Once upon a time I had a dream.
I was seven years old and wanted to be a zookeeper. It was Johnny Morris's fault. I loved Animal Magic.
I did love writing, though. I wrote a mini-novel with illustrations. Like most children of that age and of that era, I was very animal-centric, particularly as I was born and raised on a farm. My book was about a cat called Tom and a dog called Blackie and how the pair of them foiled a kidnapping plot.
I've still got it somewhere. When I find it, I'll show you.
So in my ninth year, I decided if I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, the best thing I could do was become a journalist. I'd seen a film on television and loved the fast pace and the wisecracks.
My journalistic career wasn't quite like the movies, apart from the fags and clacking typewriters. But it was great fun. And a privilege to meet people, write about them and get paid for it.
I'm not a journalist any more, not as such. But I'm still writing. And loving it.
And to be approached by the oldest weekly magazine for women in the world on the strength of this blog - this blog - well, it's just incredible. I am still pinching myself. I am indebted to my loyal readers, many of whom have been with me when I started The World from my Window in 2007 while I was doing a creative writing course with The Open University. Thanks so much for sticking with me.
Now I just have to put on my tractor beam to get the Guardian to take me on as a television critic.
Anything is possible.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x