You've got dirt on your nose, by the way. Did you know?

Before we begin, let me just apologise right here, right now, for the appalling typing you will find in this blog entry. When I finished writing my second book, Ivy League (it’s on sale now, go go go!) I treated myself to the longest set of false nails I’ve ever had. The thing is, I can’t type with acrylics on, so from before Christmas to the end of January, I had these awful little stumpy nails, and I was snarling at people’s photos on Instagram with a picture of their claws and the hashtag ChristmasNails.

It seemed very unfair that I had to go without, as there’s nothing I like more than having immaculate nails, but when I’m typing on average 20,000 words a day, I had no choice but to have hands like a boy’s. (If you ever see me with plain normal nails, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m busy working on something) Therefore, as soon as I had finished, the claws came out, and I can’t begin to describe how many mistakes I’ve made already and I’m only about two hundred words in.

Now, the purpose of this blog is actually split a few different ways. I’ve been meaning to write for literally about a month – I’ll be driving (yes, driving, I’ve actually finally passed my driving test! Yes, I know, I can’t believe it either) and I’ll be struck with an idea, then before I get chance to write it, I’ve been coerced into doing something else which is considered to be more important.

Basically, last Sunday morning, as I rolled around in my pit fighting a particularly monstrous hangover, I dabbled in my usual morning routine of scrolling through my Facebook and Twitter news feeds like they’re the local newspaper. Alongside the inevitable Sunday morning “I genuinely think I might be dying” tweets, I also stumbled upon hundreds of thousands of tweets, mourning the loss of one of America’s greatest actors, Philip Seymour Hoffman. He had been in films such as Twister, Patch Adams, The Talented Mr Ripley, and he won an Oscar for Best Actor in Capote – not to mention he played Plutarch Heavensbee in one of my favourite ever film sagas, The Hunger Games.

Needless to say, I was very surprised and understandably saddened to hear that he had passed away, but without me even having to look into it any further, something deep down inside of me already knew that his death was because of drugs. I’m not saying that I suspected all along that he was a drug addict – if you’d seen his most recent performance in The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, or caught a snippet of him on one of the many interviews where he was promoting the film along with other members of the cast, he was nothing but 100% professional at all times.

It’s just that recently, more and more famous people are losing their lives due to over consumption of alcohol or drugs, and sometimes, a combination of the two. Off the top of my head, I can think of Whitney Houston, George Best, Michael Jackson, Heath Ledger, Judy Garland, Coco Chanel, Brittany Murphy, Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, Marilyn Monroe (although there are speculations that her drug overdose was intentional, and therefore she committed suicide) River Phoenix (the older brother of that ultimate hun, Joaquin Phoenix) and of course, Elvis Presley who was found with significant levels of both prescription and non prescription drugs in his system.

And that’s just a quick list of people who have actually died from drink or drugs. Another rough guess at those who have been caught either taking, dealing or dabbling in drugs in some way, shape or form and you’ve got Lindsay Lohan, Tulisa, Justin Bieber, Bruno Mars, Kate Moss, Rihanna, Mischa Barton, and of course, very recently, Nigella Lawson.

Aside from the criminal records, what do all of these people have in common? Oh, yes, of course. They are all in the spotlight. (I hate using the word celebrity, it feels a bit tacky and cheap.) So, what is it about people who are in the limelight that lures them towards drugs?

Well, you see, I’ve given this quite a bit of thought. On the surface, most people will assume that it’s the constant hustle and bustle of parties, award ceremonies, and basically all of that lovey dovey air kissing oh, daaarling! sort of behaviour that practically opens the door to drugs. I sort of agree with this, because it can be very easy to give into peer pressure and I imagine that if there was a room full of influential famous big wigs and they were offering round something, some people might feel pushed into it, in an attempt to not seem outside of the circle. They wouldn’t want to come across as being boring.

Thankfully, I’ve always been incredibly strong willed when it comes to that sort of thing – some might even call it defiant – and I’ve been in that situation myself, in a room full of people when drugs have been whipped out and I’ve literally been the only one to say no. I’ve never felt pressurised into anything like that, because it’s just never tickled my fancy. I’ve lived away from home for three years at university, where an unlimited supply of drugs was in my vicinity should I have wanted it. The closest I’ve ever been was at my sister’s hen do in Amsterdam when we all had a space cake each, including my mum and auntie.

