I don't want to brag, but in the past month alone, more than three – yes, it was four – people have told me I have an excellent voice for radio. And no, they weren't making veiled insults about how well my face might suit that medium, too. At least, I don't think they were.

It was my birthday last weekend, which means a certain amount of time has passed since it was last my birthday.

If an Englishman's home is his castle, mine is a pretty dank and smelly one at the moment. I'm not trying out a metaphor here – my flat literally smells like a stagnant moat or mouldy old keep at the moment, after a leak came through the ceiling, through the airing cupboard and all over all my sheets and towels. Which I'm unable to wash, dry or throw away until after my insurance company has inspected them.

A while ago, a non-posh friend asked me why posh people love dressing up so much. Just to be clear, she was asking me this not because I have some Roman numerals after my name, but as a fellow non-posh person.

In a week of life lessons, I have learnt that you should always wear suncream and you should go to the theatre more. And you should do things on your own. And you can do both of these things on your own very easily, should you fancy it.

I've been thinking a lot about spare time recently, which would imply that I've got plenty of spare time to think about and in which to think, which I don't.

Spring – and the advent of the wedding season – and such a fluttering of new feeling that I hardly know what I'm about any more. Now that I regain consciousness to Radio 4 in the morning rather than the American high-school guitar strains which used to permeate slumber when I was about 16, getting up rarely feels like a scene in the film of my life any more. But when the rays filter through the curtains, they can't but make waking up a bit more special.

On feeling a bit angsty. On lying awake remembering all the times you've made an idiot of yourself. On doing a full-body cringe on a packed bus at the thought of a faux pas 15 years ago that the people you were with may or may not have even noticed.

I have been making a lot of playlists recently. It's the modern equivalent of making a mixtape for someone, only much less hassle and doesn't have to be done in real time. It also doesn't require the reflexes of a ninja, should you be on the other side of the room as a song comes to its end. Nor do you need the calloused digits of a guitar player to avoid getting blisters from pressing that record button down.

Carol Lim and Humberto Lean have breathed bright, beautiful new life into a classic label. Harriet Walker meets them