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There has been much talk of growing up in our house over the last week. My eldest child reached the ripe old age of 21, which is great for her because it means that she can now drink legally anywhere in the world that she might wish to go. It doesn’t necessarily mean she is a mature adult, as evidenced by her response to a haircut she was not happy with at the start of the week and some rather reckless driving towards the end of the week.

This made me think about the whole concept of growing up and whether or not I know any totally mature adults at all. In fact, do I even want to know any totally mature and fully rounded adults? What fun would that be? I had a moment of panic when I was channel hopping one evening and came across the film, Four Weddings and a Funeral, an old favourite. I must have seen the film at least a dozen times and for the first time ever, I decided that, actually, Hugh Grant was really not that attractive any more. OMG, I thought, I must be growing up, or at least growing out of Hugh Grant!

I was reassured later in the week when I went out for dinner with some girl friends in London and managed to spend at least an hour discussing who we fancied in the world cup, why it was important that the best looking team won and who in their right mind did not find David Beckham stunningly good looking? I was back on track, and surrounded by equally immature friends eating good food in my favourite city. It was all fun, fun, fun but like all good things, it had to come to an end.

Back in Cyprus, I was immediately thrown back into the adult world of arguing with officials about getting things done. I went to the bank at 8.15 in the morning in the heat and waited patiently for them to open, late. I had to make an urgent international bank transfer and gave them all the relevant documentation and my phone number in case of any problems. I paid an extra €20 for a same day transfer. At 4pm someone from the bank phoned me to say that there was some information missing from the form and that it was too late to send the money that day.

Half an hour later, after using my most grown up voice I managed to get through to someone in authority and get my point across: if you pay for a same day transfer, surely that means the same day and not the next day? If it happens the next day then I want my €20 euros back. And why on earth would the bank take my number and wait nearly 8 hours to tell me there was a problem with the documentation? I think it helps to behave in a mature way at times but it is all rather stressful and a tad dull……..