moment - wanting to do running, missing sports day, watching tennis: who am I?