Sponsor A Fingernail In Need

I know this will not come as a surprise to any of you, because of course you've all read my recent memoir, The Little Book of Anxiety. But for those of you who enjoy a recap, let me state for the record: I bite my nails. This is, arguably, my deepest shame, alongside not being able to locate Algeria on a map, eating Nutella with my hands, and trying to seduce Elliot Perlman at a writer's festival (although the only shameful part of the latter was the fact that I failed quite spectacularly).

Not my nails. But soon will be!

It pains me deeply that I have not managed to kick my nail biting habit in the forty three years I've been on earth. Even assuming that I didn't start biting my nails until I had teeth, that's still around forty two years I've had my fingers in my mouth. And at least 40% of the time those fingers don't even have Nutella on them, so there's really no excuse at all.

As I wrote in my Little Book, I have managed to overcome my embarrassing habit by getting acrylic nails. Sadly, however, I have also managed to bite off said acrylic nails at least eight times in the past two years. I have now reached the point where I am too ashamed to venture into the nail salon yet again to have them replaced as I can no longer bear the pitying looks.

So... I have made a resolution. I am going to grow my own, calcium-based nails, for real, this time. But for this, I need your help. I cannot do it alone. (I know this because I have failed about five times a year for the past forty three years.)

How can you help? Well, I have a unique and thrilling idea. (Trust me, you'll be thrilled.) I am calling on ten of you to Sponsor a Nail and encourage me on my quest. And let me tell you - Sponsoring a Nail is an incredible privilege. What do you get? I'm glad you ask! Sponsoring a Nail gives you naming rights - yes, naming rights! - over one of my nails. And that's not all! I will also keep you updated with information about your nail's progress, including how it is growing and whether I've been tempted to nibble it. But wait - there's more! Because when a suitable length is reached, and I get my real nails painted for the first time, you determine the colour of your particular nail.

Can you believe it?

So how do you win one of these ten fabulous nails??? To apply to Sponsor a Nail, please comment below, including the name you would choose for my nail, and which nail you would like to sponsor. (Obviously you would all prefer to sponsor my Bum Finger nail, but please bear in mind there is only one of those.)

My kids and I will choose the ten winners, and announce them on this blog when the competition closes. (The competition will close when I have decided I have enough entries. It's my competition, after all.)

So thank you all very much for your support, and I look forward to receiving your entries.

My Failed Seduction of Elliot Perlman

I couldn't have been more excited. There, on the panel at the Sydney Jewish Writers Festival, were the two great literary loves of my life - Mark Dapin and Elliot Perlman.

Mark I already know. This is because I stalked him at a previous Jewish writers function, declaring my love for his columns and his tattoos, excitedly showing him examples of my columns and tattoos, and generally becoming a nuisance for the next year or so until he agreed to be my friend. He is the funniest man I know, and quite stunningly talented, and I adore him.

Elliot I had never met, though his book 'Seven Types of Ambiguity' is among my all time favorite. He spoke in soothing, caramel tones of war and responsibility, with such cerebral gravitas I was ready to lie down before him with my legs in the air. The curly brown hair, chiseled features and twinkly eyes didn't hurt, either.

Poor Elliot. All he wanted to do was write books.

After the session I proceeded to the book signing area with about 20,000 of his and Mark's other fans - bizarrely, nearly all of them female. I chatted to Mark, whose hat was cutting off the circulation to his head, and waited for my chance to sit on Elliot's knee talk to Mr Perlman.

The time came. And here, for your reading pleasure, are just a few snippets of the actual, genuine, conversation I had with my literary idol:

Me: You are my fantasy man.
Elliot: Um... oh.

Me: Are you on Twitter?
Elliot: No, I don't know how to work it. I need to learn.
Me: I'm giving a course on Twitter next Tuesday, come along, I'll get you in for free!
Elliot: Sadly I'm going back to Melbourne tomorrow.
Me: That's okay, I'll come to your hotel room and give you a private lesson!

Me: Do you know any Sackvilles in Melbourne?
Elliot: I know many. I know Lindi Sackville.
Me: She's my cousin!
Elliot: I used to have a crush on Lindi at school.
Me: Well now you can transfer that crush to me!
Elliot: Um.. aren't you married?
Me: Make me an offer and I don't have to be!

All in all I was devastatingly seductive and practically had Elliot drooling in anticipation of a special, two person book club all of our own.

Except that I wasn't, at all. I was a tragic, middle aged groupie, who had to get home to her husband and kids. Which I did, with my tail between my legs, and a copy of The Street Sweeper clutched in my hands.

It was inscribed 'It was a pleasure to meet you'. And that, my friends, is what I cling to.