ORDINARY is such a nice word. It's right up there with pleasant. Expectations are never too high when something is ordinary or pleasant.
But the pursuit of ordinariness has been lost in our desire to be the best. It's no longer just enough to be competent at something.
Instead we're being increasingly programmed to want to be more than just run of the mill, amateur or hobbyist.
It was while walking through the streets of a usually quiet South Coast village last weekend that this quest for extraordinariness made me realise just how ordinary I had become.
In my comfy cargo pants, daggy clogs and a shirt that is older than Cybergirl, I stood out like the proverbial.
Instead of a quiet and pleasant coffee in the sun watching the waves roll in on a perfect spring day, I'd mistakenly wandered into the midst of a gaggle of Lycra-clad athletes chowing down on carbs and protein to replace what they'd lost in the race to beat their personal best in the annual "running festival".
Remember the days when a fun run meant just that? A weekend day on which mum, dad, the kids and even the dog pulled on their old shorts, a raggy T-shirt and a pair of sneakers to line up on the hastily drawn chalk line to raise money for the primary school?
Back then the annual fun run for the church, the scouts, the school or the Brownies was full of laughter, awkward running styles, more walking and chatting than puffing and sweating, and a sausage sizzle at the end, followed by a can of fizzy drink as a reward for getting there.
Now there was not an old pair of stubbies in sight, no sweat-soaked old T-shirts clinging to less-than-perfect bodies, not even a pair of mismatched socks peeking above an old pair of adidas runners with a hole in the toe.
In their place were shaved legs, compression calf socks, Lycra leggings, fitted vests with matching headbands and enough high-priced shoes to pay off my mortgage.
Pony tails bounced as tanned and toned bodies paraded along the boardwalk with the crisp clean T-shirt to tell everyone what they'd just achieved.
Even more noticeable was the absence of the giggles, the gaggle of kids and, of course, the smell of barbecue snags.
These finely tuned athletes don't just go for a jog after work to de-stress anymore.
Now, instead of pulling on the Nikes for a quick step around the block, you have to go training.
And it's not just sport that has been overtaken by the ideal of professionalism in everything we do. It's no longer adequate to throw a few things in the pot for a quick meal and a good natter around the dinner table.
Exotic ingredients, high-tech pans and an artistic plating up are apparently necessary for the family to get the most from dinner- time conversation.
And that quick summertime barbecue after an afternoon at the beach with friends means choice cut steaks marinated to perfection, served with a green salad of lettuces that no longer have that pale, washed-out look of the good old iceberg.
Throw in a few flowers, top with a dressing that you throw together from the extensive range of oils that you just happen to have lining those immaculate pantry shelves and you may just pass muster. .
Well, I'm hoping that, just as 50 has become the new 40, perhaps my ordinariness will soon become the new trend and aiming to be amateur the new height of hipness.
That would be a pleasant surprise.