Phoenix Fights

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



I’m going to cheat a little here.

I want two songs.

But at least they are by the same artist, the wonderful, uniquely voiced Lloyd Cole.

And just to be extra awkward I’d like to state that I don’t really have a best friend anymore. Anyone I’ve given that description to in the past has invariably struck out at me (well in my little HSP BDP mind they have), and I don’t really trust any of them much anymore.

Hence the first song ‘Rattlesnakes’.  As in:

‘A girl needs a gun these days
Hey on account of all the rattlesnakes’

And whilst I don’t look like Eve Marie Saint in On The Waterfront (I wish), I agree on the therapy bit and that I need love.  Unfortunately ‘It’s so hard to love, when love was your great disappointment.’

I do love my friends though.  In my way.  And I’m aware that much of this could well be my imagination.

But I’d so love ‘A Brand New Friend’ that I could trust with my heart.  Maybe that has to be me.  So I’ve been told.

I know; boo hoo, hoo, crack open the gin, it’s yet another Sista S Pity Party!

Great songs though, so suck it up bitches and pass the frigging twiglets! 😉

Namaste x




I went to a cooking class yesterday and did my usual ‘amuse some, alienate others’ thang….

What it is about me I don’t know, but when I am in new company, I get a bit hyperactive and perhaps subconsciously try a little too hard.

I’m don’t know whether I’m on a bipolar high (have refused to be checked or categorised by the NHS to date) or whether I just go a bit ‘Ben Gunn’ because I don’t have many strangers happen upon my island very often, but one things for sure, I never seem to fit in, or fade into the background, and invariably end up pissing someone or t’other off.

Treasure Island - Ben Gunn

I wasn’t trying to upset anyone, but the teacher was a bit uppity and tight arsed, and that didn’t stop me cracking jokes, getting the giggles and behaving a bit giddily, but we were tempering chocolate for four hours,  and in the end everyone was buzzing and having a bit of a laugh.

She did seem to take a particular dislike to me and all my questions though, to the extent of ignoring some that perhaps she couldn’t answer, in which case a simple ‘I don’t know’ might have been more polite and customer friendly?

Whenever this kind of thing has happened in the past, I tended to end up doing a post mortem on said incidents when I got home, before or during my sleep, and used to get in a right state, beating myself up for being so tactless/irritating/stupid, and wondering how I can fix it and make people like me, but this time, as I drove home, all I could hear was this song going round and round in my head.

And I think I’m starting to come to a certain level of peace about myself.

Because instead of fretting about it, or getting angry with the other person/people and having a dig at them, vowing to be their sworn enemy for life for rejecting me and  making me feel so shit about myself, I just thought ‘Hey ho, her loss’.

At last I’m starting to get what Aunty C has been drumming into my head for all of these years.

So, some people don’t like me; in all fairness, I am pretty weird, and if I don’t like everyone, so why should others be any different?

Also, it would kill me to try and be like everyone else, so why not embrace who and what I am?

I don’t often insert lyrics into my posts, but these are so pertinent, I just have to share.

Here’s hoping I can keep this up and end 2013 on a high….

Namaste x

“I’ve Gotta Be Me”
Whether I’m right or whether I’m wrong

Whether I find a place in this world or never belong
I gotta be me, I’ve gotta be me
What else can I be but what I am

I want to live, not merely survive
And I won’t give up this dream
Of life that keeps me alive
I gotta be me, I gotta be me
The dream that I see makes me what I am

That far-away prize, a world of success
Is waiting for me if I heed the call
I won’t settle down, won’t settle for less
As long as there’s a chance that I can have it all

I’ll go it alone, that’s how it must be
I can’t be right for somebody else
If I’m not right for me
I gotta be free, I’ve gotta be free
Daring to try, to do it or die
I’ve gotta be me

I’ll go it alone, that’s how it must be
I can’t be right for somebody else
If I’m not right for me
I gotta be free, I just gotta be free
Daring to try, to do it or die
I gotta be me





Not having much of a life, I have to confess, I sometimes let TV shows get to me.

Programmes such as ‘The Jeremy Kyle Show’, ‘Deal or No Deal’ and ‘The Only Way is Essex’ pretty much scream ‘Hate me’ as they are utterly intolerable so naturally, I wouldn’t even watch them if I had ‘Clockwork Orange’ style eye clamps on.

