Don’t tell me what to do…

In this world of self care & mindfulness it seems like everyone thinks they’re a therapist. Don’t get me wrong, sharing what works for you & talking about our mental health is great. It’s just that, to put it bluntly, some people talk crap. Others just regurgitate tired old advice that ain’t helping anyone. Man alive, I’m sick of it.

I want to talk specifically about the useless chatter surrounding self harm. I’ve been hearing & seeing the same patronising advice for YEARS. The most frustrating part is it often comes from people who really should know better. So, allow me to take you through why so much of the standard advice is just plain bad.

1/ Draw on your skin instead of cutting/burning etc.

This one usually takes two forms. The first opines that whatever relief/release a person may find in hurting themselves they can also attain by simply drawing on their skin. Now, let me ask you this, if drawing lines on yourself would make you feel better would you be causing physical trauma in the first place? The answer is of course, no. The components of self harm that serve a purpose vary, it may be pain, blood, disfiguring the skin or even a need to punish oneself. None of which needs are met by drawing.

The second part of the draw on your skin nonsense is the idea that you draw something pretty (often a butterfly) where you would normally self harm. The desire to preserve the ‘body art’ is then supposed to dissuade a person from ‘spoiling’ their skin. The stupidity of this idea is obvious. If actually scarring oneself will not prevent a person from harming themselves it seems very unlikely that spoiling a temporary drawing will. Even if by some miracle a biro butterfly were enough to assuage overwhelming distress, the body has a lot of flesh. Are people to cover every inch of themselves in rainbows & roses?

Butterfly drawn on skin

2/ Have a hot bath, cup of tea, blah, blah, blah…

Imagine the kind of agony you would have to be in to take a scalpel to yourself & cut for hours. Do you think a nice bath would magic that away? The answer is no. A bath helps you feel better at the end of tiring day. It does not release you from excruciating emotional pain.

3/ Distract yourself.

The need to self harm is powerful & persistent. For some reason lots of people (both professional & laymen) believe the urge is fleeting. I often see those struggling told to distract themselves until the urge passes. This advice betrays an ignorance regarding the workings of self harm. The need to hurt oneself does not easily wane. In fact, the longer a person self harms the stronger the compulsion becomes. Often it is impossible to focus on anything else. No sleeping or eating or thinking until the hunger to hurt is sated. It isn’t possible to distract oneself from that level of intrusion. When you cannot function on the most basic of levels watching a film or phoning friend are not options.

4/ Throw away your self harm tools.

The rationale here being that if one does not have the apparatus used to self harm, then self harm is impossible. WRONG.

As already discussed the compulsion to injure oneself is incredibly strong. Desperate people become ingenious. Trust me, when you really need to, you can hurt yourself with anything. Believe me again when I say those fraught & frenzied moments are when people make mistakes. As incomprehensible as it sounds self harm can be the very thing keeping someone alive. Asking or obligating an ill person to give up their lifeline is dangerous. It is also cruel.

5/ Ping your wrist with an elastic band/hols an ice cube in your hand etc.

My objections to this one are again two fold. To begin with it’s just ineffective. Self harm is both a habit firming & escalating problem. A person almost always experiences a need to increase the severity of their injurious behaviour. This takes us right back to the start. If the nip of an elastic band were sufficient, no one would be putting themselves in hospital via self harm.

A more serious objection, though, is the message this sends. Telling a vulnerable person that hurting themselves is ok, is a head fuck of massive proportions. Self harm is never the real problem, it is a symptom. In order to tackle self harm one must deal with the underlying issues. That is hard work, time consuming work. It’s much easier just to counsel harm minimisation. In doing so, you validate a sick person’s maladaptive thought process. That mental health professionals routinely tell patients that hurting themselves is ok is a disgrace. The basic premise of the hold an ice cube/ping an elastic band technique is that hurting yourself is a reasonable response to emotional turmoil. Just don’t do it badly enough to bother other people. By suggesting someone harm themselves in a small way you have shifted the conversation from, ‘let’s help you not hurt yourself’ to ‘hurt yourself in ways that do not draw attention to the act’. It is ignoring the root of the problem & allowing a person to believe that they are deserving of pain. It’s lazy, it counter productive & it is bullshit.

Hand holding ice

If you are struggling with self harm or you know someone who is, don’t feel helpless. When you are searching for help & find only these sort of suggestions it can feel like there are no answers. Whilst there are no quick fixes, there is hope.

