I wish…

I wish I wasn’t such a closed book. To people I don’t know, this suits me fine, but to the people I’m closest to it bums me out that I still find it so difficult to talk about stuff. So many situations would have been sorted out quicker if I just had the courage to talk. This was the hardest thing I found about cognitive behavioural therapy as well. I mean, I can hardly talk to my best friends let alone some psychologist guy I’ve never met! Ironically, I can talk for England about rubbish.

I wish I didn’t repress emotion so much. Has anyone ever seen The Holiday? Well, you know the character Cameron Diaz plays who can’t cry? Well, that’s me. Not as bad, I mean, put me in front of The Lion King and I’ll weep like a baby for hours, but real life? Nah. Crying is not for me. Don’t get me wrong, I hate it when you have those people who cry over the slightest thing. My God, man up! But, I would like to be able to express emotions a little better.

I wish I could make time stand still at certain moments. Things are changing too quickly for me. I could really do with a Bernard’s watch. There are just some moments that are so good, that you just want to freeze time, but too quickly, they fade away.

I wish I had something, a talent, that I was really good at and really motivated towards. This, I know, is my fault. I do seem to be one of life’s quitters. I used to run, swim, play football, do Taekwondo, all to a fairly high standard, but do I do any of these anymore? Nope. I am starting to get back into stuff, and hopefully I will stay committed this time. I WILL stay committed this time!

I wish people didn’t care so much about appearance; I wish there was less stigma over mental illness; I wish TV shows like TOWIE didn’t exist; I wish there was no poverty; I wish animals were not being killed for money; I wish the rainforests weren’t being destroyed; I wish, I wish, I wish…

We all wish. But do we actually do?


Hide and Seek

Why is it cats always decide to get themselves into the strangest places?

Like boxes that are clearly too small for them…

Elliot chilling in a very narrow box…

Not sure how she didn’t get stuck…

They sneak into cupboards, washing machines, under the patio in the garden (still boggles my mind) and the scariest… when your lying in bed and they burrow up from the bottom of the duvet and stick their head up next to yours on the pillow. Shits me up.

That was meant for storage, Tilly, not for cats…

Having fun lying underneath my pants, Frazzy?


Awww, don’t you just love the misunderstood tweens of today? Especially the girls. You see them swaggering down the street towards you, skirt so short you can practically see their ovaries, faces caked in make-up trying and failing- miserably- to disguise the fact that they probably haven’t even hit puberty yet. You can’t help but let loose a little giggle when they turn their scowl towards you and look you up and down in disgust. You can’t help but laugh at their attempts to be “hard.” They don’t seem to like it though, when their attempts to be intimidating fail and so shout a lovely, “fuck you” at you as they walk off. Unfortunately that’s even funnier so you have to leave pretty sharpish before they decide to bitchslap you. Not that that would be particularly worrisome as they barely come past your waist, but you would still rather not get arrested for assaulting a minor.

Whenever I end up engaged in a conversation with one of these charming human beings, I can’t help but speak like I’m from eighteen hundreds. I don’t know why it is, maybe because I find it funny when they can’t understand or that it makes me feel more educated but a typical conversation would go something like this:

“Oi, yeah, wot you lookin’ at?”

“Oh, you little ruffians, I was merely gazing upon your visage with wonderment at the paint you seem to have applied to it!”

“Are you takin’ the piss or sumfink?”

“Good Heavens no! But hear? where has your skirt gone? You do appeared to have picked up a belt to wear instead. It barely covers your buttocks! Such attire is not suitable for a young lady!”

“D’ya wanna slap!?”

“Are you challenging me to a duel you scoundrel!?”

*Obvious poetic licence. I’m not a complete freak with a death wish. But I do speak weird.  

Baby gurl!?

Okay. You have a boyfriend. I’m sure he’s lovely and different from all the other boys and you love snuggles with him and you like it when he surprises you at work with flowers and you love him thiiiiis much an- I DON’T GIVE A SHIT! STOP POSTING ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU LOVE EACH OTHER ON FACEBOOK. SAVE IT FOR THE PRIVACY OF YOUR BEDROOM OR SOMEWHERE ELSE WHERE I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO IT. AAARRRGGGGHHHOHMYGOD!!!

