It's official. The number of people who are my age or younger who have babies has now surpassed the number of fingers (and thumbs) I have on both my hands. And for me, it's mental. I simply cannot imagine having a baby to look after at this age. Don't get me wrong, I look after myself just fine at university (if we ignore the vodka intake, the far too often lack of weather-appropriate clothing and infrequency in hoovering) but there are days when I simply can't be bothered. Whether's that's cleaning or cooking or whatever. I still get stressed over what I wear to lectures every single day and it's more like a nightmare than a night out when we decide to hit the union. So adding a baby to the mix would probably just about finish me off.

From what I can see (or rather from what Facebook shows me) the people having babies are, on the whole, fantastic parents: I am not here to comment or criticise on that. And of course the baby pictures are absolutely adorable to look at, especially when the other option is to look at fascist leaders or French vocab but that whole way of life is just alien to me but if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't even know if I should have children ever, let alone any time soon.

My family describe me, and I quote, as quirky, weird and full of 'Jade-isms'. My friends say I'm unique, a character and that I'd make a great psychology case study. All of the above are true (and though meant in love, are essentially a subtle way of saying JADE, YOU'RE A FREAK.) To put it in black and white, I'm no longer a teenager yet I still can't mix most foods; I still sleep with a night light; I am the only person in England who is more socially awkward than Francis Boulle (sorry, Boulle) and I have issues with people touching me. I daren't even think how my offspring would turn out. Plus there's the small factor of finding a man crazy enough to stick around and have kids with me (because let's face, any children of mine are going to need serious help if I did it alone.)

But maybe I'll change. Maybe I'll grow up and grow out of this quirky phase (though I'm doing a damn good job of resisting thus far). Maybe I'll become what society decrees is "normal". All I do know is that babies are a long. way. off.

Having said that, watching BBC's Glamour Model Mum, Baby and Me did make me think about the future. About my mum and about me being a mum. And embarrassingly, I've started a list. Not a long list mind, but a list all the same. It contains all the things I want to remember from my life so far that I want to tell any potential children I may or may not have. I highly doubt it's going to be terribly philosophical and truth be told, in two years time it will probably no longer exist but right now, I feel like I'm growing older without growing up. And that's good - I have absolutely no desire to grow up just yet and two more years at university are going to ensure that I don't - but I'm living and learning things that I don't want to forget. So that's the plan, to keep adding to this list so that when (or rather if) I'm ever ready to have children, I'll have some knowledge to impart to them. Real lessons in life and love and everything in between, as opposed to the ones I've absorbed vis-a-vis Gossip Girl and Doctor Who. Though of course any children of mine will be fastidious fans of the latter.

But for now, kids are still definitely way off the cards. Don't worry world, there's still only one of me to deal with.

So Made in Chelsea Series 3 finished last night (more about that in another post - TOO many thoughts to process right now) and one of my (male) flatmates still can't understand what there is to like about a programme like this. And as much as we do get on, there's a lot we differ in opinion about and Made in Chelsea is definitely just the tip of the iceberg.

 Nevertheless, it did force me to argue my point and though I no doubt spoke like I was suffering from some form of verbal dyslexia (no change there then), I'd like to say that my points were eventually accepted and I emerged victorious,  thus reinstating myself as Queen of Chestnut (a nickname granted to me, not one I decided to invoke for myself. I'm not that into totalitarianism.) And in his defence, he is right. I will religiously text my best friend every Tuesday morning questioning whether she has watched the latest episode and we then proceed to waste the rest of the morning examining the previous night's events and concurring (usually) who we love and who we loathe. For the record, we're both BIG Jamie, Binky and Caggie fans. She also likes Ollie but for me, Francis is pure gold. He has become my second spirit animal - Big Bang's Sheldon Cooper takes the first spot. For obvious reasons. Anyway, I tweeted about this, but in an alternate universe Boulle and I would definitely be socially awkward royalty. Bow down, bitches.

But back to the case in point, why is it that we invest so much time in a reality programme, caring about these people as if our lives depended on it, whilst the people who  we do depend on (i.e. our Government) rarely feature in our everyday conversations?

For me, it's a case of relatability. I can relate to the bitching and the backstabbing (that's 7 years at an all-girls school for you) and the boyfriends and the best friends. More importantly, these people have style and social media platforms meaning we can, if we desire, recreate their lives and their looks as close as we want. For the most part, investing in a show like Made in Chelsea is harmless fun. With the stresses of being a student, it's nice just to switch off and watch beautiful, beautiful rich people worry about their problems (which, in reality, aren't that far from the ones we experience too).

So until it stops airing (please, please air another series E4!), I'm not going to stop watching Made in Chelsea. And until David Cameron starts singing 'Wild Thing' on karaoke and taking photos of flowers on a kitchen table, Boulle will always take precedent.