I knew the article I wanted to write, but I didn’t really expect anybody to want me to write it. I was just happy to say I’d tried. So, imagine my surprise when I got a reply to say ‘this sounds great, go ahead and write it for us’. Or, more accurately, imagine the panic attack I had. I was not ready for a ‘yes’. I was only prepared to spend a couple of evenings watching Schitts Creek, pounding Lidl pinot grigio, and cursing The Establishment. Or, The Man. Or some other faceless entity I could blame my dissatisfaction on that wasn’t myself. But that wasn’t to be. So I freaked out.… Read More Fuckin’ imposter syndrome, man
Spend at least half an hour debating whether I need to have a shower considering I didn’t sweat that much (and/or it has mostly dried) and I only had my last one a couple of days ago. Unless there were pushups.… Read More My daily routine on Furlough
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
As adults, I feel like making friends is something we think we’ve forgotten how to do. Like, for the most part we definitely know we have had the ability to make friends at some point in our lives, because we have friends to prove that hypothesis. But who can honestly remember how they got there?
This is starting to feel like the build-up to some life-changing advice that’s really worth something, so I should quickly confirm that it absolutely is not that. What I did is exactly what the thousand other articles you’ve probably already read have already told you to do. But sometimes it helps to have something super-obvious reiterated one last time.… Read More How to make friends in a new town
Having recently embraced maxi skirt life and, as a result, having experienced a newfound inability to take big enough steps to do anything, I even let the nice boat man hold my hand as I climbed aboard, which I assume means that we’re married now.
Upon boarding, I was confronted with three vicars and bishop. I’d conveniently forgotten the whole ‘blessing’ part of the deal, so focused had I been on the serious business of having a pint on a boat.… Read More Saying goodbye to St Piran
Back when I lived in London I enjoyed the nice weather up until around late spring, but then the humidity would arrive, and the bad-tempered, sweaty men on the northern line would take up even more room while manspreading, and the air felt like it had somehow thickened in the heat, which was a phenomenon I had always previously assumed was reserved for sauces alone.… Read More Bloody well summer, innit.
They call over a nurse who tells them that, yes, they should be removing their underwear. After much outcry she scares up a few pairs of what look like cycling shorts made out of the same material as our surgical stockings. That way the doctor can cut them off if wearing underwear for an operation turns out to be wildly unhygienic. I think we all know which way it’s going to go.
“Do you want some?” She asks, waving a pair in my direction. I politely decline. I’ve already been without undies for a couple of hours and I’m feeling so liberated at this point that there’s a good chance I may never go back.
“She’s young.” One of the old ladies says, because apparently she feels the need to dismiss my being the only person who is actually doing as she’s told as youthful confidence.… Read More Meeting the vicar without my knickers
After I peed in some things (occasionally by medical request) and had some needles stuck in me (occasionally by medical request) I had to go for many and varied scans, which often involved drinking gallons of water before somebody pressed hard on my stomach with no regard to their being directly in the splash zone if my pelvic floor turned out to be less-than-stellar.… Read More Gallbladder, I hardly knew ye
Being new in town, though, and in need of Cornwall friends, I’ve definitely taken on more than I can keep up. Promise me, however vaguely, that it might be ‘a good way to meet people’ and I have always been there. It’s just that it’s a lot. I do tap dance on Mondays, yoga on Tuesdays, roller derby also on Tuesdays, choir on Wednesdays, paddleboarding any time of the week… I basically do more extra-curricular activities than some middle class five-year-olds whose parents already set their sights on them going to Cambridge.… Read More The joy of saying ‘no’