I have always held the opinion that boredom is a state of mind that can and should be immediately remedied. I refuse to get bored.

It was in this spirit that I completed my household chores to the sound of Amazing Grace played on a distant set of Methven bagpipes. Hubby was at work so I researched for an upcoming trip, and finally turned to the in-house library. There are eight books in the library. There is a copy of The Holy Bible, the crisp and spotlessly unread pages of Deuteronomy hiding between dingy covers. There is a biography of a very important outdoorsy red faced man, three tired paperback novels, the obligatory Dan Brown – The Da Vinci Code (hard-backed and illustrated), Gok Wan working his wardrobe and Trinny and Susannah as seen on TV. Endless happy memories whirl round in my head.

Trinny and Suzannah offered “The Survival Guide”at a time when shopping online was still a little avant guard for busy mothers, super fast fibre was science fiction in Norfolk, and Apps were only for the daring. “How to look terrific all the time, balance work, home, children and social life and still have time for yourself”, they gurgle triumphantly. This is like the pension scam that is too good to be true. Nothing will ever come of it. It is a perversion of the universe.

My eye was drawn to a pertinent section on packing for holidays and long haul flights which includes innovative suggestions for entertaining children. These include magnetic snakes and ladders, “Fuzzy Felt (it sticks)” and a portable CD player. Bribes include Smarties for counting games, presumably subtraction. The page is illustrated with a fuzzy felt picture of cats, squirrels and horses, and a large photo of a bottle of Piriton Syrup (that well known remedy for active children). Suggestions for the adult in-flight kit include homeopathic pills and multi vitamins (fast acting, one wonders?), pillow spray and an iPod (what’s that?). “Make your seat into a little home” they happily intone. Oh yeah. Each section of this indispensable survival guide comes with a diagram illustrating the rules of what one should wear if one has big tits, no tits, flabby tummy or saddlebags. Depending on the occasion there might also be advice for big bums, short legs, big arms and hapless waistless people. No men’s outfits are included. There is no advice for disguising a beer belly at a football match. What they have failed to understand is that most of us – alas – fall into more than one category and some of us now feel we must take refuge under a duvet or large kaftan and hide in number 37b in New Zealand.

I put the book back on the TV stand next to the benign Gok Wan. That one is for another day girlfriend.