Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….



Hmm. I don’t currently have a ‘best friend’ so am going to plump for a song that I have (literally) hit the floor for with many a bestie over the decades.

Don’t groan or roll your eyes with derision! I’ll wager that you’ve all done this dance, no matter how hard you’ve tried to block it from you memory.


It’s the one where you sit on the floor wedged up behind your mates/bloke/girl you fancy/boss at the annual Christmas party/best man at a wedding, then made a show of yourself by pretending to row, whilst some geezer (probably that Robin Thicke) grinds his willy against your coccyx.

I know it’s cringy and embarrassing, but I love this track and have absolutely no shame in admitting that I am an out and proud old skool soul/funk ‘rower’ and probably will be as long as I’m able to drag my ass up again without (a) showing my drawers, (b) dislocating my hip, or (c) throwing up on the person in front of me.

Altogether now!  I defy you not to get your groove on!

I said, oops up-side your head, I said oops upside your head… 🙂

P.S. As this dance never made it out of the UK (no wonder) here is a very typical video of it being done at a party.  Rules are:

1. Everyone has to be drunk and/or join in.  Preferably both.

2. At least one person has to be out of synch or better still, get the moves totally wrong.

3. At least one person has to make an absolute show of themselves, like the old dear on the back who is very nearly losing her boob tube 🙂





I didn’t have to think about this one for very long at all….

I seriously cannot stand ‘Blurred Lines’, to the extent that I cannot bear to feature the video on my blog, so this slightly lame parody will have to do.

OK, Where to start?

The sexist/rapey/female objectification themes, are to my mind, the least offensive thing about it.

It’s the sheer fucking #SMUGNESS of Robin Thicke’s face throughout that makes me want to put my boot through the TV screen.

It’s not even that good a song.  I doubt it would have sold in the volumes it did without the video and subsequent controversy and press coverage.

In fairness, I actually used to like his music, and own his first album which features a couple of really great tracks, but I kind of got an inkling that he was a bit of a #tosser after seeing him perform (well mime to) ‘Everything I Can’t Have’ on breakfast TV one morning.  There he was dancing around, then suddenly he hissed to the backing band ‘C’mon boys, get into it!’.   It was then that I noticed that they all ignored him and continued with set, stony expressions on their faces.  Hmm.  He must be a right #dickhead to evoke that kind of response from musicians, given they would presumably want to avoid pissing him off and/or not working for ITV again.

Then ‘Blurred Lines’ and that video came out, pretty much confirming my suspicions.

I wasn’t shocked by it. I’m a grown ass woman and have seen a bit of tit before.  I just thought it was #pathetic.

Q. What kind of man has to pay women to trot naked around him and his (fully clothed) buds in order to feel good about himself?

A. The same kind that needs to write about the (alleged) size of his dick on a wall, while smirking and nodding at it.


What. A. #Twat.

As for you Pharrell, what were you thinking?  Lucky for you that you came up with ‘Happy’ and redeemed yourself, otherwise you’d be on my shit list and at the mercy of my poisoned pen too.

Going back to Biggus Dickus, the third and final nail in his coffin was his notorious appearance at the Grammys, dressed as #Beetlejuice, grinning lasciviously as Miley Cyrus ground her tiny, spotty boys bum against #thebeast, whilst brandishing a big foamy finger and sticking her massive tongue in and out like a salamander on speed.

Urgh.  #creepyunclerobin.

Not that his sleaziness was restricted to performance, you understand.  What followed then was a series of rather public indiscretions, one showing him groping a fan’s bottom in the reflection of the mirror behind them whilst being photographed, which resulted in his long suffering wife, Paula, finally kicking him to the kerb.

So what does he do?

Apologize?  Offer to go to counselling or see a shrink?  Speak publicly about his appalling behaviour and his plans to remedy it in the hope of getting his marriage back on track?

No.  He wrote a song called ‘Get Her Back’, featuring such lines as ‘All I wanna do is give you that thing’ (#obsessedwithhiswinky), ‘Keep her satisfied’ and ‘It’s so hard.’

It’s all I want, I want, I want, I want.  My dick, my dick, my dick, my dick.  I swear he’s like a dog in a man’s body.

No ‘I’m a two timing prick’, ‘I’m heading for a full blown midlife crisis’, or ‘I molested a minor’ lines featured in there at all.

Paula, if you take this jerk back, I don’t think anyone of our sex will ever forgive you!

No room for blurred lines here, you need to channel big Dolly P and go for a D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

I know you want it.

Maybe even as much as I do. 😉


P.S. As for his hashtag abuse, don’t even get me started…





I love this song. I really, really do. Especially this version.

And JC OWNS it.

He’s not just singing a cover to pad out an album or something. It’s the story of his life. His swan song, his epitaph. He sings of regrets, as he sits amongst his dusty photographs, sun bleached trophies and the rotting remains of a banquet, and of how, despite his successes, riches and luxurious lifestyle, he wished he’d done things differently, as he wife looks on, close to tears.

Within a year both of them were gone.

I can’t watch this video only once, as I am in equal parts, fascinated, moved and terrified by it.

