Category Archives: Thoughts

20 things I learnt in 2016.

image1-7

 

2016… It was like that scene in Jackass The Movie, where Steve O gets strapped inside a portaloo (or porta potty for my American readers), attached to two bungee cords, before shooting up into the air.  This horribly confined environment filling up with faeces, going all over the place. It was mad, nonsensical and utterly masochistic.  The sort of horror you don’t like, but can’t help watching, can’t stop watching. Much like a pussy-grabbing celebrity businessman becoming the next president of America, 52% of voting Brits making the politically disenfranchised choice to leave the EU, lots of well-loved creative people dying and ISIS doing more terrible things.  Shit.  Flew.  Everywhere.  Thankfully, the messy portaloo has landed on the ground and a fresh, unsoiled year is upon us.  Many of us are still alive and will most likely be ok.  With a sense of grit and camaraderie, we must crack on.

In my own little world, not too removed from the wider world, shit primarily centred around my family, friends, health, career, hobbies, interests and lovers (same for you huh?).  I learnt an awful lot of stuff and have to write it all down so I don’t forget.  This is becoming an annual post – read about 2015 here. In a nutshell: I got really unwell in April, recovered by the end of summer and re-prioritised. I developed a positive relationship with my body after watching it get better, and therefore liked my curves after 26 years, now feeding them regular servings of broccoli and Joe Wicks’ protein pancakes.  I danced a lot and set myself free from many invisible pressures.  This cleared room for more positive forces, inspiring growth, happiness and overall enjoyment of my life this past year.  There must be a crystal pendant I could wear to represent my developments as a deep and pensive human being, but alas I’m yet to find one.  Here is a definitive, but not complete list, of 20 things I learnt in 2016:

Continue reading

The writing fear.

I’m so sorry for being a bad writer. I get ‘the fear’ you see… fear that the fizzy ideas in my head, that take the form of hundreds of notes in my phone, and inky scribbles in my moleskin notebooks, are not good enough. I have some wonderful posts on this blog, If I do say so myself – pieces of writing I am really proud of: a favourite being Note to future dating self. I worry that the next piece of writing will not come so easily, or read so emotively.

As I write, I learn more about who I am. The art of writing down my thoughts, calcifies them, ascertains and rounds up the heartfelt, the angry, the stories, the beauty product loves, and the completely silly. These ideas stare back at me, stark words on a glaring screen – ordered and clear, articulating the furore of information firing through my prefrontal cortex, and firing through my soul.

Creativity is a very intangible thing; more often than not, I work in fits and bursts of excitement and sentences that form so fluidly like a sploshing choppy river, racing through my mind, and out of my fingers onto the keyboard. Other times, I have hot, effervescing ideas shut down by frozen, still, fear. I worry these ideas will not materialise as I hoped, not be well written enough, interesting enough and without the time to shape and edit these faceless ideas… my fear grows.

Continue reading

My experience of Glandular Fever and Hepatitis.

 

Glandular Fever is a truly horrid virus. It crept up on me one day, as silently as a warship sliding onto dark water. I’ve watched my attempt at explaining how I felt in the video below, but I’m not sure it quite does justice.

Currently, I am sat in my favourite Parsons Green coffee haunt, Hally’s – I write a lot in here, whilst slurping on matcha lattes. I’ve had a week of feeling good, telling everyone how amazing I feel, and that I’m totes better, that’s IT, no more Glandular Fucking Fever. Then, last night I had to go to bed at 9pm with a scratchy throat. I woke up 12 hours later feeling like my deep sleep never happened, utterly drained, sore and sensitive. Inside myself, I am just the same person, with the same unrelenting sense of humour and complete disregard for rules or being told off. My body doesn’t feel the same though; it feels like it belongs to an 85-year-old woman – soft and aching, scared to exercise, unable to dance, do cartwheels or jump around. In another life, the one before Glandular Fever, I went to boot camp circuit classes, learnt Beyoncé dance routines, and loved that fantastic feeling after smashing a hard gym session. I can’t do any of that right now, and it’s really getting me down. After breakfast today, I had a lie down, a shower, a lie down, lots of supplements, lunch, a lie down and some deep motivational thoughts have propelled me to started writing at 3.30pm.

Continue reading

Posh people fighting on the tube and swarms of Krill.

whale-krill

Tensions were running high in Parsons Green this morning. The tube station platform was packed deep in Celine handbags, Russel & Bromley Shoes, a steadily rising mumble of politely clipped moans, with lots of busy thumbs on Whatsapp, sharing the news with colleagues in central London, that the Upminster trains were running a delayed service. Finally the train doors whooshed open to a reveal a dense carriage of commuters. I propelled myself forward into the mass of tangled bodies. My headphones have gone missing this week, so instead of listening to The Beibs, I have been observing people, and as a result, have become a lot more aware of my surroundings. It’s been quite nice, I highly recommend a week without headphones.