I’m sorry. I am in need of a serious rant after I saw this on my Facebook newsfeed:

JS: Missing my baby already u are so sweet thanks for the surprise love u always baby my one and only ♥ :*

JR: Awwwwwww baby :* love u baby girl xxxxxxxxxxx

JS: Awwwwww i no u do baby always and foreva baby ur the best ♥ xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

No. You are 15. You say this about every boy/girlfriend you have. You are not in love. You are not going to be togevaa forevaa. They are not your one and only. Just shut up.

Worst thing is, JS is related to me. Oh God, the shame.

And did you really say, “baby girl?”

This is what I think when I hear anyone say that. And it freaks the fuck out of me.


I step deeper into the jungle, my feet crunching on the dead leaves, as a giant, hairy, deadly tarantula scuttles towards me. I kick it away before it can sink its fangs into my leg and infect me with its poison. I creep forwards further, it’s getting darker now, the trees closer together, the brambles thicker. I pick some berries and greedily shove them into my mouth. Without sustenance I won’t be able to go on much further. Now I need water, I must quench my thirst before I get too weak. I listen carefully and can just about hear the roar of running water… there must be a river around here somewhere. I move towards the sound when suddenly, I make out another noise. The noise of branches shaking, leaves rustling and the deep rumble of a growl. Tiger. I catch a quick glimpse of the creature through the trees as it stalks towards me. A majestic animal, walking towards me with a grace and power and quietness I would never have dreamed possible. I slowly pull out my bow and nock my last arrow. I must be brave, I only have one shot. Sweating, I close one eye and let go of the string, launching the arrow towards the tiger where it buries itself in its leg. I don’t want to kill the animal, merely wound it and distract it long enough for escape. The beast lets out a ferocious roar and I turn around and run, run as fast as I can, jumping over fallen trunks and swinging myself from vines. I’ve somehow made it to the river! The water is very fast flowing and full of dangerous piranhas. I can see that further downstream it turns into a massive waterfall that would surely kill me if I fell down it. I glance behind me. The tiger is over its shock and is closing in on me! If I could just make it over the rapids then I could escape! I take a leap of faith and manage to grab hold of an overhanging branch. I cling onto its slippery surface for dear life, the piranhas jumping up at me, trying to tear my flesh off with their sharp teeth. I try to swing my legs up, I can feel my fingers slowly slipping! Sudden-


“Coming mum…”

Imagination. I want to be a kid again.

“Children see magic because they look for it”

– Christopher Moore


I do Martial Arts, have done since I was 7 years old. I’m a incredibly talented black belt in Taekwondo and a few years ago, a bronze British Champion by default in sparring. I’ve just started getting back into it after a years break after going to watch a friend of mine’s professional debut. It was pretty exciting times, watching half naked men batter and knock each other out. For someone so tiny and innocent looking, I have a worryingly bloodthirsty streak :/

I have been knocked out before. Not, as one might expect, from a truly exciting sparring match involving blood, guts and broken bones.

No. Not me. I did it to myself. I knocked myself out.

Now some of you might have read about a similar situation when I passed out in school in “Don’t ever remind me of my school-days.”

This, I don’t think, was quite as bad because it wasn’t as public. But it was bloody painful. I was at the pub with my brother (the two youngest ceased to exist at this point). I had to be about 15 years old, probably far too old to be doing an obstacle course on the adventure playground in the pub’s garden. However, last Christmas me and my friends (aged between 18 and 19 by the way) snuck into an outdoor adventure park to play “Manhunt” at night. And no, we didn’t even have the excuse of having alcohol in our systems. So nevertheless, the immature being that I am, I was playing in the park.

The aim of the game was to not touch the floor as you made your way from one side of the playground to the next. If you fell off, you had to run back to the beginning and start all over again. I’m sure you’ve all played similar games (don’t lie to yourselves, if it was socially acceptable and you wouldn’t get arrested for hanging around the park, you’d be there!). Now, I’m very competitive. I don’t like to lose. Especially against my brother who is two years younger than me! I would never live it down! But unfortunately, at the final hurdle, horror of horrors, I FELL OFF. Back to the start I had to go! I was sprinting away, as fast as I could, I couldn’t lose to a boy, when SMACK… next thing I know everything was black and I woke up about ten seconds later flat on my back in the wood chippings.

I had somehow run into a metal pole.

I had somehow knocked myself out cold.

Weirdly, I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel the point of impact, I didn’t feel myself fall down. Not until I woke up. Then oh my dear Jesus my head hurt. I had a golf ball sized lump on my head already. I remember looking up and do you know what my parents were doing?


The bastards.