Bloggity blog blogifying

If you follow my blog, I assume it's because you are vaguely interested in what I have to say. Or it's because you really like looking at badly taken photographs of tall people in clothes that they've had a really long time. In a badly lit attic. Surrounded by more clothes they've had a really long time. And cats. Always with the cats. 

Or maybe, like me, you're not entirely au fait with the internets and just click on whatever's green on the page (Because: Green for go) and there was a green bit near my follow button and your fingers were a bit slippery from some cheesy Wotsits and now you don't know how to unfollow and are stuck reading this (Hiya).
Well today, I noticed that I had over ten followers. That's over ten people who have one of the tendencies listed above. 

Then I felt SCARED. Because despite what I put across, I'm pretty private. WHAT IF ONE OF THESE FOLLOWERS IS A REAL LIFE PERSON I KNOW? WHAT IF THEY REALISE I'M EVEN MORE SHALLOW AND VACUOUS THAN I APPEAR IN THE COLD LIGHT OF REAL LIFE DAY?!?! Most importantly, what if I spell something wrong.... (I just changed then to than to then to than with this thought in mind)

I've always wanted to be a writer; more specifically, to be an author of children's books. Part of the reason I started blogging was to get back into the habit of  writing stuff, of putting actual words on actual electronic device screen. It just so happened that I also like clothes, lipstick and taking bad photographs of myself. So this is sort of what my blog has evolved into. 

Is this sustainable? I don't know. 
I'm not sure I buy enough clothes for a start. I try them on, I window shop my arse off, but overspending in my youth and buying a house far too young have left me in a place where I am extremely happy but also extremely interested in a lottery win/job that pays more (preferably one where I can also work in my slippers and sit in a beanbag). 
I lose focus quite easily don't I?!? I was trying to explain my anxiety around people I actually know reading my blog and I've slipped effortlessly into beanbags...So back to that.

The way I write reflects what I'm like as a person. Lazy, light-hearted, simple and ultimately a bit all over the place. I imagine that anybody who knows me would use at least one of these words to describe me (plus they wouldn't be wrong in adding stroppy, over-dramatic and massively inept....) so my blog wouldn't come as a vast surprise in that sense. 

The thing is, it just seems terribly narcissistic. I must stress stronger than the strongest strong thing here that I never, ever, EVER read another blog with this opinion. I read blogs because I want to know about other people and their lives. The blogs I hold in highest esteem are the ones about people, about aesthetics, about escapism really. I suppose you could say its voyeuristic. Or is it aspirational? I don't know. I just know I like them. 

However, when you're writing about yourself and you become distinctly aware that you're not really very exciting (except when you're doing the worm across the floor of an empty pub at 7pm on a weekday night) or stylish or actually all that interesting, it all becomes a bit silly. And then people read it. And it's awesome wonderful incredible because these fabulous people don't hate your spewing of words. And then, as I said, it becomes scary. You want to say "DONT JUDGE ME!" but really, I'm putting these words out there to be judged aren't i? I want people to read my blog objectively, which is hard to do if you actually know me. 

For example, imagine a friend ringing you in the morning and saying "I'm so sad today, my job's terrible, I'm worried about the apocalypse, my monkey's just swallowed my canary and I think I've got nits". You then casually look at their blog and there they are in a leather bikini, false smile and paragraphs extolling the virtues of Sparklebum eyeshadow. You'd be screaming at the screen "But this isn't you!!! You're sucking your thumb on the settee and moaning about picking canary feathers out of your monkey's teeth!"

I'm sure a lot of us do this (not the monkey teeth bit), like I say, it's escapism. I choose these photo angles and light topics to leave behind the real life day. A bit like a virtual shower. 
I just hope that people realise this. It's all really for my benefit. Other people liking to read it is a huge bonus. Just please don't think me a fraud, or any more of a narcissist than I am. Take it for what it is. Or leave it. Up to you.



A weekend in Whitby - Yarrrrrrrrrr!

Yeah yeah yeah, I know it's not Halloween yet, but I'm a busy woman with important stuff like eating and sleeping going on so I "celebrated" this weekend with a group of wonderful friends, both old and new, in nautical Whitby.

Scary shizzle isn't it?!? My friends are master costume makers, nobody let the side down, even my miserable fancy dress hating husband managed to make the semblance of an effort. 

