First things first, thank you so much for picking this up and considering a book from me – a short, orange woman who occasionally reads out loud on the telly. Even if you’re going to chuck it to the other side of the bookshop, can I just say I’m extremely grateful. I am an enormous fan of a book, so am over the moon you are contemplating this one when we both know there are so many great ones on offer.
I want to be frank about what you can expect from me. If you’re looking for a very serious tome, and you don’t like anything flippant or trivial or lighthearted, or if you’re interested in the Chartists or the pandemic or want to learn something practical and useful then this isn’t the book for you.
Don’t get me wrong, I have covered some pressing issues. I think I have been persuasive on the subject of voicemail and fairly brutal about the effect of fitting rooms on my wellbeing. I’m confident I have made a strong case for why you can’t sleep with someone who doesn’t have the vigour to get you both in a cab and I’ve had a good look at the reasons why spray tan and eyeliner are essential to my confidence.
I’ve tried to be as honest as I can, but it should be said that I am prone to exaggeration. At one point I say I’d be happy if the Christmas decorations went up in June but on reflection this probably isn’t quite true. I love Christmas for many reasons but the amount of times I’d have to hoover pine needles from the living room floor over a six-month period doesn’t bear thinking about.
I’ve written a little about art, because when I started to try to identify the things I really care about this came tumbling out, alongside quite a specific treatise about different sorts of boots. Great paintings have an enormous power to capture a moment, to really stop you in your tracks and make you completely forget about anything else, but we should all own boots that give off a certain attitude too. They have the power to make you walk like someone who is on their way to a wild party with a roguish rockstar, even if you are actually just going to Tesco Metro for some eggs.
I’ve also covered fringe maintenance, because my hair has basically given me a career. I talk about my kids a lot (they will never read this) and relationships (I’ve told my husband I’ve been freakishly positive about him – we’re safe) and I fear I may have got a bit preachy when I write about good manners and wearing only black. I’ve also found that I have some quite strong opinions on the people we do – and definitely don’t – need in our lives.
And why is it called Quite? Well, because it’s my favourite word. It’s a raised eyebrow, an aside. ‘Well, quite.’ But at the same time, it’s firm, restrained and it manages your expectations:
‘I think you’d quite like this film.’
‘That egg sandwich was quite good.’
And that’s what we need, I think. Things to be quite good. We’re bombarded with a lot of images of ‘perfect’ these days – Instagram, fashion, general showing off. But perfect is boring. High expectations are a killer. It’s certainly possible to make the perfect omelette (see here) and find the perfect t-shirt (takes work but is achievable, see here), but the perfect relationship? The perfect New Year’s Eve? It’s a solid no.
The thing about ‘quite good’ is that it leaves you somewhere to go. Because, so long as you have great friends, peanut butter and the opportunity for a nap then everything is broadly fine, and there is always the chance that something (or someone) will come along and blow your socks off. We all know that the best dates are the ones you almost didn’t go on and the best nights out are those that were supposed to be just a quick vodka round the corner but ended up with dancing and laughing till the mascara ran down your face.
So I would like to make a case for the underrated and the imperfect. You can buy that very glamorous kaftan and you can spend three days planning the most impeccable dinner party, but you probably won’t feel like Beyoncé on a yacht and the award-winning cheese board is not why the evening was fun. Can I recommend instead that you put on a good pair of jeans, smear (and I really do mean smear) some eyeliner in the vicinity of your eyelids and just go about your day. If the kids have done their homework, if the person you’re with is kind and knows how to laugh at themselves, if you’ve remembered to call your best friend back then that is really quite good. Everything else is just sprinkles.