A couple of months ago, while I was round at one of my friends apartments for one of our ‘Come Dine With Me’ dinner nights. Catching up, we were all talking about our latest gossip and what we’d been up to, and when it came to my gossip which was distinctly lacking, I made no qualms to hide how fed up I’d been feeling lately.
Being brave isn’t a word that I’d normally use to describe myself. In fact, I don’t really consider myself brave at all. I’d normally consider myself a low-risk taker, probably because I am an only child and a Virgo (except when it comes to buying trainers – on that note, I’m a bit of a gambler!).
It’s lent, and despite being a non-practicing catholic, my inner seven-year-old self (she’s always there) still kind of feels some moral obligation from my catholic education to give something up for Lent, just incase there really is a Heaven when we die. If you don’t know what lent actually entails, it’s a whole forty days and forty nights of going without something, to represent Jesus trekking through the desert without food and water for the same length of time.
A few weeks ago, I was at Dubai’s tacky somewhat-but-not theme park, Global Village. I won a giant flamingo on some little ducky fishing game (and when I say giant, I mean GIANT), went a ride on the highest swings, and was then happily chomping my way through a chocolate chip ice cream cone dusted with sprinkles. “I am literally living my childhood dream.” I thought to myself.
I’ve had a bit of a blogging sabbatical lately. I’ve mainly been preoccupied with a few tasks like reading Sarah Knight’s, “Get Your Sh*t Together” which has me timing how long I take in the shower, (sixteen minutes FYI, and that’s not even on a hair washing day). Nothing that depressing or cringe-worth funny has been happening of late, and to be honest, I’d say that that’s where 99% of my material for blogging comes from, hence the drought, although I’m getting my eyebrows done by Beyoncé of brows later and we know how that went down in the past (watch this space…). So, until I have something worthwhile to write about, I decided to have a look through the gems of my unpublished drafts and I came across this one and decided to share it. Continue reading
If you were to play a word association game, and someone shouted out ‘CHRISTMAS!’, the word most people would probably shout back in return would be, ‘JOY!’ or ‘HAPPINESS!’, however, I am here to argue that this is a common misconception. I mean, you might subliminally know the words to the majority of your Spotify Christmas Playlist, but have you ever actually listened to the lyrics? Well, deck the halls with antidepressants because here’s a compiled list of the 22 Saddest Christmas Songs of ALL time*.
A good friend of mine once told me a story about an ex best friend and her who’d had a bitter and upsetting fall out. I don’t know why the story always stuck in my mind – maybe I resonated with it a bit. Either way, we were walking through the train station, when she told me that she had recently read an article comparing the turmoil of falling out with a best friend, to grief. The article discussed the importance of recognising that a major relationship in your life has effectively died. “As with any death”, she told me, “you need to mourn it.” I always dress in black anyway.