Other shows I once enjoyed, such as ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ and ‘Big Brother’ used to be entertaining, but went off like a Stilton in January, so I stopped watching them with nary a backward glance.

What really pissed me off though was when my favourite Light Ent TV programme, my cosy, innocent, sweet, warm, hot chocolate with marshmallow, cashmere throw of a show turned out to be as rigged as the X Factor, to the extent that I was almost incandescent with rage.

Hence after watching the latest episode, I wasted a good hour of my life ranting on Facebook and Twitter (which I hardly ever go on) about how displeased I was with the Beeb and the judges and how much I loathed them all.  Well I didn’t say that.  But I might as well have.

Why, you might ask, did I waste my time and energy getting all fired up about a bloody TV Show?

Well the Brits amongst you might get it as I’m talking about, ‘The Great British Bake Off’ of course, the crux of the matter being that one of the contestants is blatantly being championed and saved week after week, despite being the rank outsider, because she is beautiful.


One of the judges, the heinous Paul Hollywood, clearly fancies her and flirts and flatters her despite being old enough to be her dad, and she, the little minx, knowing that cooking is not her strongest suite, plays him like a fiddle in order to stay in the competition.

The most infuriating part though is that the other judge, grande dame of the back in the day baking, Mary Berry, also plays along which reveals the even more disgusting underlying motivation which is that the good old BBC want to keep her in so that they can groom her to be the next Nigella or Lorraine Pascale.  The fact that she can’t bake for shit has no bearing on the situation to them; sexy sells and they are determined to milk this fey, pouty, eyelash fluttering little cash cow for all she is worth.

The fact that she is good looking isn’t what bothers me.  Hell, I’ve worked in marketing and for companies like the BBC for years so I’m not naive to this end.  I like both Nigella and Lorraine and own books by both of them but they earned their position by being established foodies and cooks before they came to fame, not as a happy result of their pulchritude.

Nor do I have a problem with Aunty hot housing her to baking stardom after the show ends.  

But this is a BAKING COMPETITION not ‘This Year’s Top Model’ and it is not fair to boot out more talented, worthy contestants just because Ruby would look better on the cover of a BBC hardback book next Spring, (lying in a field of bluebells, swathed in linen and staring ethereally into the distance no doubt) and it is clear for all to see that this is exactly what is happening, and last night for me, and the rest of the viewing public, was the very last straw.

I, like the majority of the viewers thought she should have gone last week, but whilst watching last night’s episode, it was blatantly clear that Ms Tandoh was totally out of her depth as she bombed in all three rounds.  Hell, she couldn’t even make a frigging swiss roll, for her Charlotte Royal and I mastered that at school when I was 11!  As for her resulting CR, it looked like an absolute dog’s dinner as it sat on the judging bench, covered in thick, spunky goo, glistening sinisterly like something out of ‘Aliens’.


How a Charlotte Royale should look:


Ruby’s version:



Even the judges gave her a bit of a roasting this week which rather amusingly made her drop the faux self deprecating coquette act and turn into a pouting, stroppy six year old, demonstrating that disapproval is something she rarely ever has to encounter, and left me in no doubt that this pretty little kitty had finally used up the last of her nine lives.

So, when it came to announcing who would have to leave, she wept profusely knowing her time was up, and then lo and behold, they announced that lovely, talented, seasoned baker Becca was getting the chop instead.

WTF?  I was so shocked, I practically sprayed my Merlot all over the cats, then when the realisation hit that she had gotten away with it AGAIN, I went on my furious social media rampage.

Seriously though, it’s only a TV show so why did this upset me so?

Well something that really resonates with me on a deep, emotional level is unfairness.  Of course I’m not stupid, I know that supernaturally good looking people have a distinct advantage over us mere potato headed mortals, but this competition is so blatantly rigged in Ruby’s favour that it totally outrages me.  This is the BBC for goodness sake, good old reliable ‘Auntie’ with her  safe, trustworthy, all that’s good about Britain brand values, so you don’t expect them to sneakily and cynically use ‘the taste’ of Ruby’s dubious offerings as an reason to keep her in, knowing full well that the viewing public can’t have an opinion on that so are not able to prove otherwise.