See your Gp. If they don’t listen or offer help, see another Gp. I know this is exhausting at a time when you can least afford a fight, but please, don’t give up. If you have a friend or family member who can be your advocate, take them with you. You deserve treatment. You deserve care.

If you have badly injured yourself please seek medical advice. Again, if you have a friend or family member who can support you, take them along. If you do not & are worried about how you will be treated taking a copy of NHS NICE GUIDELINES can be helpful. You are entitled to be treated with the same compassion & respect as any other patient. Most emergency personnel will do this, but a few may need reminding of their duty. Being able to quote these guidelines helps in such situations. As scary as this may sound, do not put yourself at risk by avoiding treatment. You are worthy of diligent medical care.

If you are not yet ready or able to see a Dr, you can contact The Samaritans 24/7.

Call – 116 123 (uk)

Email – jo@samaritans.org

Spinning around in the air…

It has been a right old slog this week. I was certainly happy to make to Friday. What better way to celebrate it finally being the weekend than having a drink & dance? Well, I was only watching the dancing part, but it was still fun.

An old friend of the Toyboy’s is going abroad with her husband for work & they decided to a hit a ceilidh in one of Glasgow’s oldest pubs for their leaving do. I used to love a ceilidh, but alas, my knee stops me galloping about these days. Still, watching people really throw themselves into the moves is amusing. Even more so when it all goes horribly wrong. Ceilidh’s can very quickly descend into upbeat chaos. It doesn’t hurt that Sloan’s is a really cool venue. With an historic feature staircase, grand ballroom & some very Glasgow centric murals.

Since I wasn’t dancing I thought I better look extra good. I definitely didn’t want to be mistaken for a wall flower. So, I thought this metallic number would do the trick, especially when paired with my equally shiny brogues. I haven’t worn wrap dresses in a while, but after the success of the my Xmas day dress, I’ve fallen for the style again.

Dress – Pink Clove

Brogues -Primark

I’m not loving this one as much as my velvet beauty. It cuts across the bust in that awkward way that some wrap dresses do. Meaning one boob is always on the verge of escaping. I’m not a fan of having to adjust myself all night. It also crinkles up in a slightly strange manner, which I think makes me look like my body is rumpled & stomach is angular. Not the look I was aiming for! Anyway, I do love the cut of the skirt & the shiny, shiny fabric. I think I will wash it & give it another go. Sometimes clothes just sit nicer after they’ve been laundered. Fingers crossed.

I was chuffed with my icy blue eye make up & my high voltage nails were spot on. My silver brogues were also killing it, so it definitely wasn’t an outfit fail just room for improvement.

Watch out for a hopefully more successful restyle on this dress.

Body language…

On Tuesday night I braved the first flurries of snow & headed to The Body Shop’s blogger night. I haven’t attended many blogger events recently because they’ve just been a bit too much for me, but I am so glad I pushed myself to get to this one.

Sauchiehall st, Glasgow

The Body Shop really know how to do a blogger night. They had all the usual snacks, fizz & goody bag bases covered. More importantly the actual substance of the evening was fantastic. The staff gave detailed, enthusiastic & succinct presentations on products & campaigns. They really took their time with product demonstrations. I was very impressed with how knowledgeable everyone was & how well they tailored free samples to individual blogger’s needs.

The Body Shop goodie bagi

ly h Kerr

It was a particular delight to discuss skin masks with Dawn. Her product knowledge was spot on & she guided me expertly to the perfect mask for my skin. Along the way we had a really nice talk about body positivity. It was lovely to meet someone so charming, comfortable with herself & supportive of other women. I’ve already given my British Rose fresh plumping mask a try & my face felt divine apres treatment.

Along with discovering new products I was reassured that the Oils of Life range I currently use is a good fit for me. Plus the skin moisture analyser proved how good a job it’s doing. My initial reading was 60% hydration, which I’m told was good. After application of Oils of Life moisturiser & the rose mask it jumped up to 85%. That’s a pretty impressive result.

I was happy to hear that The Body Shop intends to increase it’s vegan reach. They aim to ensure every new product the introduce is entirely vegan. I look forward to seeing this roll out. They also continue their work to end animal testing, which I of course fully support. You can sign their petition here.

Follow up posts on my new Body Shop discoveries will be surfacing as & when I give them a thorough trial.

