I've finally nailed the manicure

One of my current passions is nail varnish. Look inside my bedside drawer and there is a cluster of bottles containing everything from black (edgy) to red (vintagey) to a Chanel-esque Jade shade (faddy).

Nights in front of the television are spent anesthetising my husband with the fumes of nail polish, potent remover and those odd-smelling drops that help it all dry quickly. And, until I discovered the benefits of top coat, a long wait until it was all dry. Often mixed with a frustrating smudging incident.

But finally, at the age of 33, I consider myself a competent nail painter. Not bad, considering that beyond the odd attempt, I only really started painting my nails a year or so ago.

You see, I inherited my dad's hands - short chunky fingers, with square nails that look far from feminine when they're short, but unbearably gross when they're long.

The last thing I wanted to do was to draw attention to them. But when I got engaged in October 2009, suddenly I found myself desperately trying to make my hands look nicer. Less like an old man's, anyway. You know what, it actually turns out my squat, square nails look better painted. So, like an enthusiastic teen, I set myself to work learning to do a proper home manicure.  And now the time has come to impart my wisdom to you....