Jacqueline M. Pane is in her thirties and like all women she knows that life would be perfect if only she had a small bum, sticky-up bosoms, and didn't grow a moustache once a month . . . Chart her progress as she perfects the art of feeling shitty about every single little, and not so little, bit of herself. The potential for self doubt lies in everything - and it's all her fault.

Enjoy and pass on