These are a few of my favourite things

I HAVE realised I've been a bit grumpy of late.

In fact, looking back, I've been nothing short of Victor Meldrew in a miniskirt (nice visual for you to enjoy with your Shreddies there).

You see, when someone gives you free rein to air your rants to the good paper-buying population of Worthing, it becomes rather difficult to keep a lid on the niggles.

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Suddenly, things you barely even realised bothered you have leapt, frog-like, from the recesses of your mind and immortalised themselves in print on the page.

Fire alarms. Valentine's Day. Inappropriate flip-flop wearing.

Yes, the world needs righting, and I'd like to do it through writing (good grief '“ apparently too much complaining has had the converse effect of turning self into one of those saccharine children who always won Blue Peter competitions).

However, much as I enjoy vying for a spot on Grumpy Old Women '“ preferably between Jenny Eclair and Muriel Gray '“ so we could create a kind of trinity of bleached belligerence, identifiable by our unnaturally platinum tresses and the smoke furling from our nostrils.

I think enough is probably enough. Isn't it?

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Yes, I knew you'd agree. So this week, instead of another nice whinge about a rubbish aspect of life, probably those little white ulcer spots you get on the end of your tongue that hurt every time you eat curry, I thought I'd cast cynicism aside and take inspiration from The Sound of Music.

No, seriously.

As hiring a local am-dram company to dress up as nuns and Nazis and march around Chapel Road yodelling was slightly out of my student budget, I'm instead going to divulge a few of my own favourite things.

This bout of happy life-appreciation may also be down to the new beret I bought on Monday, which has led me to believe I am Camden's answer to Amlie, finding joy in the little incidences of je ne sais quoi which one encounters through the day.

For her, it was cracking crme brle and sliding her hand into big, cool bags of grain.

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For Ian Dury in Reasons to Be Cheerful, it was "Some of Buddy Holly, the working folly, Good golly Miss Molly and boats".

For me, it's this little lot:

- The smell of new carpets. When the empty garage down my road was turned into a Carpet Right this week, I was perplexed to discover not everyone shares my feelings towards flooring fragrance.

"Fantastic", thought I, "if I'm feeling stressed I can pop in and have a sniff", but a quick straw poll revealed my flatmates prefer the traditional method of booze, burgers and bed, to standing over some shag-pile and inhaling deeply.

More fool them, my method is cheaper.

- Words that accidentally rhyme. Because I'm a poet who doesn't know it, and wishes the world were more like a Dr Seuss book.

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- Condiments. On some occasions, it would not be overstating it to say I enjoy the condiments more than I enjoy the meal.

I particularly like it in gastro-pubs when they bring the condiment selection in a little bucket, as it seems to honour and respect the grave importance that tartare sauce, mayo and two kinds of mustard can have to one's overall contentment in life.

- That fantastic rush of relief you get after you think you've lost your phone/wallet/keys/child, and then it turns out you hadn't at all.

- Purse-purging. Anyone who has ever witnessed my wallet at its pregnant, pre-purging best will be able to appreciate the joy I experience every few months when I give it a good emptying.

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However, this is not just the desire to create order and harmony in my life (a disease I've mercifully never been inflicted with).

No, I save every receipt, train ticket, cinema stub and chewing gum wrapper I acquire specifically so that when the purse is good and bulgy, to the extent where I have to switch to a larger bag to accommodate its bulk, I can have a jolly jaunt down consumer memory lane and relive all my purchases.

Which looks an awful lot more shameful written down than it sounds in my head. Let's move on.

- Extracting the filling of a custard cream biscuit all in one go with your teeth.

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An underrated skill, and one employers should take more notice of on my CV.

- Duvets on sofas. Unless you're being forced to sleep on one, in which case the whole experience isn't quite as thrilling.

But generally, a duvet on a sofa is guaranteed happiness.

Comfy underneath, comfy on top, like a toasty sandwich of comfyness.

Largely the reserve of minor childhood illnesses, snow-days, decadent movie marathons and those days where you do nothing but eat toast and play PlayStation, a duvet on a sofa is a bit of nostalgic brilliance.

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- Pan-pipes albums. Usually easy listening hits of the 80s, there is nothing more wonderful than realising the ethereal sounds of the Peruvian mountains you've been listening to in a craft shop for the past two minutes is actually Lionel Ritchie's All Night Long, played at a speed so serene it makes you think you want to buy glitter glue and start making your own bookmarks.

So there, I hope you're now radiating with cheer.

I'm off to track down some schnitzel with noodles, whatever it may turn out to be, and hope it doesn't aggravate my tongue ulcer.