As far as I’m concerned, the message that the BBC are sending out to the British public is:

‘Apply to be on our show if you’re a good baker and you too might find fame, fortune and an invitation to the Radio Times Annual Awards one day!  Unless of course you’re a minger and even if you’re not, you may well get pipped to the by a lessor competitor if they are prettier and more marketable than you.  But hey, that’s showbiz!’


The other sore point for me is when beautiful people with no or little talent and zero personality have everything go their way.  They’ve usually been adored from the second they shot out of their mother’s lala, have enviable upbringings, adoring siblings, loving partners and nary a cloud appears in their sky.  Doors open for them, trousers drop, lucrative job contracts flutter to their door mats as if by magic.  They automatically get upgraded from cattle to first class, secure the best tables in restaurants, taxis stop for them, snotty maitre d’s smile at them, little bluebirds circle their heads and trill sweetly in their ears.

And as a bit of an ugg, that really pisses me off.

Do all beautiful women annoy me?  I can honestly say no.  I live in London and see gorgeous women around town all the time, and some of my closest friends are stunners.  Sure I’d like to look like them. But I don’t and that, as they say, is another story.

So what is it about Ruby Tandoh that really winds me up, apart from her whining, faux self deprecation, sulking when she doesn’t get her way and blatant manipulation of the judges? 😉

It’s her bloody self entitlement and gargantuan self confidence that has carried and will continue to carry her through her charmed, uber happy life and get her everything she does and more to the point, doesn’t deserve, and that is what I bothers me about her.

And the more I think about it there are women that I feel similarly about such as Amanda Holden, Louise Redknapp, Samantha Brick, Sally Bercow and Holly Willoughby who aren’t even that perfect looks wise. They just think they are and manage to convince everyone around them that they are too.

Because even when I had something to be confident about, I wasn’t.

No one ever loved me the way that they’ve been loved.

No one ever told me I was wonderful so I was never going to believe it of myself and my life has been scarred because of it.

And life has never, ever been as easy for me in the way that it’s been (in my angry little head anyway) for them.

And I suppose I’m angry because I’m resentful and envious because they have the sheer bloody confidence and audacity to think they are better than they actually are.

How very dare they be confident and happy with themselves?  They’re not all that!

And this is probably what I tell and have told myself subliminally for decades.

I envy their self love.

But it’s down to me to do that for myself and maybe if I concentrate on that rather than slagging off some young baker who is probably quaking in her boots because of the media backlash against her, I won’t have to be jealous of her anymore.

Self love.

Seems to be the key to everything doesn’t it?

Ah, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby….

I forgive you for being so luminous, seductive and downright lucky in your life and hope that by saying this to you, I will be throwing healing waters on the incessant fire of Anger that rages within me.

This offer however will be immediately retracted if you win the show.  Even God would have something to say about that! 😉

Namaste x

P.S.  Just for the record I have not and do not intend to troll or say anything to Ruby directly.  I’m not a bully, she’s not a bad person and I don’t advocate or support anyone who does attack people via Twitter unnecessarily.

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I cried yesterday.

From what I can remember, it’s the first time I’ve done so this year.

I didn’t cry for myself, but because someone sent me a video of an abused bitch that had been used as a bait dog being rescued, shown some love, regaining trust and finding a new home.

Everyone who saw this said they’d got a tear in their eye, but I full on bawled my eyes out.

‘How can people be so vile?’ I asked my friend, gasping with distress and dabbing mascara from my stinging eyes.

‘Yes, but look at the happy ending!’ said he.

Which says it all really; I immediately got caught up in the cruelty of the people who did this and wanting to punish them instead of seeing the positive end of the story and walking away with a smile on my face, a habit that Aunty C immediately homed in on when I saw her the other day and told her of a recent negative encounter I’d had with a friend of a friend.

‘You have to learn to accept people as they are and not take things so personally!’ she said giving me one of her impatient ‘Duh’ faces which always makes me laugh, ‘so what if someone doesn’t like you?  That’s their problem not yours!  So what if a friend snubs you?  Maybe they were having an off day!  You have to learn to get along with people and not go after them if they offend you if you are to get on in life!’

