More, more, more...

After scoffing well, inhaling my Sunday roast something hit me. No, it was not the overwhelming wave of a food coma, nor the sense of shame at the mass of food that did not make my mouth but rather my sweater. It was in fact one of life's big questions - 'What's next?'

Of course, like most of life's big problems, there was an answer…lemon posset.

But, being deeply sentimental as of course, I am (nose grows 9") ye ole life questions came knocking. Before you click that pesky x and open a page far more exciting (Facebook) I promise you this, in the next four minutes I shall not be talking global warming nor foreign politics, instead I shall stay a tad closer to home.

The question occupying my mind this week goes as follows - 'Will we always want that little bit more?' The answer is of course, yes. When I scrapped the remnants of roast chicken onto my no doubt exhausted fork, I considered my next course. Not fully fulfilled by half a chicken, four whole carrots, three roast potatoes, a Yorkshire pudding the size of a pet Chihuahua and seasonal greens, I eyed up the pudding list. No I did not need it, but that wasn't going to stop me, I wanted it so I was having it. Like most of you out there venturing into cyber space for your kicks, this isn't the first time I have wanted more.

Right now on my wish list, as I am sure is on many folks, is a job, a good ole nine to five. Second, and totally self obsessed I admit, is longer hair. Third is a smaller waist line and fourth is (the Miss England side of me screams "world peace, the fourth is world peace god dammit") greater definition in my cheek bones. Yes, three out of four show the extensive nature of my vanity and quite honestly make me want to run to the high hills out of shame but, I do have a point I promise.

Whilst I may want a smaller waist line, my current line is fine. There is no problem there, I fit into a size ten jean and only have to loosen my belt if I eat three, not two, courses. But still, some pesky part of me tells me that dropping a pound or two wouldn't hurt. Now I can blame this on the media if I so desire. Yes, there are a haggle of stick thin models amongst us and there legs do go up to there whilst ours only come up to here (Bridget Jones reference, as if you didn't know) but, they have a little thing known as airbrushing on their side. The nagging voices however, aren't theres.

Everyone wants a little bit more. I am sure Usher wants more strobes per second that he is currently allotted and Biebs wouldn't mind just one more lonely gal to fall under his spell but, for this winter at least I aim to be content. After all, one extra pound means I am warmer than Jodie Kidd and Kate Moss put together.