This week I was inspired by my wee sister, who is a mail genius, to try out leopard print nails. I’ve always loved the look, but doubted my precision prowess. Well, I finally decided to give it a try & it turns out it’s not hard at all.
Lemonade. I know, everyone is talking, writing & I suppose singing about it. I must confess to not having heard (or seen) the complete album. I’ve sampled some highlights and whilst not a member of the beyhive, I’m excited to hear more. I have no issue with Beyonce’s music (her fur wearing is another matter). I applaud the increased political input in her work. Her support of black & feminist issues is on point. Her artistic viewpoint is increasingly progressive & radical. Which is why, some of her fans retrograde behaviour of late has been particularly hard to take.
Rachel Roy’s ‘ Good hair, don’t care’ Instagram post ignited smouldering rumours that she was Mr Carter’s indiscretion. The beyhive immediately launched a social media witch hunt. Bee & lemon emoticons appeared en mass on her various pictures & posts. Along with the taunting images came more serious abuse, which inevitably led to her making her accounts private. Today’s tabloids decided that it was in fact Rita Ora would had done the dirty with Beyonce’s spouse. She too was lavished with the same treatment.
Perhaps you think those involved in infidelity deserve what they get. Maybe you feel betraying Bey is worthy of a good hounding, but wait, what about Jay Z? If he did in fact step outside his marriage surely he’s where the hive loyal should turn their scathing tongues? He’s the one who made vows & a child with Yonce. Why does the arse who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants get a pass?
The answer, as is so often the case, the patriarchy. Woman are still being conned into feeling that other chicks are the enemy. Our old boy’s club society wants it that way. It’s much better for the status quo if smart, talented women view each other as the competition. Stop letting yourself be suckered by the tired old trope that cheating men can’t help themselves, but cheating women are whores. It’s such a dangerous road to go down. It ultimately leads us to rape apology & the dismissal of female sexual agency. That’s not what we should be teaching our daughters. The bottom line is the Carter’s marital woes are not my business, but women tearing each other down is.
Cheating is cruel. I’m not loving anyone who participates. But, ladies, come on. Stop beating on your own whilst letting men off easy. We’re better than this.
One of my favourite things is finding one off or limited pieces. If I can unearth them for pennies, even better.
It was therefore swell to find this adorable bag in a random wee shop. It stocked the strangest selection of items, but amongst them was this little gem.
I have a feeling it may be the most perfect bag ever made. All those colours, the embroidery & pom poms! I was helpless when faced with those pom poms; I had to take this little one home. In addition to its obvious beauty it has a cross body strap that actually fits over my boobs & despite its diminutive appearance it holds all my essentials.
I have long hankered after a cameo brooch, but my search has proved elusive. That is, until today, when I stumbled upon this perfect specimen. The lavender tones are so unusual & I am completely taken with the art noveauish quality of the girl’s hair. Not bad for 50p. It’s amazing what you can discover if you shuffle through a basket of plastic crap in a charity shop.
And if I needed confirmation that my trawling skills were on point, Bronan gave it. This is the face of a cat who wants my brooch.
Taking Shape is a company I had a little experience with as I checked out their stores when I was in Oz. I hadn’t had a chance to peruse their Glasgow store, so their collection was all new to me. The store is a pleasure to shop; clearly zoned, neat, sleek & lovely big changing rooms. The staff are knowledgeable & refreshingly chirpy. So far, so good.
Regular readers will be aware that I have a penchant for colour. Taking Shape gets a big tick in the brights box. They also easily check off size, fit & variety. There are enough daring pieces to keep a weirdo like me happy, but also plenty of staples. The arrival of a little sun has me drawn to vivid yellows & sheer fabrics, so this top was perfect. I snapped it up & wore it the very next day.
I have to give big props to the PR team who were a dream. Special mention also goes out to the my fellow bloggers who were charm itself & rocking some amazing looks.
Top – Taking Shape
Skirt – Forever21
Stay tuned for my Hotter adventures.
* Items have been gifted, but opinions are my own.
