I miss you like sleep…

Too much time in my head is distinctly bad for me. Not getting stuck amongst all the crap i’ve crammed up there is an ongoing project. It is not an endeavour that is aided by inaction.

Staying home alone all day, everyday is not ideal. I require distraction. I need people who make me feel swell and to do things that help me feel worthy. I like knowing that I could jump in a taxi and go anywhere. Having a sense of control is massively important.

Being entirely reliant on others for almost everything makes my insides jitter. I feel more of a burden than ever. Which activates my guilt & anxiety. I’m obviously also worried about myself or someone I love getting ill. Plus the horror of all the people who are suffering & dying every day. I’m basically a big ball of negative emotions.

I’m struggling with pain. I miss my little ones. I miss all my people. I can hardly sleep. There’s very little work. There’s too much time to think. All this on my own time thinking about what I miss inevitably highlights the major omission.

When left to its own devices my is brain predictable. It clings to trauma. If not occupied with the business of living, I regress. Slip back into dreams of the births I’ll never labour through. Flashbacks of the blood & pain I did. Haunted by the over used phrase that always signaled it was over.

There are so many what ifs. Too many of my own actions to question. Huge & tiny alterations that could have changed the outcome. Things I never said. Words others can never unsay. Blame to place. Regret to carry. Penance to complete.

I feel trapped with all I’ve lost and every little thing I can’t share. The good memories are as painful as the bad. The selfies I took when my belly began to change shape. That magical second line on the test. Marking midwife appointments on my calendar. Blood tests with the right numbers. Making lists. Checking what ridiculous object the app tells me my baby is now the size of. Plans & scans & the bam bam of heartbeats.

Rainbow reflection on pale either arm

My body remembers it all in such intricate detail. I recall the fractionally altered taste of mint tea. Sex felt different and the smell of everything intensified. I was heavy with fear. Dulled by fatigue. Yet still floating on hope and entirely delighted to experience whatever this new life threw at me.

It never goes away. I can never take my foot off the pedal. I’m always close to skidding off the road. Lockdown is like a battle not to drift to sleep at the wheel. Spending too long contemplating my past or the what might have been is dangerous. Finding ways to keep my eyes open is getting harder.

Two lines to indicate positive result on pregnancy test

This week I have been mostly…

Rediscovering old tunes. It started with Hall & Oates; my sister mentioned she had recently realised how good they were, so I had another listen. She was correct & it spiralled from there. I have since found myself in voyage of musical rediscovery & I am loving it.

Since they kicked off this forgotten tune trip, Hall & Oates are the perfect place to start. My mum used to play them in the car all the time when I was a kid. I didn’t dislike the songs then, but I think they just kind of washed over me. I was busy thinking about important 13 year old things & fighting with my siblings. Who has time to pay attention to some old dudes their mum likes? Turns out mum’s old dudes were pretty cool. In particular Rich Girl & Maneater have made my frequently played list. I love that they sound simultaneously upbeat & chilled out. I’ve known plenty of rich kids who could ‘rely on the old man’s money’ & I can totally relate to the song’s portrayal of that type. However, I think what I like best is that I can close my eyes & be transported to another time. I can picture mum’s big hair & remember how safe it felt to drive around with the music up loud.

Mum & girls in beach

Next up was a song I heard a snippet of on a tv show & immediately needed back in my life. Novocaine for the soul by The Eels is another little time machine. It takes me back to the end of high school & navigating my first forays into adulthood. It is a turn it up loud & dance away your problems kind of song. It has to be said that my problems back then were laughably light; I definitely didn’t need any novocaine. The whole Beautiful Freak album has worn well. My problems may have gotten heavier, but blasting The Eels can still help lighten the load.

The wonder of shuffle dug up the gem that is 212. Azealia Banks has since revealed herself as problematic af, but I can’t stop loving this song. This is so not my usual kind of jam, but I can still remember the first time I heard this song. It blew me away. I love everything about it; strong sassy women taking no shit, killer beat & that feel good factor. For some reason this will always be a sunny day song for me. It’s perfect crank it up & get ready to go out music. So glad to have this foul mouthed banger back in my life.