My first general observation is how West London people are very well put together, albeit in a rather samey, boring and predictable kind of way. East London people are much the same – you can identify a Dalston resident by their grubby-chic style. I could close my eyes and describe to you the uniform of apparel, draped over every Hugo and Tamara trotting past the Sloane Pony in Parsons Green: on the men, cable knit jumpers over stiff-collard shirts, brogues and quilted jackets. On the women, THAT Reiss wool coat, a Pom Pom Poodle hat pulled over fluffy, if a bit crispy looking hair and ruddily applied bronzer, you know, from a cracked Bobbi Brown compact that lives at the bottom of an oversized, overpriced handbag.

My second observation is how RUDE some people are, to the point of complete and utter obnoxiousness. Thankfully, obnoxious people never offend me, as long as they smell pleasant and don’t touch me. It’s the constantly nice, slightly drippy people you need to watch out for; you will never truly know what they are thinking. There people are most often the ones who do crazy things when drunk. You totes know what I mean.

This morning became quite the hilarious occasion as one uppity, flustered woman decided to shout at a poor man (he probably wasn’t poor) who was helplessly wedged in-between someones armpit and a green pole.

“OH MOVE DOWN WILL YOU!!” she bellowed.

The steamed-up carriage of raised arms and squashed shoulders was sleepy, until this moment. There was quite clearly no room to move anywhere. The subject of her outburst responded in the most unexpected way:

“Shut up you complete moron!”

His floppy quiff bouncing on each syllable. Smiles broke across the faces of every man and woman in the steamy carriage. A sparing explosion between one Hooray Henry, and a frazzled middle-aged woman, who probably had issues with her nanny that week… was about to kick off. In Parsons Green people are FAR too civilised for this kind of thing to get ugly, so with exchanged glances and pulled out earphones… the entire carriage tuned in.

“Excuse, me! What did you just call me?!”

“I said you are fucking a moron! There is obviously no fucking room to move down!!”

At this point, an older floppy-haired man, who was clearly a lot more zen about the situation, merrily exclaimed:

“It’s just the morning people!!”

Chuckles from the entire carriage. Eye contact was made between people, on a tube train, in London.

Whilst observing this drama, I lost my balance, possibly because I can barely reach the Distract Line rails, and consequently face-planted into a tall man’s shoulder, my lipstick leaving a perfect kiss print in pastel pink (MAC Cream Cup), on his black wool coat. I blushed and realised the man behind me had spotted this, we shared a cheeky smile. The lucky man with my lipstick print was intensely watching a David Attenborough documentary on his iPad, all about the Blue Whale, eating a swarm of Krill. The Blue Whale who was so full, he almost came to a standstill while digesting many thousands of Krill. I felt like one of those Krill, and the near stationary District Line tube train carriage was the Blue Whale, at Earls Court.

After eventually leaving the Blue Whale, I arrived at work in a lifted mood, entertained by my journey. It reminded me that little moments of such unexpected entertainment, only happen when you lose your headphones and observe your surroundings… Shouty posh twats, lipstick stains and swarms of Krill.

Continue reading

Oprah – there are no mistakes.

“Stop the crazy chatter in your head that tells you all the time that you are not good enough.”

“Your being here is such a miraculous thing… your real job is to honour that, and the sooner you figure that out – ‘oh wow, I’m one of the lucky ones, I got to be here’. So how do you continue to prepare yourself? To live at the highest, truest, expression of yourself.

 

 

 

 

20 things I learnt in 2015.

 

the beginning of last year!

the beginning of last year!

 

