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Youre the Bridget Jones of the West Village, darling, my friend declared.
My stories of boyfriends had all my friends screaming with laughter, but I was left in tears.
Every time I was shocked.
But why would I?
I didnt want an unfaithful boyfriendin fact I was allergic to the idea of men who cheated.
I started to think that not only did I not understand men, I did not understand myself.
Plum, its so obvious, the smart friend said with a look.
Its because you werent really brought up by your parents.
You were brought up by your grandmother.
It was a light-bulb moment for me.
Let me rewind and explain.
I didnt stop crying for weeks, it seemed.
Moving from London to Grannys house was a dream, and I took to country life.
Winnie cooked us huge teas and baked endless cakes that we wolfed down every day after school.
The Daniel Cleavers, no doubt, could see me coming.
I had a 1940s attitude to life and love.
The problem was it was the 1990s.
Do I wish things had been different?
Do I wish I had been more modern, more educated about love?
Well, yes and no.
On the one hand, it would have been nice to avoid the heartbreaks.
On the other, I wouldnt have swapped my childhood on that farm for anything.
It was a blissful, innocent time, the sort of upbringing every parent dreams about for their kids.
And now years later, despite many ups and downs of the heart, I remain an optimist.
Im still convinced that there is good in everyone, and I like that I think that.
Thats new, and in my 20s I would never have dreamed I would have to think like that.
But as Bridget Jones might have put it: Note to selfwhen a grown-up, be a grown-up.
Plum Sykes is the author, most recently, of the forthcomingWives Like Us.
Wives Like Us: A Novel
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