The tear fest didn’t end there either.   When I turned to my ever reliable friend the goggle box for blissful distraction, practically everything that came on made me want to weep.

A gospel choir who sang their heart out on ‘Songs of Praise’ immediately brought tears to my eyes.


I quickly grabbed the remote and put on my recording of Simon Schama’s ‘Story of the Jews’ which, whilst I’m not Jewish, was so moving and beautifully told that a hard lump of unshed tears rose in my throat like a cork in water.

Fuck!  What is the deal here?

I then turned off my traitorous TV and started knitting, but eventually my neck started to hurt from being in a fixed position for so long, so I turned it back on just in time to catch the start of ‘Senna’ on Film 4 the story of arguably the greatest racing driver the world has ever known.  Again, I am not a fan of Formula One (noisy real life Scalextrics as far as I’m concerned), but Ayrton Senna was a man with a huge heart that lived his life to the full, totally fulfilled his potential, gave back to his fans both during his life and after his death, and had an indisputably interactive relationship with God, something I have longed for for quite some time.

And whilst he wasn’t perfect, he channelled his passion in what he knew best whilst still being his own man and standing by what he believed in.

And he was loved. By a whole nation.

The day that he died, the footage of him showed him almost anticipating his own pending demise, struggling with it and in the end, submitting what seemed to be God’s will.  He and his story are quite, quite extraordinary and his face stayed imprinted in my memory for quite some time.

All in all, I felt like someone was trying to get me to break.

I didn’t but I did feel awash with emotion when I finally went to bed.

I then had a very restless night.  I’ve lowered my meds considerably over the last week and I wake up regularly in the wee hours, my heart pounding crazily with a horrible taste in my mouth.

I must be detoxing.

Which would explain another less than positive aspect of my personality coming to the fore.  The harsh critic, the confronter, the attack dog if you will.  It’s remarkable how little time it has taken that side of me to come hurtling up to the surface.  I barely know I’m doing it until afterwards.

Perhaps I relate too much to that poor, bewildered terrified little dog hiding in a bush, wanting to trust but unable to risk the danger of being hurt again. But unlike little Cadence, I’m only too ready and willing to bare my fangs and snarl at anyone who would ever dare cross me again.  Were I taken into that refuge, I’d spend the rest of my life in a cage as I would never be take home by anyone again.

Time to start running or training in the gym again i think as I need to channel this energy into something constructive like Aryton Senna did otherwise I’ll explode and someone will get hurt and I’ll have to stay on my meds indefinitely.

I never thought I’d ever say this but maybe it’s better to transcend the past and be a gentle, forgiving, trusting hound and be loved, than a snarling, suspicious bitch and never to know love again.

It is not going to be easy, to break the habits of a life time, but I am going to try.

Time to go to my basket, I mean my bed now….

Night night x




Readers, things did not turn out quite the way I’d hoped.

It is now over a week since I decided to stay off my anti depressants, and whilst I didn’t expect it to be easy, after a few days of continued abstinence I was flooded with self hatred, despair, a relentless, all consuming sense of hopelessness so I crawled into my pit, burrowed deep, hid for 48 hours, and truly wished that God, Buddha, anyone would raise a mighty hand, reach down and pluck me from this world forever, or at the very least, squash me like a bug with a meaty thumb and put me out of my misery once and for all.

I’ve been on my Sertraline for so long, I’d forgotten how poorly I really was.

If it wasn’t for my cats who jumped on me, laid on me, knocked things off the dressing table and pawed my face and butted me, their little eyes suffused with concern (and not just because they wanted their dinner) I’d still be there now.

Suffice to say, once I did emerge, I reached shakily in my drawer for ‘Big Sista S’ and have gradually been able to manage my pain, subdue the self hatred and tamp down the sadness, and I am now feeling a little more even and grounded.

Looking back, I think I managed to cope in Spain because (a) it was early days (b) I was surrounded with people and activities so didn’t really get the opportunity to sink into oblivion and (c) I was in such a loving, spiritual environment, that it somehow helped me cope with what was, in hindsight, a pretty rough week.

I’m sad it didn’t work.

But I’m not ashamed of myself.

I tried, and no doubt will try again.

When the time is right i.e. when I have built a bigger and better life for myself and have more support and less time and opportunity to fall down that horrible rabbit hole from hell.

