Despite being an internationally respected woman and writer, I still get some grief about “speaking American.” Guess what? I’m American so, to those people I say, duh. But I’m British, too, so I also say fuck off, you twat.

However, in the spirit of being more welcoming, I’ve decided to supply a British-American dictionary for my less worldly readers. Here’s the first section.

But I’m telling you right now: I don’t want any quibbles. I don’t speak for all Americans. I don’t speak for all Brits. I only speak for myself: Agatha Whitt-Wellington. Got it?

A

Accelerator:  Gas pedal

B

Bogie, bogey: Booger

C

Candy floss: Cotton candy

Condom: Rubber

D

Dodgems: Bumper cars

E

F

G

Gherkin:  Pickle

H

Hash (#): Pound sign

I

Iced lolly:  Popsicle™

J

Jam:  Jelly (as in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches)

K

L

Loogie: Goober, hocker (goobers are also chocolate covered peanuts)

M

Manual (car): Stick, stick shift

To be continued….

New research shows that youngsters are leaving primary school unable to spell, add or do times tables. According to a survey, more than a quarter of children aged between 10 and 12 cannot add two simple sums together without a calculator.

Dullards!

This comes just a few days after students worldwide panicked because Wikipedia went black for one day. Young people tweeted “How will I do my homework now?” (and worse yet, many wrote “What’s going on with Wikipedia?” Google it, idiots!).

And therein lies the problem: laziness.

We didn’t have Spell Check when I was young. If we needed to know how to spell a word, we would across the room to the bookshelf and look it up in the dictionary (where, thoughtfully, the definition of said word was also available, free of charge).  No children had calculators either; shopkeepers were banned from selling them to minors. Those who did manage to get a hold of one didn’t even consider using it for mathematical reasons (hint: 5318008). Why would they? There was no reason to: that’s when brains are for.

Young people today seem to have willingly resigned themselves to not having to do things—if a machine won’t do it for them, then it must not be that important. Sadly, this seems to include thinking; I guess that’s just too much hard work for them to bother with. This can’t bode well for the future.

If you’re a parent worried about your child’s abilities, here’s a simple test: restrict his or her use of machines for one week. Without a calculator, can he complete his algebra homework? Without a computer, can she write an essay? Without a refrigerator, can he keep his meat and milk products from spoiling? Without her dialysis machine, can she remove waste and excess water from her blood? If the answers are no, your child is too dependent on machines and very likely a dumbbell.

You have my deepest sympathies. If they’re still in primary school, you still have time. Schedule an appointment with their teachers to come up with an action plan.  Otherwise, I’m afraid your children will be on the fast track to a career as a fast food worker, criminal or the Chancellor of the Exchequer. No one wants that.

Yes, my words—the words of Agatha Whitt-Wellington—were censored from my adoring public.

Why? Because I was participating in the largest online protest ever, to protest SOPA/PIPA, two bills in the US that could severely limit Internet freedom. While the vote on SOPA may have been temporarily delayed, it’s not gone even though President Obama has criticised it (surprising, eh? as you know how much Congress and the Senate value his take on things). I may joke about censorship, but if the Internet were censored how might the Arab Spring or the Occupy movement have been affected? Would I be rolling in cash proceeds from my extensive back catalog if the Internet were censored? I shudder to think. That’s why we all have to do something.

What you can do:

1. Cherish those on the Internet who use their freedom wisely.

2. Use your freedom wisely.

3. Never give away your freedom.

4. Talk to people about what’s going on.

5. Stand up and do something, whether you’re in the US or not.

Of course, I’d never deliberately offend anyone’s sensibilities on my website, nor would I break any laws, because with freedom comes responsibility. But I won’t stand by doing nothing when our freedom is in danger. I hope you won’t either.

Today is Blue Monday, which is supposedly the most depressing day of the year. Of course, there is some logic to back up this claim. The formula is:

So, according to the science boffins (at Sky Travel, mind you), 16 January 2012 will be the most depressing day of this year. I was surprised that this year didn’t lead to a slightly different conclusion, what with the world predicted to end and all (which I would’ve assumed might lead to a slight dip in happiness levels), but whatever.

You know me, I never argue with science—especially when it’s used to advertise a Murdoch media organ—so I guess, facts is facts, and today we’re all depressed.  Therefore, I’d like to offer a couple helpful suggestions to get you through.

You see what I've done here? It's called satire.

1. This year, Blue Monday is also Martin Luther King Jr Day in America. Perhaps it would cheer you up to remember how far we’ve come with eliminating racism and making it safe to peacefully protest.

2. Get some rest, eat right, take some exercise and remember that whatever is wrong in your life is no worse today than it will be tomorrow.

I suppose if you’re struggling today, you could always try to distract yourself until midnight. Snuggle up with a copy of The Sun or The Wall Street Journal, maybe watch a show on Fox or a film you’ve saved on Sky+.  Rupert Murdoch’s going to get your money one way or another, so give in to Blue Monday and do as you’re told.

Getting your kicks is essential to feeling fulfilled in life. I don’t doubt that some scientist at some university somewhere proved somehow that having fun is beneficial to the nervous system or clears up spots or something, but I’ve never been persuaded by mere scholarly evidence; I’ve seen this proven before my very eyes. Having fun keeps you fit and frolicsome.