I was meant to be a terrifying siren, luring poor sailors to a watery grave. Unfortunately my stick-in fangs were having none of it (I must have slippery teeth) so I was just a mermaid with some red on. 

It was a cracking weekend, I've got the heartburn to prove it. Dressing up isn't for everyone, but I've come round to bloody loving it. What's been your fancy dress success story?


Autumn/Winter List o' Wishes

Oh the shops are so full of things of such beautifulness! It's making me WEAK!!! These are just a few of the things I'm lusting at. Try not to dribble on your keyboards....

Miss Selfridge

River Island


Simply Be


Now everybody, cross your fingers for a lottery win for me. Or a very rich long lost relative who wasn't very nice anyway popping their clogs....


Body Confidence Week - A hypocritical view...?!?

Today is the last day of #Bodyconfidence week and I’ve been thinking about how to approach it since it started....I’m going to write this blogs in two parts. Two parts that may or may not present me as a massive hypocrite, I’m not sure yet. Because as yet, it’s all still in my head. Until I type it. Then it's on the internet. Because that is how blogging works.
I love bodies, all bodies, whether they be big, small, hairy, bald, soft, hard, standing, sitting WHATEVER – I LOVE THEM.
I was going to put pictures of bodies I love here but there are too many and  I got distracted...
I've seen a fair few bodies in my time, both ladies' and men's bodies (Cos I'm kinky like that) and I can honestly say, there has not been one that I haven't wanted to look at for just a bit longer. Since getting into blogging and seeing what other people post, I have admired many well dressed and even undressed Bottoms, boobs, arms, thighs, tummies (Mmmm tummies) and there is never not a part I don't admire and envy.
Me and my body
When I was much, much younger, I wasn’t aware of my body at all, other than when I regularly grazed/bumped/broke it (more often than not, pretending to present Blue Peter - An altogether hazardous job guys) I swam daily and as a result had (and still do have) broad powerful shoulders and equal hips. I have always been very tall and pale and terribly clumsy... (I fall over NOTHING, just ask anyone who has spent more than 10 minutes with me...)
All of the youthful beauty. Right here.
When I got to around 14, people started to comment more on my figure: “Lanky” “Tit-less” “Man-ly” were all things I got used to hearing, funnily though, I can never remember taking them to heart – I am fortunate that my wonderful Mum genuinely instilled in me the belief that if someone else was obsessing so much over something in MY appearance, it must be a flaw in THEIR personality.
Then I stopped swimming, and that hormone shizzle kicked off, and the parts of me that had been strong or muscular became soft and quite squidgy... I wasn’t overweight, I wasn’t even fat. I was just a softer version of what I’d been before, and people noticed.  I got the nickname “Flabajab” (I actually find this quite endearing now!) from a group of 12 year olds, who would follow me around shouting it. I was 17 at this point, I’d never comments on my appearance get to me in the past, so why was this even an issue?!?! One of my favourite and most darling friends James came to my rescue, he would tell me I was wonderful and voluptuous (I’m not!) and we quickly changed this into “Vol-lumpy-full”, taking back some of the control I had to comment on my own body. Because yes, I had some lumps now.

Since then, my weight has fluctuated, as have my hair, my skin and my mental capacities...There have been times when my body, and how it looks, has made me sadder than Eeyore, I’ve hated every single miniscule part of me time after time in the self absorbed way that I’ve mastered to a T. I think the hardest part of it is that when I hate myself, I behave in a really irrational way. I become ridiculously defensive and a terrible person to be around. This isn’t “fat hating”, it’s “Smyth hating” I can hate myself just as effectively at a size 12 as I do at a size 18.
It bothers me that as women of any size/shape/colour/age, we are made to feel that we can’t be honest about what we think of our own bodies:  “You’re not slim, your thighs touch”  can be immediately counteracted with  “You’re not fat, you’re only a size 14” We daren’t say how we feel about ourselves for fear of upsetting other people or having the self image we have worked to become comfortable with snatched out our control. Over the years, my body confidence has been up and down: I have taken a variety of slimming pills / existed on takeaways, lived on vodka / Been T total for a year, used sunbeds / exfoliated obsessively, scarred myself in self hatred / spent hours in front of the mirror admiring myself, hidden my body  / flaunted my body , Hated myself / loved myself.
Look what my body has done...
Because yes, the fact is, some days, I love my body. I’m so impressed with the things it can do, that despite the years of abuse I’ve given it, it keeps on going, handling all the things thrown at it day after day: The stress, the fluctuating diet, the crawling around under desks to the not moving on the settee.  It copes a darn sight better than my fragile mind. How could I not love this? Because I am young and healthy, I’m confident that if I ask my beautiful, wonderful body to do something – It will. Plus, it feels nice, I've seen it look bloody glorious at times (NOT in a pair of tights and a bra - they make it distinctly UNglorious) and it all fits together really well so that my internal organs don't fall on the floor.
My body tolerates my brain telling it to do this. It is the worm.
So do you see what I mean? I can hardly say “YOU SHOULD ALWAYS FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOUR BODY ALL THE TIME YOU BIG FOOLISH PERSON”. Because I don’t.  And not everyone does.
But I can suggest to people that we appreciate what our bodies can do, and even what they CAN'T do. And if you love how your body looks, that’s just bloody awesome too, what a bonus!!!  Because these bodies are OUR bodies.