Azealia Banks, 212 video

I first remember hearing Bright Eyes First Day of my Life around the time my Godson was born. The lyrics really hit me because when I looked at this tiny new person I felt like I was getting a fresh start too. I wasn’t in a great place back then & that precious new baby to focus on was a real life line. I’ve thought about this song again when special little people have entered my life & the words still hold true. When I hold a new baby who is dear to me I feel flooded with love & renewed. The arrival of my tiniest nephew brought this one back to me & I’ve been playing it a lot lately. Life is so much richer when you have little ones to cherish.

Meeting muffin for the first time

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? 

This week I have been mostly…

Horny. My stupid sore body has curtailed my sex life somewhat. So, yes I am confined to Jammies, heat packs & elevating swollen feet right now. I can still I’d hark back to the days when my legs were in the air for more enjoyable reasons & the music that calls them to mind. 

Madonna’s Music album is blasting in our kitchen. I’m making tea wearing just knickers & a vest when he comes up behind me. His neck kisses are more sexy than sweet; before I know it I am pinned against the wall & he’s pulling a breast from my vest. We are right in front of a large sash window & the folk in the tenement opposite can look right in if they want to. My protestations that someone might see melt away as his mouth drifts from my nipple & heads south. By the time he’s pulling my knickers down I couldn’t care less if the whole street is watching. As Madonna provocatively demands  the dj plays a song I’m having my first ever standing up orgasm. His tongue seemed to move to the irrististable beat, I definitely ‘danced with my baby’. Thus, from the electro popish intro to the classic Madge lyrics, Music spells sex to me. 

Sometimes you meet someone & you just know something significant is going to happen. That feeling was instant with this man. At first we talked. We liked talking. Those conversations stretched from hours to months. So, when we finally crossed the line into more than words there was a certain amount of anticipation. We needn’t have worried the moment our bodies slammed against each other everything worked. He knew exactly what I wanted without a hint of direction. He dominated me to exactly the right degree. As he flung my legs over his shoulders I had Dave Matthews Band playing in head. I loved that he knew I could handle it rough. Crash Into Me was that night set to music. It was hot & kinky, but also tender. As the bite marks faded in the days after this was the song I had on repeat. 


When an ex was left with the keys to lock up his workplace I ceized the opportunity to indulge in some gross misconduct. I turned up wearing not very much & offered to perform a strip tease in his boss’ office. The song I chose to shed my lingerie to was Touch Me. Dj Rui De Silva created one of the very few dance tunes that does it for me. I loved how it felt to dance to its seductive vibe in a heaving club & it translated to one on one. The lyrics were in synch with where I was at; intense, intimate sex was my thing. I liked that this club anthem was about more than just random fucking. The sultry tones & insistent dance track still makes me feel like a siren. 

I hadn’t been with a women in a long time when I felt a connection with a chick I had thought would be just a friend. Our feminist politics got us sparking, but her curves & penchant for spikes pushed us into bed. 212 was the song that got us on the dance floor that summer & it was the theme to our fling. The pounding drum that never quit felt like how she made she cum again and again. And again. Azelia’s fierce words mirrored our ferocious feminism. When the music takes on a rolling composition like waves breaking on sand I’m drawn right back to the sensation of breasts meeting soft stomach ripples. The song is forever a metaphor for the joy to be found in female flesh & intellect. 


When a fairly new boyfriend stumbled upon some of my sex toys whilst looking for condoms his reaction spoke volumes. Next time he stayed at mine I gave him a treat. To the triply strains of Goldfrapp’s Black Cherry, I cuffed & blindfolded him. Once I’d stripped to nothing but a corset I uncovered his eyes. I processed to straddle him & drive him a little crazy by demonstrating a shiny pink vibrator. The power of having him completely enraptured was so hot. His eventual begging to be freed & allowed to touch me came during the seriously seductive Strict Machine. As a result the 70’s/electro mash up never fails to make fails to make me feel like a sexual goddess. 

Sending out flares…..

I’m in the midst of quite a bad flare. Please excuse my scarce blogging. New posts coming soon. In the mean time you can enjoy my writing over at The Swag Guide.

I’ll leave you with some pics of some of the family pets. I love these wee faces, I defy you not to. 

  
My sister’s boy Seb giving me a soulful look. 

 My brother’s boy ringo having a wee snooze.

  
And my darling boy refusing to get out of bed.