Category Archives: Personal

My inner teenager

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Yesterday was a busy day. I got up, went to a writing workshop at a literature festival, caught the bus to London, went to an exhibition at Somerset House, for drinks in a fancy hotel, and then to see McBusted.

*pauses to lose followers*

I’m comfortable with what I like to do in my spare time, just as I’m comfortable with who I like to do it with. I did most of that stuff with a good friend, but I’d have been equally happy to do it by myself. And, if you ignore my terrible taste in music (the last gig I went to was Gary Barlow), a lot of what I do I do to indulge my inner teenager.

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Fresher’s Pack

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I had to canvas my uni friends today to establish what was in my Fresher’s pack. I can remember the good bits (two condoms: one ribbed, one extra strong, a sachet of lube, teabags) but the rest is hazy. Depending on who you ask, there may or may not also have been: a map, a packet of microwaveable pasta in Dolmio sauce, a pen, and a NatWest rubber in the shape of a pig.

I have no idea what happened to the contents of mine, but I do know what happened to Mark’s.

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Stop the ride … I want to get off

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There’s a ride at EuroDisney called Star Tours – a Star Wars themed flight simulator, designed to make you feel like you’re on an out-of-control spaceship.

Aged 8, I did not like Star Tours. No sooner had I fastened my seatbelt than I got the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I really wasn’t going to enjoy the next five minutes. I nudged my dad.

‘Dad, I want to get off.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t get off. Look, nobody else is being silly and panicking like you are.’

Just at that moment, the doors slid open and three Japanese tourists stood up and left. The doors slid shut again, leaving me even more panicked than before.

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Chemistry

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I snuck out of the office to fuck the boy on my lunch hour the other day, which, while I could write about it at length (there’s nothing quite like returning to your desk with a guilty secret and tits streaked with dried come), isn’t the main focus of this post. It is, however, related.

I once had an argument with my mum because I’m a massive defender of the need for chemistry in any relationship. She sees no reason why you wouldn’t ultimately settle down with your best friend if your best friend is romantically interested in you, you like them, and your life goals ultimately include things like a steady, monogamous relationship and children. I think there’s no way you should settle down with your best friend unless, in addition to all of the above, they also give you the horn.

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On giving up

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I don’t think of myself as a massively determined person. Goals that I think are within my reach, sure, I’ll stick at them, but when I don’t think I have a hope in hell of achieving something, I’d rather just walk away.

I say walk away. In reality, I’m not that calm. Take cross country in PE at school as an example. This is my total idea of hell – not only are you asking me to do something that I’m going to find incredibly difficult, you’re asking me to compete against, and to be watched by, other people. The result in this particular case was usually complete meltdown: I could work myself up into floods of tears and hyperventilation in what I’d now recognise as a panic attack, but at the time even I kind of assumed was just teenage melodrama.

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This too shall pass

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Mentally, I sometimes think I never left my old job. When I come back to visit, so much is still the same – my Charlie & Lola mug is still in the cupboard, I’m still not brave enough to carry a round of tea up the stairs and there’s still a note on the biscuit tin that says ‘Reminder: gingers must be segregated.’

I *loved* that job – it was my first job after uni, and I got to play with words and make stuff in a way that my job now, working in ‘real’ publishing, just doesn’t allow. My colleagues were genuinely close friends (hence why I’m visiting this weekend), and the drive in every morning was through some of the UK’s most beautiful countryside.

So, why did I leave? Yep, you guessed it: because of a boy.

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Do you want that with cream or ice cream?

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A long while ago now, I introduced the boy to a small group of my friends. I can still remember the conversation we had after he left, and specifically, this line:

‘He’s very alpha, isn’t he?’

Hmmm. Up to that point I hadn’t really considered where he sat in the Greek alphabet – all I cared about was that his confidence carried over to making me feel comfortable getting naked with him. But yes, compared to the men my friends and I were used to, he was / is very alpha.

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Untitled

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I cannot explain how bad things are right now, but I’m going to try. As you’ve probably guessed already, this post isn’t about sex.

A number of bloggers I like and admire have written about the January Blues – that crappy, post-Christmas come down where the whole world seems a little greyer and it’s hard to find much to be joyful about. People have various ways of coping with this: write about it, see friends more often, be grateful for the little things. I should say here that I have been loyal as hell to the #100happydays project – but then, I’ve always had a fairly clear grasp of the little things that make me happy.

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