Dear Clothing Manufacturers,
I wanted to write a letter to you. To be honest, there are several letters that I wanted to write to you. One entitled Some Of Us Are Over A Size Six, You Know, and another one entitled For The Love Of God, Can We Have Some Consistency In Sizing, You Bastards. But those can wait, because tonight’s missive is, I feel, more critically important to get to you. You see, tonight I’d like to talk to you about the following:
What The Fuck Is With Those Stupid Hanging Loops? Continue reading
How to have a lovely, Instagram-worthy Friday night in with two small children.
You will need:
# Two small children
# A television set
# A choice of films
# Assorted snacks
# More wine Continue reading
Dear Bra Manufacturers,
We need to talk.
So, I have been wearing a bra for some time now. Round about 27 years, by my estimation. On this basis, I feel somewhat qualified to provide you with an expert opinion on your products. Continue reading
Does anyone else sometimes feel like there was a whole memo on adulting that went round at some point which entirely passed them by?
I mean, I am An Actual Proper Grown Up. I have two children. I have a husband. I have a house, and a job, and a car, and Real Life Responsibilities.
And yet I wake up pretty much every morning convinced that someone is going to see through the façade and call me on it. “Responsible adult?! You?! HA!” And, they would be right. Continue reading
The Mum had gone out
And she’d had lots of rum.
She’d drunk rum all the night,
It had been so much fun. Continue reading
It has been another very irritating week. Continue reading
Original Source, you diamonds. Aren’t you lovely 😊
So, post flaps-of-flame incident (or ‘Flapastrophe’, as one gentleman who messaged me brilliantly monikered it), the very nice people at Original Source, despite the fact I imagine I have probably ruined their marketing and PR teams’ lives over the last week, offered to send me some of their shower milks to calm down my front bottom. And, while I’m not one for product reviews, under the circumstances, how could I refuse. Continue reading
So, I occasionally go running.
I should probably at this point clarify two parts of that sentence. When I say “occasionally”, what I mean is “once a week, unless I can come up with a legitimate and convincing rationale as to why I shouldn’t, which I am remarkably good at, in which case it’s more likely to be once a month at best”. And when I say “running”, I more mean “flailing”. “Flailing while moving forward at a speed slightly slower than an octagenarian with lower limb impairment could manage” would be probably a pretty much spot on description of how I run, actually. Continue reading
Me, on a Bank Holiday roadtrip with my children:
“Can we play car games Mummy?”
“Of course we can. What would you like to play?”
“Must you torture me like this?” Continue reading