I don’t know why, but drugs have just never appealed to me. Maybe that’s because deep down, I’m a geek. If you knew me when I was in high school, you’ll know that physically I was a wreck, which I like to think has changed slightly, but emotionally, I’m still a little geek. Education and success are two of the most important things to me, along with loyalty, kindness and passion. I honestly don’t mind that that makes me sound like a ninety year old woman either, because it’s true.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good night out as much as the next person, but I’ll turn it down to spend the night writing if I think I’m onto a good idea. I like a laugh and a joke, but if it’s in a nasty way, I’ll happily turn my back on the ‘popular crowd’ to separate myself from them.

I mean, if you’re reading this blog, the chances are that you already know me, but if you don’t, I’ll paint a picture of myself: I like writing, I’m usually found with my nose in a book, I’m scared of balloons, I don’t like sleeping by myself, me and Jimmy Carr have the exact same laugh, I’ll choose to walk somewhere just for the fresh air even now that I have a car, I will happily wear my pyjamas all day, I have five nephews who are my heart and soul, I love history, I write poems for no particular reason, my cat is practically my soul mate and I have a strong suspicion that the character of Hermione Granger is based on me when I was growing up – geeky, bookish, had terrible teeth and was often mooning around after a boy who didn’t have the slightest bit of interest in her.

Speaking of Hermione, I’ve always been a bit like that: strong minded and, as silly as it sounds, well behaved. Probably down to the upbringing I’ve had from a wonderful set of parents and supportive sisters. If you’re brought up, not dragged up, you’re more likely to stay on the right tracks when you’re an adult.

Hence why, as much as I think it’s a possibility that people in the limelight are tempted into drugs by pressure and also the inescapable circle of parties and awards, I also think it’s hugely down to that person not having much of a support network around them. I mean, if they lived at home with their parents, perhaps they wouldn’t go off the rail so much. Think how much better Lindsay Lohan would have had it if her family hadn’t been so dysfunctional. Again, I’m lucky that I have the best set of people around me, who have really proved themselves over the last few months, and taken care of me at a time when I was at my absolute lowest.

It would have been very easy, I think, for me to have gone off the rails in October. I found myself in a similar situation in 2008, recovering from a bad break up, and after escaping Warrington and throwing myself into the student lifestyle, it was frightening to see how many bad choices I had made. In fact, I made a bit of a name for myself in my first year of uni, and I don’t mean in a good way either. It was being at home for the summer between first and second year of uni that I got my shit together, calmed myself down and went back in the September, determined not to do anything too horrific. (It was never drugs, always boys.) Being at home day in, day out helped to keep my feet on the ground.

It’s taken a few years, I suppose, but I’ve finally worked out that you cannot fix someone else or love another person properly until you love yourself; until you’re a hundred percent happy with your own life. So, this time, I didn’t go out and sleep with anything that moved - I tried to patch myself up again; tried to fix the broken parts of me. I cried to my friends, I lounged around a lot in my comfiest clothes and threw myself into my work and, thankfully, it paid off.

Maybe that’s all a struggling celebrity needs to keep them on the straight and narrow: a hug, a comforting ear and a nice old fashioned cup of tea.

A few people have smirked at me when I’ve told them that when I make it, whatever that actually means, I won’t be one of those people. You know the ones I mean. The type of person with a photo of them sprawled all over the front page of a newspaper, hinting heavily that they’re involved in a drugs fiasco. Basically, I’ll never be like Tulisa. And I understand people thinking ahh yes, just wait until it’s your turn, you’ll be snorting lines off your own kneecaps, you silly cow. Well, of course, I don’t know for definite that I won’t be doing that, except that I know myself, and it isn’t in my nature to do that. I mean, I can't even swallow Paracetamol properly. I still take Calpol. I faint every time I need an injection. Somehow, the image of me shooting up in a grubby toilet somewhere just doesn't spring to mind.

And I'm okay with that. When it's my time, I'm more than happy to be successful, rather than famous. I'd rather be remembered for being clever than being in and out of court. In my opinion, there's nothing wrong with being a bit geeky if it means being happy and safe.

After all, when asked about whether she would want her daughters to focus on being part of the in crowd, the sort of girls who focus solely on being pretty and thin rather than furthering themselves in education and their careers, JK Rowling answered, rather beautifully, “Let my girls be Hermiones."