Now “fun” is an extremely vague word: what’s fun to one person isn’t necessarily a ball of laughs for another.  That’s why it’s important for each of us to invest a little time investigating what “rocks our boats.” You may read of my adventures and think, “I wish I could live her life, it looks like great fun,” and you, of course, would be right. But don’t go chasing after someone else’s good time. Never deny the things that you enjoy, whatever they be, even if they’re activities that someone with even the slightest bit of class would find as tiresome as all get out.

One night when you’re just teetering on the thin line between pleasantly intoxicated and bleeding bladdered, reflect on the times when you most enjoyed yourself. Write them down in a list (write legibly) and keep this paper in a safe place (I suggest pressing it between two pages in a dictionary). Once you’ve sobered up, resolve to do one item on the list at least once a fortnight.  I can guarantee you that—whether you’re playing backgammon, going to the pictures, or attending a key party—you will feel as good as I look.

If you’re feeling inspired and came here for some advice on resolutions, don’t be a fool. I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions and neither do you; you’re just pretending. What you’re describing as inspiration is guilt.

That’s the problem with most of us: we get confused about our feelings. We say we love our partners, but if we’d just look a little more closely, what we really feel is hate. We say our friendships are motivated by loyalty, but they’re not: it’s usually envy (how you may feel towards me) or pity (how I may feel towards you).

I’m guessing that a fair few of you are waking rather “hungover.” You probably would describe it as a headache or tummy upset, and I’ve no doubt you are ascribing it to the copious amounts of liquor you lapped up during last night’s celebrations and/or commiserations. Of course, alcohol can eff your body up good and proper, but what are you really feeling? Regret? Shame? Impregnated?

These are the symptoms no hangover cure can help you with.  Fortunately, my insight into the true workings of the human body (including the mind) can. Follow these directions—to the letter—and you’ll feel better.

1. Look yourself in the face (you will probably need a mirror to do so).

2. Notice the regret in your eyes (indicated by a red tinge, drooping eyelids or dark circles).

3. Consider what caused that regret (this may be a specific event or just an acknowledgement of your general failure as a productive human being).

4. Notice the shame on your face (indicated by blotches on the skin, hickeys on the neck or the red itchiness around your mouth as an HSV-1 blister prepares to burst forth).

5. Consider what caused this shame (make a note to call for an STD/pregnancy test on Tuesday).

6. Comment aloud about how unattractive regret and shame look on you. If you live with someone, get them to tell you you’re hideous.

7. Drink one litre of freshly juiced kale, lemon and garlic (if items are not available—and they probably won’t be because you’re not one to plan ahead, are you—drink eight ounces of milk that has gone off—which I bet you’ve got at least a pint of in your fridge).

8. Vomit.

9. Splash cold water on your regret- and shame-stamped face.

10. Get into bed and think about things until you weep yourself to sleep.

I guarantee tomorrow you’ll wake up renewed and ready to change your life. Or at least your sheets.

I hope your Christmas Eve did not include what has now become a tradition round here, a young man coming in intoxicated and spewing what are clearly the issues he has with his mother onto me. For once I’d like to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, dreaming of sugarplums, rather than questioning my level of tolerance that allows this pisshead to live in my home.

If you prefer the traditional version, enjoy and Happy Christmas to all.

MAJOR ROLES TO BE CAST:

Agatha Whitt-Wellington: witty, gorgeous, sophisticated, ageless, seductive but not distasteful

Mother: brash, loud, unsupportive (complete plucking of eyebrows required)

Father: non-speaking role

Granny “Boots” Wellington: trouser-wearing

Headmaster: diminutive, unaware of how to behave in the presence of genius

Daphne d’Ebriété: elderly, wise, drunk in all scenes

Rupert Stanley Quim: elderly, stumpy, confused

Baron Von Schwarzen Wurst: debonair, accent of unknown origin

HRH Prince William: pre-hair loss

Christopher: good-looking, dependent (some nudity required)

Alice Wintergarden: jealous but ultimately harmless

MINOR ROLES TO BE CAST:

Lovers #1-45

Admirers #1-22

Arresting Officers #1-4

Doctor

Jeremy Irons

Competition will be tough: this is an important production and an incredible opportunity to be a part of the life of an amazing woman (that’s not vanity but the words of the judge who ruled on the intellectual property rights case).

After the holidays, I may be willing to give interviews to actors who would like to “get inside my head.”  These will be by appointment-only; interested young men should send photographs and be prepared to run lines, if you know what I mean.

I’m afraid I am unable to back you up on this one. As you know, I greatly admire manners and would love to be greeted with a smile by everyone who serves me. However, I also believe in keeping things in perspective.

Just for a moment, consider that person who is serving you. How’s their day going? While standing in line waiting to buy something is a pain, standing at the till ringing up other people’s purchases isn’t a barrel of laughs, you know. Of course, they’re probably being paid to do so (though undoubtedly not very well), but is pretending their life revolves around you and your happiness part of their job description? If in the end, you got my ring (I hope you remembered I prefer baguette rather than pear-shaped), the transaction’s been successful whether or not the clerk smiled at you or wished you a merry Christmas.

The run-up to December 25 can be stressful. If you can, make a smile part of all your public interactions. But if you don’t get one in return, try to be understanding. After all, it can be very tiring autographing book after book, and even the most sophisticated of authoresses can sometimes become frustrated. I’m sorry I kicked your child’s shin, but you got your book and isn’t that what you actually came out for?