Getting back my mojo one dress at a time...

Dress: Ariella @ TKMaxx
Shoes: New Look
Lipstick: Screen Siren by Topshop
Mojo: Mine baby xxxxx


Smoke and Mirrors - A crisis of confidence

I've been a terrible person. A very terrible person indeed.
As you've probably noticed, I've not blogged for many, many cold lonely days. My blog has been a wasteland of tumbleweed, maybe even a little Watership Down-y in that it's been quite sad and Paul Simon-y (But not in a Call me Al way) I wish I could give you a good excuse, like:
  • I've been in Switzerland, flailing around on hills and making children's clothes out of curtains,
  • I met a prince and my talking crab has been coaching me in how to woo him,
  • Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz have asked me to move in with them and have a beautiful sex-filled open relationship with bike rides and flamenco guitars under the stars.
But alas, none of this is true (except the talking crab bit, Sebastian is a really cool guy, if a little highly strung) What's actually happened is that I have had...
A crisis of confidence
We all have them. At least I think we do. You know how it is; You've just had a mega day at work, baked an awesome cake, generally improved the lives of all those around you, all whilst giving Dita Von Teese a run for her money in the sexy stakes and being sassy at your bad self.....and so you go to bed on top of the world, feeling all sexilicious and magic.
The morning arrives, you look in the mirror and IT HAS HAPPENED... 
How did Grotbags get in your house?!? Your once glossy hair has become lacklustre, the bags under your eyes would be too big for even Sale day at Zara. You put on the skirt that yesterday made you look like Scarlett Johansson, today you look like a sausage in a wetsuit. You head to work, the bus breaks down, you forget the code to the office door, you've left your sandwiches at home and the ham and cheese sarnie from Boots (which you bought on your points because payday is two weeks away and you've spent all of the money and then some) is frozen in the middle. The office bitch gets one over on you, there's a kid on the bus who cries all the way home, your jacket potato has sprouted, you have a headache, you're sweaty, the boiler won't work....Then the cat vomits.
Nothing bad has happened, you're still the same person, you're totally fine. But that little switch in your head has gone and you've become entirely irrational and you really don't like yourself. One. Little. Bit.
Many of you will know that I'm approaching thirty. It's not a big deal at all (TO MOST PEOPLE) but the past three months have seen my self-loathing up itself a gear:
  • How am I still so dull?!?
  • Why do I have no discernible skills? (Other than having no gag reflex. Yeah. That's right)
  • Hormone based spots - Why?!?!
The most irritating and horrendously shallow bit is that I feel physically VILE; My skin, which has always been quite nice (If I do say so myself), is spotty and greasy, my hair's limp and my body is just a write off. I'm one step off buying a floor length poncho and sewing myself into it.
I've become so self-absorbed it's obscene. I wander around with my wrist to my brow, mumbling "woe is me". I'm not even wallowing, I'm WADING. It's entirely pathetic. Putting it in perspective, there's some bloody awful things going on in the world and I'm sad because my tights laddered.
SO, that's why I've not posted on my blog. I'm being a tit.
You'll be delighted to hear that I will now commence GETTING A FRICKING GRIP. To encourage me in this journey and to thank you for persevering with this frankly tedious post, here are some pictures of things that have happened.

60s Penguin Salt and Pepper
shakers Fother Muckers!
Me being a bridesmaid for my
wonderful friends
(I got my hair and face did innit)

My cats turned my sofa into a large
cat nest which they now live inside...
I made more of an effort dressing for work...
I did a buy at this bag of beauty
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