A fortnight in pictures…

The weeks seem to be flying in, but no matter how many go by it is still winter. I feel like spring will never come. Anyway, the weather freezing weather keeps on, so there is less excitement to share. Nevertheless, I thought I’d give you a peek at my highlight reel.

The Toyboy put on a charity punk vs funk gig to support medical aid in Palestine. I wouldn’t have said that either genre was really my thing, but I actually really enjoyed some of he bands. Dopesickfly & Velveteen Riot being my favourites. I recommend you check them out. The night was a raging success, thanks I’m sure in no small part to my incredible purple lippie.

ly h Kerr

There have been the usual mix of clinic appointments & nights on the sofa. All that time hiding from the cold has given me plenty of opportunity to do my nails & the occasional trips out have been good Project Post it opportunities. Excursions have mostly consisted of eating & cinema. Both are excellent comfort activities. Vegan eating on high street continues to get easier. I am loving this shift because it indicates that veganism continues to rise, but also as it means I can have chocolate cake.

Nail artProject Post It

On the movie front I’m giving a thumbs up to 3 billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri & Black Panther. I am also very much in favour of the reclining chairs at Odeon Luxe. Catch up Cineworld, those seats are a dream for my poor spoonie body. The lazy nights in have yielded recommendations for Britannia & Critical. Both take a minute to get into, but persevere; it’s worth it.

The last week or so has been fairly cocktail laden. Birthday drinks for a friend gave me a chance to finally taste a Candy Floss Martini. A thing I have been hankering after & which absolutely lives up to expectations. Get one. Right now. Some high stress nonsense led to homemade strawberry margaritas with a lot of tequila. Admittedly not a great long term solution, but certainly an ideal way to temporarily let off some steam.

ly h KerrStrawberry Margarita

I got flowers from my Mum, a card from my man & rocked some damn cute looks. I also captured a few beautiful winter moments. Yes, this season can be stunning, but it’s still too bloody cold!

Upside down standard lamps Project Post It

Project Post It

Blurry sunset

Oh & the cats in my life continue to be gorgeous.

Cute cats

She’s in fashion…

I think I have that bug everyone has been getting. Or I just have the cold & my stomach is acting up. Either way I am vommy & achey & fevery. Oh & my period is trying to kill my uterus. What I’m saying is I feel shit, which means I’m up at 5am watching absolute trash on tv.

One of the show types I sometimes watch when I need something distracting, but untaxing is next top model. I don’t really care which top model franchise, they all have the same ingredients. Ridiculous tasks, a really cool outsider chick to root for, a total bitch, lots of folk getting way too upset about taking photographs, occasional freaky make up looks & even more occasional actual chubby chick doing really well (they always include a ‘plus size’ contestant these days, but they are very rarely actually plus size & they usually get bumped pronto). I don’t care about modelling, but for some reason I quite like these shows for grumpy insomnia fodder. Thus I found myself watching Britain’s next top model & having all my ‘I’m pissed off’ boxes ticked. There was a really annoying chick who had an awful tattoo of a gun, wore fur & irritated the life out of anyone in her vicinity. Abbey Clancy is getting on my wick & everyone has had a complete breakdown about having their hair dyed. It is the perfect amount of bullshit. I can project all my crankiness onto this pointless tv programme & for some reason it helps.

Then they go & ruin everything by making me rage. It’s getting close to the end, so all the contestants are really having to up their game. They’ve been flown off somewhere hot, hot, hot, stuck in insane costumes & asked to do something near impossible. Just for good measure they are also given an absolute prick of a photographer who proceeds to bully them. Let’s be clear about this set up. Some of these aspiring models are under 18 & away from home for the first time. The photographer is a professional as well as a grown ass man. When one of the girls struggles to deal with the tog & gets upset she is basically told to suck it up. The judges laugh about how this guy is renowned for being difficult & declare that part of the job. Cut to me, fuming.

Why should dealing with what amounts to abusive behaviour just be part of the job? Why are they showing female children being degraded by an adult man & then criticising the child’s professionalism for not being with ok with that?? I know modelling is an industry famous for mistreating it’s young acolytes, but actually watching it played out as entertainment enrages me. A huge portion of the audiences for these shows are young girls. Most of whom are not watching with the cynicism that I am. Lots of those viewers will long to get into modelling or similar industries. Even more will be looking up to super models, celebs & fashion folk who appear on these shows. What are they learning from this type of behaviour? Nothing good.