As for my time at the retreat, maybe I’d have had a nicer time had I remembered to take my meds, but it is what it is and I have come away with some valuable action points.



Yoga, as I’ve always suspected, is key to my recovery and future equilibrium.

Earlier this year, I managed to let a couple of hippified mean girls and an intrusive, wannabee couch surfing Guru put me off finishing my training and even doing yoga at all, so my daily practice had floundered, but now I’ve got back on track I’m not going to drop the ball again.

I will keep it up this time but knowing how important the group aspect of this is to me, I’m going to go to all kinds of classes, cherry pick the best things from all of them, finish my training with Guru and co next year (that will be a yoga blog to remember!) then teach my own personal style and not the style I’m told to teach.

Starting with tonights Iyengar class at my local shala.  I don’t want to go, for whatever reason, but I will go.  And again.  And again.  And etc.



Whilst this wasn’t altogether comfortable and didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, I WAS off my medication so would hope that I’d be less sensitive in a similar scenario now that I’m back on it, so the test was kind of botched really.

Still I survived, and am in touch with one of my fellow guests at least, so I have no excuse to hibernate at home with my cats when I can be out and about, making more friends, if only I try.



Something Inca, the bonging mystic brought up in my reading was not believing that I know myself and guessing that I was not able to go within via meditation.

I thought I knew myself, warts and all, but perhaps she means the divine part of me that doesn’t hate itself the way I do.  And she’s right about the meditation, I love the idea of it and rather hypocritically espouse the practice to others at any given opportunity, but I put the brakes on all the time because something about it scares me.

Because there might not be anyone home?

Because there might be someone home?

Because I might miss ‘Real Housewives of Menopausia’?

Not sure.

But I agree that i need help with this one, so I’m going to try and find a group to meditate, chant and do some chakra wotsit with.

Preferably one that doesn’t howl like they’ve been disembowelled and spray me with ‘Venus’, aka watered down market stall scent.



Ah this old chestnut again….

Ms Inka was also right about this too.  Whilst I’m a whole lot better than I was about actively forgiving people and not holding resentment in my heart, there are a couple of new and very old bits of shrapnel stuck in there that might take some time to totally remove, so I need to think about how to get those out, once and for all.

Any surgeons out there at all….



As you may have gathered, these posts weren’t uploaded ‘live’ so to speak.  I did try to blog whilst out there but every time I settled in a nice sunny little spot and got typing, someone would clomp over, poke their head over my shoulder, zoom in on my fledgling article and go ‘Duh, whatya writin’?’ causing me to jab my iPad so hard, I nearly knocked it into the pool such was my haste to switch applications, causing said intruder, sorry, fellow yogi to look at mite suspicious re who and what I was writing about.

Yes, if you’re reading FY (unlikely) I was writing about YOU, ya big Dufus!

But God, I missed it doing my daily journal.

This is great news as, prior to this year it would have taken an SAS officer armed with a cattle prod to drag me to my laptop and make me write anything and now it is totally second nature.

Yay me!



I have grouped these two together as I think one will definitely alleviate the other, so I need to find a South London ‘Sadie’ and see her once a month.

How will I finance that?  Don’t know but God willing, I will find the way.

I’ve also been referred to a dental hospital as my chap reckons it’s a lot to do with my hideous teeth so I’m taking whatever help I can get.



On the day I returned to this cloudy shores, I realised I’d gained about four pounds of blubber, plus I had a big sugar/complex carb/large portions of food addiction to get over, and have only just got back to normal eating this week.

So whilst I loved the food at the retreat, and will eat more plant based meals, I do not plan to set up my own poo plant in Sarf London by continuing to eat my own body weight in potatoes, cake, rice, nuts and swede every fricking day.

Thank God that mail train has started to slow down now….



It would be very easy to fall back on the notion that everything in Spain is wonderful and beautiful and everything in London is grey and grim and give myself permission to be a bit gloomy, but that is not actually so.

I just seemed more able and open to the beauty around me whilst in that area, but to paraphrase Ricky Fitts  ‘There is so much beauty in the world’ and not necessarily where you expect to find it.

Sure I live in a city, but there are parks, and shops, and countryside is less than an hour by car from where I live, so I’m going to try and notice those little gems of wonderfulness peeking out from behind the bricks and concrete from now on.

