The other day, the Genuinely Poshest Woman I Know was kind enough to send me the link to a 'typical day in the life' of a well-known er, marketing guru. The fact that - I'm going to call her Venetia Brockley-Floret, because I just can't type another acronym out - prefaced the link to said day in said life with "this is not satire" should have worried me. I see this now. But we all have 20/20 vision after the white light of a nuclear bomb blast has given us impromptu lasix surgery, and at the time, I simply started reading, not understanding what horrors lay ahead.

Perhaps you, my dear readers, simply by my saying the words 'marketing guru', are wiser than I, and would have known to run for the hills, screaming. Yes. Well. I didn't, and I suffered the consequences. Venetia suffered also, listening to the hideousness of my hysterical laughter, interspersed with "oh dear God above", and brief spurts of dry retching.

If I say the words 'fake humbleness', will they do this - this waffle - justice, I wonder? 

No. The gentleman in question, and I use the word 'gentleman' advisedly, possibly substituting 'giant ego on a stick', has obviously swallowed his own homemade kool-aid, along with his similarly made-with-his-own-fair-hands kombucha. He genuinely believes in his own awesomeness, and that his day is spent in the way he says it is; every moment tied up in a fulfilled, saviour of the social media planet/rockstar dad/talk to the trees and my clients in an equally amazing way, way.

Way.

So, Posh Totty and I made a deal, after I cursed her soundly for blighting my reality with this spawn of Baal. We, too, would record our own life in the day - both the real - 

- and the unreal versions. 

Because if said Jim Jones wannabe spends his days like that in reality, as opposed to on Fantasy Island, then I am Tattoo, and - oh look, the plane!

Welcome - to 24. 

Er, 48.

No, 24 times two. 

Oh whatever. 

MY DAY - KATE STONE MATHESON (PRONOUNCED STARN MAWTHESOON), BRANDING GURU, WORLD RENOWNED STYLE QUEEN, CARING CHAMPION OF UNDERPRIVILEGED CATS WITH MIAOW IMPEDIMENTS, LEADING AUTHORITY ON JUST ABOUT ANYTHING.

JUST ASK ME. GO ON. ASK. ME.

0545: Wake to the sound of my specially mixed morning chants from the Dalai Lama, with a smile and a murmured 'praise to Amida Buddha', turn and kiss The Man Who Vaguely Resembles David Tennant lovingly, ensuring he has everything he needs for his morning bicycle ride. He is about to cycle the length of Antarctica on a specially modified bike, accompanied by Princess Vader, raising awareness for the plight of polar bears. Apparently the Arctic was booked out by Prince Harry, so they had to go South.

I see that all five of our specially bred voiceless cats - Krishna, Kali, Ganesh, Hanuman and Vishnu - are dozing on their monogrammed silk cashmere pillows in the sun. We had them colour matched genetically to my favourite shades of green. The cats, not the pillows. I felt it was important to show my care for the plight of Mother Earth. 

0630: I am alert, have performed ten minutes of high energy stretches, and have been through all my overnight emails. It's essential I gift those who need my unique voice with my responses as soon as possible, and the world is awake even when I am not, which I find surprising. I was waiting on confirmation from my New York publishers on whether or not His Holiness is gifting me with his wisdom in my new volume of personal branding knowledge: How To Be On Brand While Unconscious. Apparently, he is. I am delighted, but unsurprised, as the Dalai Lama is one of the foremost commentators in personal brand awareness, and recognises a fellow master of the art. 

0700: Breakfast of my special, special health-giving concoction; potato juice, vinegar, golden syrup, and fermented mare's milk. I sip it all day long, and never see a day's illness. It's amazing, and has quite the cleansing properties.

0800: Today, is of course, an extraordinary day. Well, when I say extraordinary, I mean more extraordinary than usual. Because let's face it, I'm me. So every day is guaranteed to be fairly extraordinary, whether I'm delivering the firstborn of my VA, Wilhelm, and his partner, Glock, or simply speaking out in support of underprivileged cats. Or of course ensuring people are on brand all the time. All. The. Time. Everyone. In the world. Always. 

Yes. So - today, I am recording my wonderful and exciting debut TV series, How To Make Sure Your Husband Matches Your Handbag, And How Not To Be Afraid To Invest In A New One. Husband, I Mean.

I think it's going to be a smash. Because your personal brand is your best business! But it means I will be unavailable for the rest of the day, so I will leave you with a supply of my special drink, to make sure you're well-hydrated, and the cats to keep you company. They can't make any noise, and they're the same colour as the potplants, so sometimes it's hard to tell where they are.

You may want to remember that.

MY DAY, TAKE TWO - KATE STONE MATHESON, PRONOUNCED KATE, CHRONIC INSOMNIAC, PERSON WITH APPARENTLY WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON THEIR HANDS, WIFE OF SOMEONE WHO SNORES LIKE A CHAINSAW THAT NEEDS OIL, FAN OF SNACK CHOCOLATE.

0730: Crap. Is that sunlight, or the streetlight? Crap. Definitely sunlight. It burns. Owww.

0745: This.

0755: Too hard, it's cold - ohhhh, toast! With vegemite! And orange juice - no, it doesn't make up for the snoring, but I will eat it, I say graciously, in the manner of Her Majesty QEII being kind to the old sod Prince Phil, waving with a mouthful of butter at The Man Who Vaguely Resembles David Tennant, as he slogs off for another day at the coalface to make enough money for my Snack chocolate habit. 

0930: Whoops. Fell sleeps.

1030: Yeah, it's really not happening. Osky snoring. He clearly agrees by lack of awakeness. 

1145: Vaguely attempt to wave my fingers at some emails, look longingly at empty Snack wrapper, message Posh Venetia. Posh Venetia messages back. 

1400: Finish messaging Posh Venetia. 

1430: Think of something else I need to tell her. 

1530: Should have a shower, perhaps. 

1730: TMWVRDT texts. On his way home. Do I need anything at the shop? SNACK. It's as though my phone already knows what I want it to say! Magic. 

1735: Realise I really should have that shower, because I still haven't, and am therefore in need of delousing/possible deplaguing, and so get up really quickly. 

1740: Think I feel a bit...

1741: Faint.

1745: 

1750:

1755: Ouch.

1930: Obligatory Facebook pose with brightly coloured waterproof cast on [insert limb here].

1945: Painkillers. Fairly productive day, that. All in all. 

Okay, okay, this was all tommyrot and foolery - but there is a little bit of a moral to this, or rather these, stories. 

We live increasingly fake lives. Our social media selves are a bland bullshittery of The Best Of 2016, and reveal nothing about the reality of self, suffering, or even the mundane nature of life. We are human, and therefore frail, and allowed to be ordinary. We don't have to be switched on like a lightbulb of success 24/7. It's not truth, it's not sustainable, and it's definitely not good for us. Our egos are far too easily swayed into believing our own dressed-up version of events. 

Next time you think to post a selfie-improvement, just stay your hand a little. How are you really feeling; what are you actually doing?

If the answer is 'at home, on the sofa, eating Snack chocolate, writing a load of rubbish' then say so. If, of course, you feel a need to say anything at all. 

You could just switch off, and share said Snack with the person next to you, and ask them about their actual day. 

Rather than reading about their fake one, online. Much better. And it has the added benefit of no fermented mare's milk with golden syrup.

What on earth was I thinking?