They’re seeing adult men behave like spoilt children & still be admired by their peers. They’re witnessing female debasement classed as the price you pay for success. They’re watching adult women schooling girls to accept abuse. Before you think I’m overreacting, I’ve spent the last several hours doing a little research. A variation of this scenario happens over & over. Girls are continually ‘tested’ with the difficult photographer, director, go see & the person pushing their buttons is invariably a well respected male industry figure. The lesson to be learned is always that these dickheads have the power & they must take the abuse with a smile. It is sickening.

This is the patriarchy captured on camera. Even though these programmes are fronted by apparently empowered women. Tyra et all are full of inspiring speeches. They purport to be about fierce women forging media careers. There’s lots of feminist lip service, but when it comes down to it, they still teach young women they’re lambs to the slaughter. And, seriously, FUCK THAT.

Fuck that

You’re clouding my mind…

Nothing bad happened this week. No extra stressful event. No triggering sights or scents. In fact, it was quite nice. Easy weekend with my man. Luxuriously relaxing day with my sister. Words were flowing. I had nothing more taxing than baby shopping & light housework scheduled. All should have been well, but no one told my brain.

At some point on Monday night my head switched from calm to high alert. Try as I might I can not decipher why. I was one minute thinking about what colours to paint my nails & the next desperately trying to pinpoint my panic. It happens that fast. Like a storm cloud darkening the sky, my mood stiffens. Suddenly my only thought is why do I feel like something very, very bad is about to happen? All I can do is run through every aspect of my life & weigh up how likely disaster is. It doesn’t matter that my checks come up empty. That only makes the anxiety worse. Even If I can’t locate a likely impending crisis, I still feel on the verge of one. The disparity between my thought & feeling drives me crazy.

My body betrays me. It takes its queues from my beleaguered brain. Thus every gust of wind or car in the street sends my heart racing. I can’t relax. I can’t sit still. I can’t get anything done either. My head is too busy with the millions of terrible possibilities it has to discount. I can’t concentrate properly, so every task takes twice as long as it should. Or just doesn’t get done at all because you know, the post man came & I had to hide in my bedroom. What I was hiding from, I don’t know. I can’t think of a single scenario in which someone knocking on my door could realistically lead to a catastrophe. Nevertheless, I cower.

It’s exhausting and it is maddening. Free floating anxiety. I’m basically just fighting with my own stupid head. There is nothing to fear except fear itself. I think that phrase is supposed to comforting; not for me. Illogical, inexplicable fear itself is a formidable opponent. I’ll be ok. Can someone just please tell my brain.

Just another manic Monday…

My very clever sister decided that instead of having a baby shower type affair she would just invite some lovely women to join her for a spa day. Thus I spent my Monday being a luxury bitch at beautiful spa. Thank you, little sister.

The setting of our unmanic monday was Gleddoch House Hotel & Spa. It looked extra scenic surrounded by snow, but once wrapped up in the soft, fluffy robes the cold wasn’t touching us. 


After my treatment there was a gorgeously calm & comfortable relaxation room to unwind in. Suitably soothed I returned to pool for some laps & general floating around. I love being in the water because my body hurts so much less when submerged. I love it even more when in the company of smart & funny women. 


Of course it wouldn’t be a spa day without a dip in a hot tub & what’s the point of a hot tub if it isn’t really cold? The Gleddoch had us covered with this amazing roof top hot tub; enjoying the steamy bubbles whilst surrounded by snowy mountains is definitely a good way to spend a Monday. 


After all the relaxing we had a bite with more views and the already mums gave the mum to be a little tongue in cheek advice. We sneaked in a few forbidden presents & headed home to enjoy our spa day afterglow. 


So, thank you little sister not only for making a whole new person for me to love, but for providing me an opportunity to really enjoy a Monday. 

I don’t know where I stand…

About 7 months ago, after years many years of knee pain & a limp that had become almost permanent I had an X-ray that revealed arthritis. After even more pain & increasingly frequent falls my Dr recommend a walking stick. 