And I want to ride again!  I loved my afternoon with naughty Major so much, and whilst I know that the Spanish mountains are a hard act to follow, we have beauty spots all over Britain and it’s going to be my job to find them.

I’ll just need to buy some of those Spanx  ‘big booty’ knickers with gel in them to protect my bony old backside, and then there’ll be no stopping me!



Ms Inca of the Bong asked me if I’d ever been truly loved.


But the question has stayed with me.  Annoyingly.

Apart from some romantic love (which is mainly about sex innit?), I don’t think I really have, well I haven’t felt it in any case.

And rather annoyingly Inca reiterated Aunty C’s belief that I have to do it for myself.

By going within.

Presumably to look for my Chakras, the Good Parent, Unloved Child, the Judging Parent, Lord Lucan and all that lot.

I’d like to feel loved.

So I’m going to try.

So it’s back to reality.


Thanks for coming with me on my retreat journey (sorry, that was very X Factor – please don’t vomit onto your keyboard) and I hope to continue with what I learned moving forward.

Namaste xxx

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yoga cats


I know most people had all of this stuff mapped out by 1st January, but I bet it was all of the usual stuff, e.g. lose weight, go to the gym, get a better job etc.

Whilst that kind of stuff is no doubt relevant to me too, I have a much bigger ask of 2013 than getting bikini fit and having more money.  I want it to make me want to stay, so I’ve taken the last six days or so to mull things over whilst scoffing the last of the Christmas cake with big mugs of tea.

Starting with the basics:


I’m sure if I could see you as a cartoon, you’d have a thought bubble with a big question mark floating above your head, but sometimes I don’t go out for days, unless you count putting the bins out, so I am going to make a fervent effort to leave the building Elvis style, even if it’s just to walk to the shops and back.  This will have the added benefit of the need to incorporate the next resolution, which is…..


What I mean by this is be in a state that I would be happy to answer the door in.  So, bathed, clean tidy hair, made up (at the very least a bit of lippy and mascara) wearing attire that I would walk down the street in.  By 9 a.m. latest.  Not after ‘Cash in the Attic’.  Which leads me onto…..


God I am so ashamed…..

Look, when you aren’t working, it tends to be the case that you have nowhere in particular to be, and few demands for your presence during the day, so it’s easy to sit down with tea and toast at 8 a.m. to watch the news, stay another hour or so for those ‘Great British Bake Off’ re-runs, then before you know it, some psychotic bitch masquerading as a Judge is shrieking at some poor rednecks, it’s getting dark outside, and you’ve started to develop bed sores.  Actually this should be STOP WATCHING TOO MUCH TV period as it is easier to watch pretend lives, reality TV and other mind numbing shite than focus on your own sorry state of affairs. So, in place of back to back ‘Celebrity Whatever’ I need to……


The amount of times I’ve bailed on friends because the voices in my head tell me I should (because I’m shit company, I’m too old, too ugly, I won’t like it, they don’t like me, it’s raining, blah, blah, blah) it’s amazing that I have any left.  I tend to think that they won’t care because of my aforementioned shortcomings, but they get pretty pissed off actually and in a lot of cases, stop inviting me anywhere, hence my current isolation. I also embark on courses, lessons, meet ups and invariably never follow anything through to completion.  Nothing will change  and I will stay exactly where I am unless I nail this one, and…..


So, you will have no doubt gathered that people like me aren’t always easy to be friends with.  We are super sensitive, so take anything that might be a slight as a deliberate body blow, cull people at the drop of a hat, feel excluded if we’re not invited to something, feel paranoid if our calls/texts aren’t answered in a matter of seconds and then are hugely unreliable ourselves.  I’ve avoided, fought with and rejected so many people out of self protection, sometimes justifiably but usually not, so need to find a way of handling my paranoia and emotions, cherish the friends who have stood by me and make new ones too.


I am one of those unusual people who actually likes certain forms of exercise as they require focus, quieten the voices in my head or help me vent my frustrations.  I recently discovered that I like hiking, martial arts and skating, but as soon as I realised this, I stopped doing them?!  Why?  I don’t know.  Maybe I think I don’t deserve to do them.