I’m scared because it touches something dark, angry and despairing inside me, and the fear that when I’m his age, I’ll feel exactly the same way about my life.

Without all the success.

Because it feels too late to start again.

Then again, it always did, for as long as I remember.

I’ll watch it once again because it’s so beautiful, but then I’ll try and forget about it until the next time I happen upon it, when once again I’ll touch base with my darkness.

My sweetest friend.



I used to go to some of the legendary UK DJ Norman Jay’s club nights back in the day, and this floor filler featured regularly on his playlist.

The great Earth Wind & Fire did a version of it on their ‘Gratitude’ album, but even they can’t top this version.

Truly joyous.

I defy anyone not to get up to dance when they hear this!

Enjoy x



When tackling today’s challenge, I had no problem choosing, as whilst I love singing along to lots of songs, especially when driving, Elton John‘s ‘Philadelphia Freedom’ immediately came to mind.

I know it was written by Elton and Bernie Taupin at the behest of Billy Jean King as a tribute to Philly back in the ’70’s, so as a Brit it’s not a patriotism thing for me, but it’s such a joyful song, I know it word for word, and the sweeping strings just sends my spirits soaring whenever it comes on the radio or my Shuffle.

When Billy Jean first approached Bernie apparently he said ‘I can’t write a song about tennis!’, but I for one am glad he had a crack at it…

Thanks BJ!



This song reminds me of someone whom I was once very close to, whom I fell out with spectacularly not so long ago. I chose it partly because we both love the Chi-Lites, and partly because we are actually still neighbours.

Not too close you understand. But close enough that it’s altogether feasible that we’ll bump into one another one day whilst out shopping or something.

When everything first kicked off I was beyond furious at her endless disrespect, mind fucking and tit for tat behaviour. I was quite frankly, braced and ready for battle and wrote this little ode about her:

Oh dear.

Then later on as my temper cooled and I began to grow and mellow (well, a bit) I started to see both sides of the story and that maybe I played a part in some of our interactions, so I made a heartfelt overture to her, suggesting that we draw a line under the past and start afresh. I had changed a lot over the time we had been estranged and was willing to risk rejection or reunion as long as the thing shifted one way or another, as I was sick of hanging in limbo, consciously being ignored, and trying to ignore her, her vocal silence which contrasted greatly with her passive aggressive status’ on FB.

But instead of appreciating that I swallowed my pride and approached her, she was predictably terse and kept me on tenterhooks, so I wrote this second poem, only too aware of the likely outcome:

And I was right. Not only was my olive branch rejected, it was pretty much hurled back in my face with great force.

Oh dear.

To paraphrase this song, It was not that she couldn’t, she just didn’t want to…

But it wasn’t that big a surprise and I couldn’t have tolerated her behaving in exactly the same way moving forward, so it gave me permission to cut all ties with honour and integrity, block all contact and put the friendship to sleep for good.

Oddly enough her family are still sort of in touch and whilst I’m not entirely comfortable with this, they are nice people and I haven’t the heart to block them too, as they haven’t done anything wrong.

So, we’re unlikely to be walking in sunshine together from what I can tell.

But we are still neighbours…

…whether we wanna be….or NOT! 😉



You’ve lucked out on this one, folks.

‘El Tango de Roxanne’ was the last song on my iTunes shuffle this afternoon, before the phone rang and I turned it off, and comes with a clip from Baz Luhrmann’s musical tour de force ‘Moulin Rouge!’

This dance sequence still gives me chills and reminds me so much of when I had little trust in men, and whilst I was never a whore, I probably had a similar glint of mocking distrust in my eyes as ‘Roxanne’ did when encountering a member of the opposite sex hell bent on seduction back in the day.

Nor can I tango like that. Unfortunately.  As I’d give my eye teeth and a whole lot more besides to do so.

Passion at it’s finest, listen, watch and want



Oh, this was hard, so many to choose from!

Jackie Brown, Superfly, West Side Story, Trainspotting, Waiting to Exhale, O Brother, Where Art Thou, almost impossible to choose…

But I had to choose one, so today, it’s this, ‘Eighteen With A Bullet’ by the legendary producer, key board player and performer Pete Wingfield.

It was a bit of a one hit wonder, but what a hit, and the final fade out track to British gangland movie ‘Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels’.


PS It’s been emotional 😉



Ah, this was so long ago…

But I still remember the song that brings it all back to me

CG was my first boyfriend, my first lover, and the first person to ever make me feel loved.

He was a little older than me, but worlds apart in maturity, was tall, dark, handsome and a bass guitarist in a new wave band. I was some geeky ex dweeb, who had only just binned her National Health glasses, discovered her figure, and started attracting male attention and could honestly not understand what he saw in me. Hence I was incredibly insecure and jealous of the inevitable attention he got from wannabee groupies, and was stupidly unsophisticated enough not to hide it, and so started the beginning of what probably is still, to date, the most passionate, fraught, tumultuous relationship I’ve ever had.

And somewhere in the midst of this, he took my virginity. Not that he had to persuade me that hard. Stronger than the Catholic guilt, worry about pregnancy, and the fear of ‘what the neighbours might think’ (apparently they trained telescopes on our front door 24/7) was the newly awakened surge of lust and desire to own this man body and soul that drove us both crazy whilst we waited for ‘the big day’.