I had been experiencing pain in my right knee for years. When I first mentioned it to a Gp he put it down to a small accident I had whilst playing with my niece. I had plenty going on health wise & at the time it wasn’t a constant or severe pain, so I left it at that. The knee got progressively worse & I mentioned it a few times to various gp’s but no one was worried & it got sidelined by more immediately pressing health issues. By the time I really couldn’t ignore it anymore I had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. The knee pain was attributed to fibro & that was pretty much that. The pain however continued to get worse. It hurt all the time, standing or sitting. It even  woke me in the night. Then came the swelling, then the limp shortly followed by the knee giving way & me falling on my arse more than once. Back to my Gp I went, but only to seek advice on what might help my knee; I believed it was fibro related. Finally, over four years later I was sent for an x-ray, which revealed significant erosion in my knee joint. I didn’t expect to have a condition like arthritis at 37 & I certainly never envisioned myself with a walking stick, but here I am.

Foot & walking stick

There are so many things I could say about the difficulties of getting a diagnosis or even investigations when you have chronic conditions. So often when medical professionals see things like fibro in your notes they will just link everything to that. When you have multiple chronic conditions  multiply the difficulty. Add to that mental health issues, being a woman, being fat, the drs who think everyone with chronic pain is drug seeking & honestly, I’m just exhausted. Yes, it could have been spotted sooner. Yes, I would probably have a better prognosis if it had, but at this stage I’m just too tired to even think about that. There isn’t anything that can done about it anyway. It is what it is. 

Unfortunately what it is is pretty shit. On a number of levels. I hate to admit it, but there’s been a real mental adjustment along with the physical. I find it really hard when people see me with the stick for the first time. I worry that they’re thinking, oh god, she has another thing wrong with her. I worry that they’re embarrassed. I worry that I’m just too much of an inconvenience. 

I hate it, but a walking stick is a blow to the self esteem. I don’t feel particularly sexy as I hobble along, so obviously I question if others will view me differently. Intellectually I know there is no weakness in disability, but emotionally I feel weaker. I feel less useful.

Less fun.

Less appealing. 

All the while I’m telling myself what nonsense that is. That I know better than to indulge in such ableist thinking. Then I think if I, a disabled person am having these thoughts, then others certainly are & that’s not a productive thought process. I’ve already experienced how ignorant the world can be. How many people will still push past me or not offer me a seat. I’ve learned that places who bill themselves as accessible, just aren’t (and my mobility is still so much better than a lot of people’s). The weird thing is, I think the kind folk are almost harder to take. Every time someone offers to let me skip them in a long queue or asks if I need help, I feel utterly exposed. I’m grateful for the seats & the consideration, but I still feel very vulnerable about needing them. I’ve put so much stock in the power of being independent & capable that another level of disability is a struggle to accept. Yet, writing those words feel very indulgent. How dare I ‘woe is me’ when things could be a millions times harder, as I know they are for millions more if people. I know some of this linked to my mental health issues. There are familiar themes here; shame, guilt & a big helping of get over it. I suspect though, that maybe these feelings are pretty common for those dealing with disability. Thoughts & feelings aside, life is just a bit harder. For me & I’m sure for those around me. I’m slower & more limited. I can’t go anywhere without checking a dozen things beforehand. I’m grumpier & less reliable. Spontaneity is out, relentless checking is in. I hurt more. I need more rest & assistance. I find everything exhausting. I sound like an absolute joy to be around, right?


Finally, there is the stress. All of the above is stressful. Everyday tasks, trying to do something fun, the future are stressful. Attempting to manage all the stress, is stressful! 

I realise this is all sounding very negative & I don’t want to be that person, but I do want to talk about it. I’d like there to more of a conversation about chronic illness & disability. I’m sure some of this will get easier. Some of it won’t & I’ll have to adjust. Spoonie life is nothing if not challenging. The opportunity to spill my guts definitely makes it a little bit easier. 

Merry Christmas, Baby…

Welcome to crimbo limbo. It’s that time of year when it is totally acceptable to wear your jammies all day long & ignore all the usual food (& drink conventions). Do you want champagne for breakfast? Have it, just bung a little fruit juice in. Fancy a piece & potato? Knock yourself out, carb on carb is GOOD. It’s anything goes & I love it.

I have had the loveliest Xmas, but there was was a lot of running around & really late nights followed by early mornings. So, I’m enjoying a little down time. Before I turn off entirely I thought I would share a little of my Christmas. 

Happy plus size woman in velvet dress
Dress – SimplyBe

Xmas #ootd was one of my gifts from my lovely Mum. She hit it out of the park with this one. It’s so sumptious. I am in love. 