Sometimes when I’m at an amazing concert, a really exciting event, on holiday, or on a really nice flirty date, I inexplicably get the sudden urge to go home.  I must be the only person watching Mary J Blige and Chaka Khan duet (both of whom I love unreservedly) whilst simultaneously trying to remember the last train times home.  WTF?!!!  I can’t explain, I really can’t.

I also need to look at my diet, eat good stuff and not binge on shit and alcohol as much as I have recently (nothing to do with Christmas).  I’m an avid baker and no longer believe that any food in isolation is bad but I know a lot about nutrition so should know better than to abuse my body the way I do sometimes. Physically I have good genetics so why do I want to fuck that up when it take relatively little effort to maintain a good physique and good energy levels?  Pass.

What I will also focus on is my yoga and meditation.  My spirituality is one of the only constants in my life and if nothing else, I will make a super human effort not to neglect these any more.


Again when you aren’t working you can end up staying up till the wee hours, doing whatever and I need to commit to being in bed by midnight latest.

By alone, I mean cat-less.

My boys have been such a comfort to me over the last 2 years and it’s been nice to have them sleep on my bed. What’s not nice is when they disturb my sleep, which is getting to be a rather regular occurrence.  Charlie will wake up after a couple of hours, realise I’m there and greet me like a long lost friend with much purring, butting and climbing all over me, scratching the bedding to get my attention.  How can a be cross with a kitty that loves me so?

Dexter however gets bored and torments me with a game he invented by scratching my beautiful bed frame on one side, so that I flail at him with my arms, mumbling to make him stop.  He then waits until I’ve nearly nodded off again before running the other side and doing the same. This can go on for hours with me thrashing around like I’m fitting and Dex purring with delight, the little bastard.

The final straw was last night when one of them fell asleep on my head and I woke up thinking I’d had a stroke.  NO MORE.

Anyway, there may come a day when a male of my own species wants to share my clawed, shredded mattress so I had better get them prepared for that.  As I type this paragraph, I smile grimly as this leads onto the task of……


And here we have it.  As much as I know how having a significant other would enhance my life and bring me some kind of peace, it’s the biggest challenge of all.

I sometimes ask myself why God made us attracted to the people who are bad for us and utterly indifferent to those who would enhance our lives.  It seems like some kind of cruel joke, but at least I’m not the only target.

I also have major trust issues around men, as I didn’t have very positive male role models when I was growing up, and I think every man that looks at me is out to get me in some way shape or form.  He must be a liar, cheat, opportunist, mass murderer etc., and because I’m so ugly and desperate for a boyfriend, he plans to con me into loving him, then I will dote on him, and he will milk me of everything he can, sucking me dry till he falls away from me, bloated, red and tick like, whilst I float away, a desiccated, shrivelled, leafy husk.

Shit. Where the fuck did that come from?

Another fly in the ointment is I don’t fancy many guys my own age.  I don’t choose to feel that way, but it’s by the by as they certainly wouldn’t consider me girlfriend material anyway. There was some research done a couple of years ago that stated that men felt that they were entitled to someone at least 14 years younger than them, which goes a long way to explaining Greg Wallace’s attitude to women.  So, essentially I’ll be lucky to get someone of 64. :-s

And please don’t suggest a toy boy; I hate my reflection in the mirror of a morning enough already without seeing someone with peachier skin than me sharing it whilst trying to shave (him not me).

I’m really trying to be positive about this one, but surely you see my point?

Maybe I should just settle for sex if I can garner some enthusiasm, before my fanny gives up in disgust and seals itself shut.  Which leads nicely to…..


This is a feng shui thing (I kid you not) that says if you wear nice lingerie you will feel sexier and that will put out positive vibes to any passing male who will know of your frilly wearing and immediately cleave to your side. Seriously.

I do have a drawfull of nice undies but the problem is, I don’t wear them.  I wear flesh coloured t-shirt bras and nice M&S apple catchers. Even a 64 year old would run screaming from them.  But they are practical, comfortable and to date I haven’t been able to be bothered to wear the sexy stuff just on the off chance that some bloke at the bus stop might be able to detect them and get all fired up.  That said, I will experiment and report back.

All of these should eventually lead to my being able to…..


Hmmm.  Good luck 2013, you’re certainly going to need it.