I’m lying on my bed with the sun streaming in my window having a lazy morning. I’m planning dinner in my head & pondering what colour to paint my nails, when it happens. A vivid flashback, of a day like this, but 16yrs ago.
Like today I am resting on my bed observing the sunny world outside. Unlike today, back then I had a life growing inside me. I can smell the incense I used to burn in the flat & see the steeple of the church at the the end of the street. I feel the warmth on my face, the ache in my back & the love pounding through my veins.
As fast as it strikes, it wanes. Part of me wants to cling to those sensations, the rest still finds these memories tender. I’ve been having these flashes a lot lately. They’re not new to me; I’ve been living with PTSD for a long time. This wasn’t a bad one, but it still leaves me feeling sadder than I did before. I’ve been thinking about why these bolts into the past have become so frequent of late & I think I know the answer.
For the first time in a very long time I am making baby plans. I have always wanted to be a Mummy. The loss only increased that desire. For years I’ve watched friends & family create beautiful little people. It’s never been the right time for me. Well, I’m 35 now and life never really gets any simpler. There is no right time. There will never be a perfect set of circumstances. So, the time is now.
Or the time for planning is now. I’m getting my self and my life in shape for baba. It’s a little scary, but I don’t have any doubts. My life will never feel complete without children. It’s going to be a long campaign, but Operation Baby is go.
This week’s amazing woman Khadija Gbla is the executive director of NO FGM Australia. She campaigns to stop girls in Australia suffering fgm & to bring awareness to issue.
She bravely & honestly talks about her own experience of fgm; from the trauma of the act as a small child to the lasting effects it has had throughout her life. Gbla’s frank discussion of her struggles with her scars, loss of sensation & fgm’s impact on her pregnancy are essential. Fgm is still greatly misunderstood, it is so important for everyone to know the horror that is being inflicted upon children & the lifelong problems that ensue.
I admire Khadija’s determination to thrive & her drive to prevent others from enduring the same mutilatiom.
It’s been a fairly rough week filled with more Dr’s than I would have liked. There were some amusing moments & cool snaps, hence I am sharing my hospital expoilts.
It all started last Monday with a pain in my lower back. By Tuesday it had spread around my side & all over the right side of my stomach. The pain had intensified to such an extent that I had to see my gp. Dr suspected possible upper uti infection, but wanted to rule out pancreatitis,so off to the hospital I was sent. Not, however, before I had to pee in a tiny bottle & was given two injections in my bum. One was for pain, which had no effect. There other for nausea, which was entirely counter productive as shortly after leaving the surgery I began impressively vomiting.
I founf myself waiting to be assessed in hospital. For some reason I was surrounded by babies & their parents watching me repeatedly throw up into those horrid little cardboard hats. Once again it’s a round of peeing in various receptacles & being prodded by numerous medical personal. The result being I was admitted with probable kidney infection.
After another two injections in my arse (their is no dignity in being ill) my behind was now feeling a little tender & turning some vibrant colours. My nurse was unable to get any blood despite trying both arms & hands. A Dr was then summoned to attempt to draw blood. Much to my embarrassment the Dr who arrived is already known to me. I had a fling with him many years before. So, I find myself lying in a hospital gown, groaning whilst a very attractive surgeon who has seen me naked pokes me with needles. Only I could end up in the medical care of an old shag.
I spent the rest of the week pacing around as kidney pain is worse at rest. I tried my best to rest & even ventured out with my sis at the weekend. We were treated to perfect spring weather. It felt good to be out in the fresh air surrounded by new blooms.
As this week began all felt well. I was still a little tender, but otherwise much better. I probably over did it catching up with house work & errands on Monday. Meaning that by dinner time I was exhausted & needed to have a nap. And, that’s the last thing I remember until I came round on the hall floor in dark. My face hurt & I was very confused, but otherwise unharmed. My first instinct was just to go to bed, but after consultation with my sister I realised I had to return to hospital. Que scans, X-rays & a night of observation. Luckily I only have a mild concussion and a bashed up nose. I had no encounters with long lost lovers and I pray I have reached my hospital limit for quite a while.