I had written an autobiography yet I hadn’t really lived.

When asked what is most interesting about you, or what your hobbies are, most people freeze and say nothing.

I was asked this very question during a meeting at the Evening Times this week and it got me thinking.

When I was four I would have said drawing was my hobby, my ultimate favourite thing. Nothing else beat it and I was relatively good at staying within the lines when I coloured my pictures in.

Then later on, once I’d learned how to read, that became my thing and I would read *everything* – from cereal boxes in the morning to my older sisters school books when she brought them home.

By the time I was nine I felt that all these geeky things that made me who I was were pretty interesting and thought it was time to write my memoirs. Back in the day when sheets of coloured paper, folded over, stapled, with a penguin logo drawn on the side was a bona-fide published book.

It wasn’t until recently that my boyfriend found out about my book writing past, something I’d managed to avoid for two and half years. So, The Autobiography of Gillian Lambie was dug out of the cupboard and a lot of laughter was had; at my expense obviously.

The highlights being that I got freckles in the summer and that I could never be a nurse because I’d probably faint at the sight of blood (something which has never actually been a problem – I can only assume that I had made that bit up for comical effect.)

The drawings of my family, on my artistic family tree, had probably looked good at the time. However, it was clear that my love of drawing had stopped aged four. As fit and healthy as my family may be, they are not quite ‘stick’ thin.

So, aged nine, I seems that I thought I was quite interesting. If you had asked me about my life then, I clearly would have had an answer. I hadn’t yet adventured through Mexico, climbed a volcano, abseiled off the Falkirk Wheel, bungee jumped for charity or cycled round a velodrome – all of which are stories I could tell you about myself – but I had written an autobiography.

After looking back at nine year old me to get some inspiration I found I was able to answer the question. Mainly by realising that I had something to write about before I had done all the things that I have done so far.

One day hopefully I will have an even better story to tell, and then I can start on the sequel – maybe with a real publishers logo on it this time.

Originally published in the Evening Times hereĀ 

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