The online world is a strange one. We spend so much time collectively talking about how our digital presence is preened and perfected to within an inch of its life, but we also persevere in presenting only the best of ourselves in our feeds and on our blogs, because we need to tick that ever-desirable ‘aspirational’ box.

Two things: 1) inspired by Lizzy Hadfield of Shot From The Street, I keep a folder on my computer which is filled with my favourite double-chinned, wonky mouthed, podgy bellied and mid-blink outtake spanning back years now, to remind even myself that online CBP is an idealised version of IRL CBP; 2) I do not have my shit together. I may be adulting at full capacity in some senses, but in many others, my life is a series of ‘I’m just going to act confident and hope that nobody notices’ which sometimes, admittedly, backfire.

I’ve had this post written up in an old notebook for months now, but I had a really crap day yesterday (nothing major, just one of those days where all of life’s minor annoyances seem to crop up at once - it was the toe-stubbing equivalent of a day) and instead of signing off, getting a bit tipsy at home and trying not to subsequently fall asleep in the bath and drown, I decided to laugh at myself. Laughter is the best medicine, after all (after gin and, well, genuine medicine).

Coat - H&M (US) (UK)

Tee - ASOS

Jeans - Topshop

Shoes - Gucci

Bag - Smith & Canova

Sunglasses - Ray-Ban*

Necklaces - Carrie Elizabeth Jewellery*

Claimed that allowing people to steal was good customer service in a job interview

This is my favourite cock-up of all time, not least because as soon as the words left my mouth and I witnessed the quizzical look on the face of my interviewer, I knew I wouldn't be his next employee.

Let me set the scene. I’m 19/20 years old and trying to find a summer job for the break between my university terms. A role for general customer assistant crops up at my local ASDA, and having worked in retail before (it was Sainsbury's and I hated it, but by the grace of God I managed to stop that confession coming out of my mouth), I thought it was an easy fit. I breezed through the group interview and got called in for a one-to-one. All was going well, until the interviewer through a curve ball question at me that I hadn’t expected: ‘give me an example of some good customer service that you’ve experienced’, he asked. I looked thoughtful whilst the minions in my brain started screaming and digging through the archives.

Obviously they couldn’t find anything, because this was my response: ‘once at a supermarket I took an item to the till and it didn’t have a price attached, so the staff member just let me have it for free and I left.’

Yep, that’s right. In my interview for a retail store, I told them that my idea of good customer service was letting people take items for free. Not opening up an extra point of sale if it’s busy, or endeavouring to learn regular customer’s names - nope, letting them just pick items up, and leave the store.

Needless to say, I didn’t get the job.

Took my boyfriend to the wrong hotel after bragging about my navigation skills

I head into London a lot for work, so as a result I’ve become pretty well versed with the tube lines and travel plans and how to use CityMapper if all else fails. I take for granted that a lot of other people don’t feel so at home whilst navigating the big city, and one of those lovely people is Keiran. Being the natural show-off that I am, if we ever travel to London together, the trip presents the perfect opportunity for me to show off how ~ great ~ I am at navigation and just how ~ cultured ~ I’ve become.

Last year we'd booked a hotel for a fleeting trip in the capital, and, having been the one to select everything from the neighbourhood we were staying in to the type of room to the times of our trains, I was feeling pretty smug. Screw Google Maps - I had this down.

Turns out I didn’t. I navigated us to the right hotel, but in entirely the wrong part of London. But this isn’t the worst part. Not only did I take us to the wrong hotel, I actually realised when I checked the confirmation on my phone at the request of the receptionist, but decided not to say anything. You know when it’s just too far gone, and you have to see it through for the sake of your ego? I stood there for a good ten minutes, watching staff member after staff member search the system, before calling for their manager, who then called booking.com and even double checked the whole process again, knowing that there was no way they were going to find our booking because it simply didn't exist.

Eventually they ask to look at the email on my phone, at which point I was swiftly told ‘Ah, yes, you’re in the wrong hotel’. Didn’t hear the end of that one for a while.

Submitting my final ever university essay late because I went to get a hot chocolate from Costa

I’m actually laughing as I write this one because it’s the most bizarre and pointless decisions I've ever made. As per usual, I’d left my very final university essay to the last minute, and with the 3pm deadline fast approaching, I’d spent the whole morning writing, proofing, and writing and proofing some more.

I've no idea what possessed me to do what I did next, but come 1pm I decided that it would be a good idea to go out and get a Costa. I wanted a hot chocolate and a brownie. What was I rewarding myself for?? Not finishing?? Well, I got what I wanted, but it took me about 45 minutes to get there and back, and by the time I’d returned, I’d left myself only an hour to reference my entire essay. Yes, the entire thing. I didn’t even have a shortlist of the titles - I literally had to start from scratch.

Despite my attempts to cut corners, I eventually turned in my final ever essay about 45 minutes late, and when my lecturer emailed me a day later asking why, I confessed that something had gone wrong with my WIFI and there was nothing that I could have done (basically, I lied).

Cancelling a customer’s food order and then lying about it

This was a proper ‘I fucked up’ moment, and looking back on it now, the web of lies I'd woven together to cover my arse would easily have fallen apart had one person just spoken to another. But they didn’t, so this pesky kid got away with it.

Having been mysteriously unsuccessful in my attempt to secure a part-time job at ASDA, I ended up at a local hotel as a waitress and bartender. One evening I’m manning the bar by my lonesome (always the best - endless free cokes and pilfered bread rolls) when a gentleman comes to the till to order two roast dinners. I take the order, put it through to the kitchen and all is well. Around 20 minutes later the food is delivered, but I can’t see the gentleman anywhere. I shrug my shoulders and return to the meals to the kitchen, explaining that, despite having paid, he seems to have disappeared.

Fast forward another 25 minutes, and said gentleman reappears at the bar. He asks if he can have a refund for the two dinners, as it’s now pushing an hour since they originally ordered and they have to leave. I asked him where he went when he left the bar, and he replies ‘nowhere, I’ve been sat right here in front of you the entire time’. Okay. Great. Fabulous. I now have to explain to my manager and the chef that I'd basically forgotten what this guy looked like, and binned two whole dinners for no reason. I also needed to grovel a refund out of that.

But did I do that? Oh no no no. I lied through the skin of my teeth, dashing back into the kitchen with a ‘you’ll never guess what? He’s only come back and asked for a refund!’. By a stroke of divine luck, my manager that evening couldn’t be bothered with the arguments and so gave the cash back to me, meaning I was able to amble straight back up to the customer and express my deepest apologies for the slow running service of the kitchen staff.

If either the customer or the manager had decided to speak to one another I would have been screwed, but we’re British and we’re polite, so I got away with it. No ragrets.

Avoiding the dentist until my tooth broke in my mouth

Up until last week, I hadn’t been to the dentist in about 5-6 years. I hadn’t been in so long that I wasn’t even registered at my dentist anymore - I had to ring up and put myself on a waiting list. Me being me, however, when the dentist called back and left a voicemail to say I could go in, I figured ‘I'll just wait until I really need to go’. Well, probably shouldn't have waited. Even with the pain of a cracked tooth, I tried to eek out my avoidance for as long as possible, meaning that one day, whilst eating Weetabix (yes, THE softest food of all time), my tooth literally broke in my mouth.

I want to say lesson learned, but I still haven’t called back for my x-ray results.