There are some childhood rites of passage that never made it to the Isle of Wight in the ’80s. Although we did have a Wimpy restaurant, it speaks volumes about the beautiful (ish) island I once called home, that the Wimpy is still there. Is your childhood Wimpy still there? Thought not.
I went to the cinema once as a child, to see Michael Jackson’s Thriller. I remember announcing I didn’t want to go, being told I had to, then falling in love with Michael Jackson. By the time I was a teenager I’d ditched MJ in favour of Keanu Reeves, who after a few years muddling along with a pot belly, is hot again, so I win the long game. #NeverForgetKeanu Continue reading
It’s not easy being a blogger. Something mildly colourful happens and you’re all OMG I HAVE TO BLOG THIS. You whip out your camera (phone) and you hope that one picture later, you’ll have the perfect picture to pimp and prime in one or other of your many photo-editing apps, so it’s 97% better looking than it was, then you can whack it on the blog along with a string of words and call yourself retired for another week. Continue reading
Social media, you little tyke. You have sucked me in and shown me for what I truly am: nothing but a flagrant show off, strutting my stuff online before I even think to fact-check. I’m like Lindsay Lohan Instagramming an Arabic message that she thought read ‘you’re beautiful’ but actually read ‘you’re a donkey.’
I feel like a bit of an ass myself right now.
Because like Lindsay, I just want to inspire my Instagram followers (all 70 of them – beat that, Lohan.). Continue reading
In my continued quest for inner peace, I’ve been reading many articles about happiness. I’ve never really thought of myself as much of a complainer – it’s a word with negative connotations and I’m an expert in painting a picture of myself as an all round entertainer, not the sort to drag you down to the seabed with an anchor made of misery. (Seafaring metaphors come so easily to me. I like boats.) Continue reading
I have had an existential crisis. Following the accident that has had me bed-bound since New Year’s Eve, I have been in unfamiliar territory. Physically stilled, I’ve been questioning the very foundations of my being (a legend). Known to some as melodramatic, and yet to others as a minor meltdown, erring on the side of a mental health wobble. Continue reading
There was an incident a few years ago, for which the consumption of alcohol was largely to blame for my behaviour. It made me realise that contrary to popular belief (in my head, where all the neural pathways lead to signs that read: ‘You’re brilliant!’) I didn’t become more of a legend the more I drank. I, would you believe it, actually became less of a legend, the more I drank. Continue reading