Everybody enthusiastically agreed, so I had no choice but to pretend I did too, because I am nothing if not a follower.
Before I gave myself too much time to think about it, I’d stripped off my leggings and the Hamilton T-shirt I always wear to exercise in because I’m cool. Underneath I was wearing bikini bottoms and a sports bra. And not, like, an attractive, yoga bunny sports bra. Like a scaffolding-based sports bra that is designed to do a lot of heavy lifting and never ever be seen out in public. My legs hadn’t seen an epilator for a couple of weeks. I was looking my best.… Read More The Jump
hen I used to pick up the Jubilee Line from Green Park everyday, I’d hang a left on the platform and stand opposite lady Beach Body.
I never thought about her too much, if I’m honest. She was just another poster whose aim was to make me part with my money by making me feel bad about myself. But I think about her all the time now. Because when those people made that ad, I don’t think they realised what ‘Beach Body’ truly meant. Neither did I, because I lived in London, and the beach was very far away both geographically and metaphorically.
But now I’m here to set them straight. Because oh boy, do I know. This is what a beach body looks like:… Read More This is what a beach body looks like
My only slight issue is that Disney movies led me to believe that when I finally made some birdy friends they’d be the pretty, delicate kind who might occasionally run a duster around and would definitely help me get dressed. And, admittedly, they’d be set up for failure from the get-go because it would take a full flock to haul me into my bra of a morning, but it would still be nice to try.… Read More The seagulls next door
All this cold weather has turned the prospect of being in the sea into my own personal nightmare. In the summer I used to go for a post-work dip on a regular basis, in naught but a swimming costume, and would feel suitably smug about it every time. Now I watch the surfers in the stormy waters, neoprene-d to the hilt and slowly turning blue. They say it’s fine because the water is warmer than the air. I think that just means we need to reassess he definition of ‘fine’.… Read More Back on the board
The Cornwall to London sleeper train is a great way to get about the country if you have to arrive up country (yes, I just said ‘up country’. I say that now.) early in the morning for reasons of business, travel, or a desire to maximise all free food opportunities available to you during a… Read More The Cornwall to London Sleeper train: A timeline (dignity not included)
To top it all off, when I got to Maenporth, I had the most amazing hot chocolate, because my hands were cold and hot chocolate is always amazing when your hands are cold. Like, could I just remember to take gloves out with me when I go for walks? Sure. But does that come with whipped cream and chocolate sauce and a flake and marshmallows? Almost never. So I think my way’s better.… Read More A walk on the wanky side
By the time I got up two hours after I intended to leave the house, and left another hour after that, I was already doubting my ability to get to the Lizard in time to eat my tuna sandwich from home (because we all know I’m about to buy some unsolicited vegetables in this story, but my initial intentions were pure) and get back again before the Cornish country lanes turned into the pitch black labyrinths I now know them to be.… Read More Jiminy Cricket’s retribution, or The Accidental Pumpkins
The hill doesn’t last too long before it flattens out, but by the time I get to the top I’m already sweating like a pig badass athlete. I’ve made the wrong clothing choice. The rain has all but stopped, the sun is fully out, and the trousers are making me feel like something you boil in the bag. I am at a metaphorical and, coincidentally, literal crossroads.
In a split second I make a choice, and pull into the car park of the doctors. I happen to know that there’s a little space behind the building where I occasionally leave my bike when I have to go in. I hop off, quick as a flash, and whip down my waterproofs.… Read More Public trouser removal
Every year, after the summer holidays are over but before the leaves have even changed colour, the nation’s pensioners get on coaches with their friends and head to low-to-mid priced hotels throughout the countryside. They eat Christmas dinner, snack on mince pies, and enjoy a “traditional festive atmosphere”, which I assume means ‘enough wine to run a small pub for a night’.… Read More Nans on party buses
Cornwall has its own language. It’s on the street signs, so you know it’s a thing. It’s called Kerneweck, and I have had to forcibly stop myself from buying phrasebooks at least nine times since I moved to Falmouth. Not that it’s bad to learn languages, it’s just that if learned – and subsequently busted out – some Kerneweck, I’m pretty sure only about two people would understand me. And the chances of those two people being the two people I was coincidentally wanting to speak to would probably be pretty low because of, like, probability and stuff. Plus, I really haven’t got a handle on the accent yet so it’d sound a lot like the time I made a very poor attempt at GCSE French all over again.… Read More Take it Teasy