It must be great to be the very best at something.

I'd like to think I could claim that honour for my writing skills, but in my more reflective moments I am forced to admit Shakespeare had the edge.

I'm an expert with the TV remote button - but wouldn't particularly want to be world-renowned for that. And I'm brilliant at making chocolate crispy cakes, although if I claim to be the world's number one, Delia would no doubt leap in and say she is better.

There must be something I'm best at - I've been striving to find out since reading about Elton John's entry in the latest Guinness Book of Records. He has wormed in there simply by shopping. He's the world's biggest shopaholic, slapping £250,000 a month on his credit card.

I immediately thought, "Well, that's something I could do." No pole-vaulting, sky-diving, tobogganing, leap-frogging or stilt-walking involved - the only physical activity to guarantee success would be whipping out that card and hauling those carriers to the car. Spend, spend, spend - I could easily be the best at that.

Only one problem - no money. Well, maybe I could be the oldest catwalk star. At 34, Linda Evangelista claims that honour in the 1999 book. Well, I'm 37, and must say I quite fancy pursuing that line of work as a career. But before I excite the top agencies with a stunning portfolio, I'll have to lose a few pounds. If only I hadn't tried to set a world record for eating doughnuts last Saturday, and kebabs on Sunday.

It seems I'm never going to get my name in that book without a great deal of effort. Or maybe there is hope. I could place the bet with the longest odds ever. The record is currently 15 million to one, placed in 1996 against Screaming Lord Sutch ever becoming Prime Minister. Surely the odds on William Hague must be double that.

So that's one I can try. And there are other possibilities among the weird and wonderful array of human achievements in the book. Take balancing on one foot. My 1981 copy puts the record at 33 hours. If it still stands - ho ho! - I'm sure I could crack that one while I'm waiting in the queue at our local post office. Brick throwing - that's another one I could try, especially since we've got a pile of unwanted ones in our garden. It will take a bit of physical effort, but would save me making a dozen trips to the tip. However, I don't imagine the neighbours, or the local constabulary, would support my bid.

Or there's shouting. Now my husband will back me up here - I can regularly be heard yelling that the worst thing I did was marry him, across three counties.

So I don't need a gold card or a catwalk to make it into the record books, but I would like to be recognised for my contribution to journalism and there's one gap in the market which I could easily fill.

According to my record book, the fastest shorthand speed is an astonishing 300 words per minute, with 99.64 percent accuracy. But there's no entry for the slowest and most inaccurate.

How about mine - ten words per minute and only three per cent correct? It's got to be the best - or rather worst - there is.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.