  1. Happiness is the best beauty product of all.
  2. Nine times out of ten, you are not having a full on nervous breakdown, you just need a cup of tea and a hug. You’d be amazed how easily you can confuse the two. Invest in some good tea and find some good huggers.
  3. To quote master life coach, neurolinguistic programmer and clinical hypnotherapist Jacqueline Hurst, former heroin addict, anorexic and now champion at living a mindful life – “Without the right mindset or the right thoughts, you won’t change how you look or feel. Thoughts generate feelings, feelings generate actions and actions generate your outcome – for instance, negative thoughts always create negative feelings. When people become conscious and aware, and choose to have good thoughts, life really does change.” Jacqueline taught herself how to heal, and build an amazing life after addiction. She is one of the most wonderful people I have had the pleasure of going for coffee with.
  4. There is literally nothing wrong with carbohydrates.
  5. When in doubt, I have started advising myself as I would advise a friend who I dearly love. One of Jacqueline’s top tips.
  6. A combination of exercise, aromatherapy, friends and writing it down can fix almost any dilemma.
  7. The older I get, the softer I get, emotionally.
  8. The older I get, the harder I get, mentally.
  9. The older I get, the more I appreciate my family and want to spend time with them.
  10. The more time I spend living in London, the more I realise it is not the centre of the world; I appreciate other places in the UK a lot more for being squashed underneath someone’s armpit on the tube, daily.
  11. Unless you have dependants (this is aimed at young peeps like me), you don’t owe it to anyone to live a certain way. Do more of what makes you happy.
  12. Cellulite is cute, I appreciate cellulite. I don’t let ANYONE tell me that the dimples on on the backs of my legs are not cute.
  13. Instagram, and social media in general for that matter is not a reflection of real life. It is a heavily edited highlights reel of pictures. Do not take any of it seriously.
  14. The people who make you feel most like yourself should be kept close and treated very well.
  15. The people who make you feel anxious or sad, need to be ditched. 
  16. Very few people have it all figured out.
  17. We are all so different – each of of us have completely different ways of thinking, motivations, beliefs and requirements to live a happy, fulfilled life.
  18. Love is often best expressed by just showing up.
  19. Sleeping with my phone far as away from my bed as possible, with my outfit laid out for the following morning, are the single two most effective things I can do to maximise my energy levels and productivity the next day.
  20. Mindfulness, mindfulness, mindfulness.

Note to future dating self.

There are lessons in life and moments of undignified clarity that require me to stop what I am doing and write, spilling out hot tears into words, fervently typing across a screen, in hope that the glaring black and white letters force me to learn, the calcified lesson of self-worth. And, in doing so, never, ever, feel like this again.

I write this sat cross legged on my bed with a damp messy bun, my favourite tortoiseshell glasses perched on my face, after pulling on fleecy yellow jogging bottoms over recently diminishing hips. Once canary bright, these hideous things are now a dull mustard colour with frayed edges, acquired seven years ago as a fresher at uni. I love them. On my top half I am hunched inside in a men’s Charles Thyrwhitt cashmere blend navy jumper, it once belonged to my best friend’s little brother, Tom, affectionately known as Turkey to his friends. I was given this almost a decade ago, after vomiting all over my own clothing, aged 15. So soft and snugly warm, I have worn it to bed, for nine winters since. I look awful in navy, truly vampire and sickly. I look awful in general right now. This outfit will never see daylight, just lamp light. It smells of Aromatherapy Associates Deep Relax with a hint of (much cheaper) lavender essential oil. When my bed and I smell of these oils, it’s because I am in the midst of a sad and highly anxious episode, trying to settle myself, usually having just swallowed a handful of Kalms tablets, also known as “crack” to fellow anxiety sufferers.

Continue reading

Tampon Tax. Errm no.

 

screenshot-www.google.co.uk 2015-11-21 16-31-50

 

Enough already.

 

As an intelligent, chatty and opinionated woman, I feel a great responsibility to exhaustively and cathartically get this blog post OUT of my system, and onto the internet, so that I can carry on living my life.

 

I graduated from my law degree three years ago now, and have clung onto some bits of knowledge, mainly so nobody can shaft me, it comes in handy sometimes. Alas, it would seem that I am still being shafted…

 

The luxury or essential status of a product for tax purposes was highlighted by no legal debacle better than the McVities case. In this case it was deemed that because Jaffa Cakes go hard when they are stale, they are indeed cakes, not biscuits, and therefore, wait for it… essential – so exempt from consumer tax. I read this case many times and still do not understand why cake is essential. However, I do know that when I’m on my period, I CANNOT PUT A FUCKING FAIRY CAKE IN MY KNICKERS to deal with the painful and messy situation. INSTEAD, I have to employ the use of a LUXURY sanitary towel or tampon. It is quite absurd. To be fair, plugging oneself with cotton to avoid spraying bloody uterine lining everywhere is a luxurious experience. Just like going on a monthly spa break.

 

So, a room dominated by men, vote against removing the consumer luxury tax on period products *slow claps*. These MP’s clearly love cake more than they do women. This makes me all kinds of sad, because in 2015, the wonderful machinery of a woman’s body is still met with grumblings of disapproval. Legislative disapproval.  

 

I refer you all to Dominique Christina’s period poem. Watch it, you might fall in love with her and start clapping. If you don’t, get off my blog. 

 

 

 

Jim Jefferies – Guns are not protection.

If you haven’t read my blog before, this “thoughts” category is intended to be a Kanye-style outlet, where I can ramble ’till my poorly edited heart’s content, then click “post”, sharing my thoughts with the internet. It’s really quite amazing I still have a job. LOL.

 

LOTS of things rile me, but few things as much as Americans who staunchly defend their stoopid constitutional right to own and buy guns. Tossers. This comedian Jim Jefferies sums it up beautifully, hilariously and very poignantly: