Live From The Trenches

You spend ages picking your best photos that show you in the right light, you want to look your best, you want to appear approachable, and you want to show you have friends and a life that doesn’t just involve watching Netflix and talking to your cat.

Then you get a man who leads with this:



The man with a mirror selfie who thinks he’s doing the right thing in telling you that you look ten years older than you actually are. I love the way he even points out that he’s not negging me to get into my pants, nope, he’s just that rude. But it’s not the worst thing to lead with, as this next chap shows…


See, I’m so nice I even blurred out the name of the man who is trying to cheat on his wife and you probably won’t be surprised to hear that I didn’t in fact reply with the below,

‘Oh blank! How very lovely that it is that you want to bang someone other than the woman you took vows with. I am SO flattered and not at all skeeved out by this’ 

Of course if you don’t have a wife to lead with, how’s about sending pages and pages of unrequested and terrible erotic literature? This isn’t even as ‘good’ as ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’, it’s more like ‘Ten Shades of WTF’.




It went on for about twenty scrolls down and it was without doubt the most excruciatingly awful message I’d received. I deleted it without replying but then my inbox pinged again,


Not only did he automatically assume he’d be meeting me, he assumed I’d pay for it because he was in fact a male escort touting for business. It may have been a while but I was am still not going to pay him for ‘his tongue passing along the reliefs of her intimacy, visiting each hem, every fold and folding up… in a sulky concert of groans’. Oh fuck no.

I’m also not interested in taking a slave (although I do need some pictures hung), being a slave, or making it with an invertebrate.


Master Likes


Then there was this guy who clearly got lost on his way to a popular online shopping emporium. Although I dread to think what he was buying given his photo…




A-Z: Essentials I Can’t Live Without

I’m not about to get all LeAnn Rimes on your asses because I could survive without these but it wouldn’t be as much fun. 

Front and centre it needs to be my friends because although you think you might have the greatest group of friends in the world I’m afraid you’re wrong. Of particular note are of course my Urban Family, the Urbs. My true blue ride or die homies who I would do anything for. From the outside looking in we probably look mental, but we’re a-okay with that. 

Ice cold water – I know, none of us could live without it but for someone who doesn’t drink hot drinks, rarely drinks fizzy drinks, and can’t drink fruit juice (because heartburn) my choices of drink are wine, gin, or water. And I don’t think my boss would be too chuffed with me being pissed out of my tiny mind in the office. I drink 3 litres a day without fail, sometimes more, and yes I whizz like a racehorse. 

Lip balm – because I get lipstick on my teeth and even though I drink water until I piss like Shergar I always have dry lips. I’d like to be chic and I’d like to be the elegant sort of woman who can sweep her hair into a chignon and slick on some perfect lippie without a mirror but… I’m not. The best I can do with my hair is bung it up with a chopstick, y’know like I’m Mandy Moore circa 2001 and I’m off to the Teen Choice Awards with a slip dress on over my stonewashed flared jeans. I always have a collection of lip products in my handbag which currently include 2 pots of the same lip balm, one of a different brand, and a blue lipstick. I’m not trying to channel Björk, it only looks blue but comes out a sheer berry hue in case you think I’ve gone mental.  

WhatsApp – with 23 chats on the go, some of which go back to 2015 it’s clear I’m a bit of a junkie. Of course the large proportion of the chats must NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. If I die, someone needs to go in and erase them before they go viral. 

My denim jacket and a pair of Converse – it sort of sums up my style that this is my go-to confidence outfit.  With a pair of Chucks on my feet and my ‘so cheap it was almost criminal’ denim jacket on my back I feel like I can take on the world. Plus sometimes I pop my collar and shove my hands in the pockets and I feel a little (very very little) like Sandy from Grease. 

Quiet time – if you know me in real life you know I’m gobby, can talk for England, and love relaying a story. But being ‘on’ also means I need time when I’m ‘off’. I sit and read, I nap, I walk by the water. I just ‘be’. 

Aaaaand fuck me that sounds wanky. 

Artwork – my ideal house has white walls that are crammed with art. Big art, small art, funny art, serious art, just art. I’m collecting it as I go to make a gallery wall in my living room and my style is, well it’s quirky. Tucked away I have a little collection of Anna Wintour cartoons building up ready to have an ‘Anna’ corner behind the door, and I have so many prints saved on Etsy I could open my own shop. 

My medications – I thought long and hard about putting this on here because recently I’ve proved to myself that I can live without anti-depressants (although I weep, I weep at the oddest things) however my other medication keeps me sane. Literally. We’re moving towards a place where we can be open and honest about mental health issues and so that’s what I’m doing. My tablets keep me upright and there’s no shame in that. 

What are your essentials? What do you keep around? 

Throwback Thursday: Happy re-Birthday To Me!

Back to January 2009 today – and an entry marking six months since I went under the knife. What a six months it was!

6 months ago today I was sat on a hospital bed, all gowned up having just had 11 days of nothing but milk, waiting to go down for major life changing surgery.

So, let’s have a butchers at what’s changed since that fateful day –

In six months I have –
Lost 8 stone
Shrunk several dress sizes
Walked to and from work without dying on several occasions
Started going to the gym regularly (and enjoying it!)
Improved relationships with my family
Reclaimed the ‘F’ word
Started wearing colours
Gained the ability to laugh at myself (but without putting myself down)
Sung in front of my friends (!)
Planned out my career path
Written out a ‘to-do’ list
Dipped my toe in the dating pool and most crucially
Started to believe I’m not a horrible ugly useless troll and that I do actually have a future….

Throwback Thursday: What’s A Sexual Hand Grenade?

Throwing it back to December 2008 today with the first appearance of my dear Urban Family and the very first Urban Family Christmas! My they’ve changed a bit since then with the arrival of the sproglets and some very snazzy Christmas jumpers but they’re always just as fun as number one. 

Today I’m the proud owner of my very first post-op hangover and boy is it a goodun! Yesterday was what I like to think of as my ‘Urban Family’ Christmas shindig – it all started out in a very civilised manner with low-level merriment over a lunch which involved discussions of administering paracetamol rectally, the best way to recover from tonsillitis and whether we really were all fickle and false like the ‘Fish O Fortune’ decreed, but descended in to a mayhem of coloured tongues, drunken rockbanding and chocolate fountain fun.

Frankie and Cornflake were boys on a mission, destination blottoville! They were ably assisted as ever by Chopper Boy and the giggling that we could hear coming from the kitchen was infectious so before long cocktail fever had taken over. My friends, mainly medics, started out by being concerned that I should take it easy on the old alcofrol and pace myself and so I was closely monitored as we started in on the Woo Woo mix. This regard for my personal safety was soon jettisoned as they began to get tipsy and realised that I’m a) a grown up and b) quite good fun when I’m a weensy bit sloshed, one even commented that he’d missed hearing my drunken laugh (a cross between a cackling witch and a foghorn with a few snorts thrown in for good measure if you must know). However, I think we should get points for maintaining a small air of civility by delicately quaffing our cocktails from dainty flutes rather than swigging spirit and mixer from a pint glass like the good old days when we’d prop up the bar in the ‘Palace of Dreams’ mainlining Juicy Lucy’s by the bucketful.

Before I got totally wonky I had a realisation though that I am changing in more than a physical sense, I’m no longer cowering away when the camera comes out desperately trying to fade into the background, sucking in my cheeks and licking the roof of my mouth in an attempt to lessen the amount of chins I have in the vain hopes that I won’t look like a fat sweaty bushpig when the film is developed. Sure I’m not exactly skipping about striking poses like Heidi Klum but it’s a start eh? The other thing I’m really enjoying is that I have stopped taking myself so god damn seriously the whole time, I am no longer permanently looking like a bulldog chewing a wasp and have gained the ability to laugh at myself. I have to watch it though as sometimes the old self-deprecating can go into overdrive whereby I am just a big old meanie to myself in an attempt to make people laugh AT me rather than with me but I’m still liking this new side to me. The biggest change of all though is vocabulary related – I have reclaimed a word that I am no longer afraid to use in case it makes people stare at me in horror. I bet you’re wondering what the word is? Well, it’s FAT…..

FAT, FAT, FAT – see? I can say it on its own but I have also found it creeping into my vernacular, particularly in conversation with the Good Doctor when we discuss being ‘fat’ and how I was a ‘fatty fat fat’ and even how something is ‘nasty fat nasty’. It’s word I never let cross my lips before as if saying it would draw unwanted attention to the fact that I was the size of a house. My brain (oh my misguided brain) honestly believed that if I didn’t mention the dreaded ‘F’ word, then people would not realise I was an absolute heifer. But here I am, announcing to the world – I am Fat! And I’m doing something about it – woohoo!

Our drunken night continued until we were all pretty much hammered with a collection of multicoloured tongues due to the cocktails on offer, slightly slurred speech, blurred vision and some absolutely shocking photos and videos documenting our lack of Rock Band prowess. I had one of the best nights of my young (ish) life, I think what made the difference was being comfortable in my own skin, not feeling like I was taking up too much space and this new found ability to laugh (heartily) at myself. Roll on the next get together!