I did Xmas eve in the pub with the toyboy & his friends, but retired to mum’s house early. Jim jams & old movies is the way to welcome Xmas day. 


We got a tiny bit festive for Xmas eve drinks.

Mum & I rocked Xmas day together. Seven brides for seven brothers, delicious vegan dinner & a lot of my new highlighter made for a good day. I spent the evening at the TB’s parents. Christmas bauble cocktails, even more pressies, a freestyle Mary & Joseph rap and multiple Santa suits completed my day. 

Necklace – Kracken Jewellery

I also got to watch both my niece & nephew open their presents via FaceTime. Their happy wee faces were definitely my festive favourites.

I am lucky girl with wonderful friends & family. Oh & I got the most excellent gifts too! I hope you all had an equally fabulous festive period. 

And of course it wouldn’t be Xmas without a festive manicure. So, here’s all of my December nail art efforts. 



I now intend to do a whole lot of resting in preparation for kicking 2018’s arse. See you in the new year.

Oh, do it…

Regular readers will probably be aware that I’m not much of a new year’s resolution type. However, recently there have been a bunch of things that I have wanted to tackle, but for one reason or another keep telling myself I’ll get to it after Xmas & Hogmanay. So, I thought, what the hell, I’ll share them with the world & then maybe I’ll actually get cracking. Thus, I present my ‘2018, for the love of god, just do it’ list. 

I’ll kick things off with a biggie. Re decorating. My house needs a bit of a revamp. I was supposed to get it done this year, but there was just always an impediment. I know exactly what I want & need in every room. I have bought umpteen accessories, selected paint colours & even gotten quotes for the work. Still my rooms remain unzhoosed. Next year, I will bring my interior ideas to fruition. The art work the Toyboy got me & my vintage flamingo throw pillows are going on display, even if it kills me. 

Vintage flamingo
On the subject of the Toyboy, he is number 2 on my list of challenges. I love to swim. I was part of a team when I was younger & it’s the only sporty thing I’ve ever enjoyed. Now a days, it is the only cardio I can safely & comfortable do. Plus being in the water really helps my pain. Basically if there is a pool in my vicinity I’m in it. The TB on the other hand, is less keen. His swimming technique is, shall we say, not quite Olympic standard. To be frank, he struggles not drown. I intend to rectify this. I’m going to teach that man to swim (wether he likes it or not). He shouldn’t be surprised if swimming trunks turn up under his Xmas tree.

I take thousands of pictures. Like everyone else, I tend to share them mostly online. I have lots of framed pictures around the house, but there are only so many that I can display. Earlier this year I decided I really wanted to make proper photo albums to organise & keep my pictures in. I duly ordered hundreds of prints & then life decided get troublesome. Project photo album got sidelined & all I actually achieved was adding to the clutter that lives in the spare room. Well, this week I found these beautiful albums made with Liberty fabrics. It’s time to get all my special memories organised & pasted in. Well, nearly time, 2018 will be the year I collate my snaps for posterity. 

This beloved blog is also on the list. The home of my writing needs an overhaul just as much as my actual home does. Again, I have lots of ideas, both creative & practical. Again, those ideas have failed to materialise into a solid plan. The main problem here is I am useless at all of the things involved in giving a website a face lift. I have spent torturous nights trying to add buttons or create small clickable adds. Try as I might, I mess it up. It’s such a headache, that I have consistently applied the Scarlett O’ Hara theory of life to the issue; tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is finally coming. Any tips or referrals for such services would be greatly appreciated.


My final task is the least glamorous & most ridiculous. It is also the bloody hardest problem to solve. What massive struggle do I speak of? Keeping my bloody washing basket empty for more than 5 seconds. Why do I always have so much dirty laundry? I am only one person! Granted the TB scatters pants & socks everywhere he goes, but bar a few outfits, that’s it. It’s all mine & it never ends. Every single time I get to the bottom of the basket I want to throw a party, but blink & it’s full again. Nothing destroys the calming sanctuary of a bedroom more than the overflowing washing basket in the corner. I no longer want to be terrorised by my own discarded clothing. Next year I will take charge & keep that washing basket empty (ish). I just don’t know how yet.

I also have an ongoing semi- secret pet project. Those of you know me well can probably guess what it is. The rest of you will just have to keep reading. 

So, there it is. These are my mountains to climb in 2018. Which epic quests await you?