In which I have no plan, Stan.

Printed 20/05/09.

I thought today I would start with a little mental workout for you all, in the spirit of sudoku and Dr Kawashimi's Brain Training (always quick to pick up on a trend, me). So here are some quasi-philosophical questions for you to ponder with your Shreddies:

How long is a piece of string?

How can you ever know if the fridge light really goes off when you close the door?

How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?

If Victoria Beckham falls in a forest and nobody is around to hear her, does she make any money?

And this last one, my own thought for the week – Where is the true self revealed, in what we do, or in what we tell everyone we're doing? Or, more specifically, what we tell elderly relatives we're doing?

It's a hot topic because round about now, up and down the country, over many cups of tea and malted milk biscuits, final year students are embroiled in the careful fabrication of a "plan" for eager, well-meaning ears. They're embellishing, padding and polishing the truth as if their lives depended on it – which of course, their fake lives actually do.

In short, they're making it up. But this is perfectly excusable lying. It's lying necessary for the smooth running of society, like "this won't hurt a bit", "honestly, nobody even noticed the spinach" or "Madge, you don't look a day over 30".

Because nothing is crueller than asking a soon-to-be graduate, "so what are you going to do now?", and people should realise this.

There was a time, I believe, when having a degree was considered achievement enough in itself. You could waltz out of the hall in the cap and gown, and into a grace period of several lazy years in which people massaged your clever feet and asked for help with their crosswords.

No longer. Now they chase you with sticks, shrieking, "What's the plan? What's the plan?" until you are forced to take shelter behind an application form. Nobody is brave enough to admit the truth, that the nearest they have to a "plan" is finally washing up that coffee mug and working through every episode of CSI in a weekend.

Because to say it out loud is to admit defeat, and resign yourself to the fact that that novel probably won't get written, the Euromillions jackpot probably won't be rolling your way, and maybe you did spend 30-odd grand of loan on equipping you to work in Spar.

So we lie. We say things like "I'm going to take time out to do a bit of travelling" or "there's a friend of a friend's uncle's cousin's dad who can probably get me into DeLoitte", which translates as "I'm going to Marbella for a week to do some amateur podium dancing", and "there's an accountants down the road who say they'll let me do their shredding".

And we churn out the stories until the relative or family friend in question looks satisfied, and we've almost started to believe our own hype. Maybe if I say it convincingly enough, for long enough, one day I'll wake up and really will be freelancing for the Guardian.

I could be the girl who cried "career".

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Being the last person left who still believes in the sanctity of celebrity marriage, the break-up of Jordan and Peter hit me pretty hard. While Katie claims to be "devastated" that Peter's decided to leave her, perhaps she can seek comfort at M&S – as of last week, the high street retailer admitted defeat over their storm in a D-cup, and bustier ladies will no longer have to pay more for larger-size bras.

But despite the extra pennies, it still looks like she'll be holding onto her assets pretty firmly in the divorce courts.

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Sad times this weekend, as for the first time since 1996, your faithful columnist missed her favourite socio-political event of the year, Eurovision.

Partly in protest at Wogan's absence, and partly because the call of the pub was stronger than any number of lycra-clad Latvian warblers, she chose to give this one a miss and see just how much Eurovision really contributes to her life.

The result was a performance of Brotherhood of Man's Save Your Kisses for Me, with dance routine, to an assembled audience in a Camden beer garden. The answer was "a lot".

Next year she promises she will be back on form – with scorecards, Euro-themed snacks and a smile.