Given the area where I was raised, and the lack of love in my upbringing, it was a miracle that I wasn’t some irresponsible little slapper who hung around outside the chip shop, smoking fags and going round the back of the offy with some spotty yob for a knee trembler.

I was surprisingly responsible and mature and he was unusually protective and solicitous for a working class new age axe man. We both went to see my aunty to tell her that we were in love and I wanted to go on the pill. Then with her blessing, I went to the doctor’s, got my prescription (I was of legal age), then started to take my pill every night when then two of us met, and as he lovingly watched that ‘little yellow bomb’ disappear down my slender, alabaster neck, we counted down the days until I would be his.

Properly. Wholly and completely.

But sadly our idyllic anticipation and excitement was ruined when my mother searched my room, found my pills and confronted me one morning, crying and calling me every slag, slut and whore under the sun because of what we planned to do. I fled in tears to my would be lover, who pale faced and nervous came back with me that evening to face the music himself.

She said nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. She chatted and flirted as usual, pretending much to our bemusement that all was well, but the moment that he left, she went after me again, insisting that he didn’t love me, only wanted ‘one thing’ and that I would be ruined because he would never marry me if I got pregnant.

‘You don’t have to do it’, she’d plead, ‘if he really loves you, he’ll wait’. And when I was naive enough to tell her that I couldn’t wait, she looked at me with hatred and disgust like I was shit on the sole of her shoe.

This went on for nearly a week, by which time, my mother had completely ruined this precious secret that we had, and turned it into something sordid, dirty and dangerous.

By the sixth day CG could no longer bear the effect this barrage of abuse was having on me, and forced a confrontation, which ended with her weeping piteously claiming only to have our interests at heart and forcing us to say that we’d wait until….until what?

Until we got married? I was just turned 17, my hormones were driving me around the bend and I could barely keep my hands of CG in public, nor he me. Did she honestly think we would abstain indefinitely?

Also, by then I was filled with indecision, worried that she was right that he couldn’t love me because he was too good for me, and I was terrified he would go off with some older, more experienced groupie and kick me to the kerb. I was also petrified that he would think I was a slapper if I did it with him, and not love me anymore.

This is where Marvin came in. Not as a third party you understand, but CG bought me a copy of ‘Let’s Get It On’ and that became the soundtrack of my seduction and introduction to the art of sex in a loving relationship.

Of course we went ahead and did it. How could we not? And when we finally did the deed it was sweet, funny, sexy and partially successful as of course my hymen put up a bit of a fight, but I never once regretted that he was the one who broke me in.

And whilst I loved the title track (our mantra was ‘giving yourself to me could never be wrong, if the love is true’), ‘Come Get To This’ was my favourite, and my favourite line was:

‘Oh, nothin’s changed, you’re still sweet as the mornin’ rain’

And whilst my mum finally figured out that I was no longer a virgin and was coldly disgusted, even she couldn’t take the shine off our love and how sex had only made it stronger.

She was right about one thing though. Our relationship didn’t last. And when we finally parted she said smugly ‘I bet you wished you’d never done it now! Don’t you feel a bit dirty and used? Aren’t you sorry you’re no longer a virgin?’ she could only stare at me uncomprehending when I declared that I was not.

The only thing I regretted was hurting him by falling out of love with him.

And I have never forgotten him.

Of late, as some of you know, my dying libido has had something of a resurgence. I have no idea what’s brought it on but can only put down as it’s desperate urge to hang in there and not be buried under my lethargy, indifference and diminishing hormones and it seems a sad way to end one’s intimate life after such a strong start.

If only I had another CG to send it on it’s way with a bang if you will. 😉

We are actually still in touch and it’s tempting to see if we can rekindle something, but experience tells me it’s never a good idea to look back.

Oh well, I had a good innings…now for the focus on love of a different kind.


I didn’t really have an eventful Summer of 2013, so nothing really stuck out in my mind, music wise. Most people have memories around events (weddings, parties, BBQ’s, festivals) which bring such songs to mind, but last year was a toughie for me all round so I wasn’t exactly a social flutterby.

I can of course remember the hits, but I’m not that into mainstream music as it gets played to death, and I get bored of it As for the likes of Robin Thicke (is a big dick, not has one), Mylie Cyrus, and that little turd Bieber, don’t even get me started…

I do however remember a very catchy song that was stuck in my head for ages, and the only words I could remember was ‘$20 in my pocket’.

Time for a bit of research; thank God for (were would we all be without t’internet?) which came up trumps and found me this little number, ‘Thrift Shop’ by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (feat. Wanz).

And when I read the lyrics, it was even more relevant as I have been an avid charity shop moocher for a while now, and yes, coincidentally I did find a couple of gorgeous vintage summer dresses at my local ‘Cancer Research’ last year!

Plus I love the video (apart from all the fur – yuck) which is very funny and obviously ripping the piss out of people like me, but I’m a loud and proud dead people’s stinky old clothes lover, and really don’t care who knows it.


‘Cos they are ‘fucking awesome’! 🙂