But, am I addicted tho?

Like seriously, I think I’ve got a problem.

I think I’ve got the starts of an addictive personality. And I think I need to talk about it. 

Look, don’t freak out just yet. It’s not like I’m smacking up in the corner or selling my Nan for a bottle of wine. But I’ve been doing some things recently that have made me think about things I’ve been doing for years that make me think I’ve got the tendency to get addicted. 

My vices are pretty tame when I lay them out. In fact, they make me sound like an absolute loser. But sod it, they’re vices all the same.

For instance, I seem practically incapable of watching one episode of a programme at any given time. If I can’t watch 4 or 5 on the spin I just don’t want to know about it. One will never be enough to feed my habit and unless I’m waking up, glasses askew, at 4 in the morning with Netflix burning through my bed sheets, I’m not interested. 

I’ve got a similar relationship with bread. Don’t laugh. It’s true. In fact, I went for a good 6 months of not buying a loaf because I can’t be trusted. One slice of toast turns into two and before you know it, I’m knee deep in Lurpack and I’ve decided to replace dinner with eating a loaf of Hovis. Most humane people are satisfied with one. Oh No. Not me. People worry about crack whores. I’m a carb whore. And I’m one crust away from a set of fishnet stockings, mate. 

The problems doesn’t just stay at a 50/50 loaf and 4 episodes of House of Cards. Hell no. Tell you the other thing I’m addicted to.


Yep. Like my morning coffee. Don’t purchase. Feel odd. Must purchase. Feel sane. Biscuits. Can’t just eat one. Need a packet. Right now. Albums. If I discover one I’ve not listened to in a while, I won’t listen once to reminisce. I’ll have it on loop for days until I hate it again (probably why I stopped listening in the first place). The gym. If I’m not there regularly, I might has well be in the queue for The Priory. I feel weird and not like myself. Biting my nails. Don’t bite them for months, bite one and they’ve all got to come off. Shit I think I got addicted to checking Tinder for a while. Lists. Sometimes I rewrite the same list cos I can’t get enough of writing lists. I mean come on I’ve got a blog based on them. Lighting candles is the other one. One Yankee candle and I’m all like “I can’t rest without my vanilla undertones”. Prat.

 If I’m not careful I can imagine Instagram will become a massive issue. Like hours could be lost to pictures of  people I don’t give two shits about if I don’t reign it in. As will getting my nails done cos I got them done once for an Xmas party and now I’m all like “can’t live without”. Halloumi is on the risk list cos god damn I can’t get enough of that squeaky cheese. Buying new bed linen is another area of concern.

I’ve managed to get keep booze to a controllable level. Although when I’m out, I really mean it. Maybe I’m one happy hour away from a park bench and a 4 pack of Red Stripe? Who knows at this bloody rate! 

Smoking is next to nothing compared to what it was but again if I have one I just want to open a fag factory.

There’s literally no in between for me. 

Thank god I’ve never touched anything hard. Can you imagine.

Cos if iPlayer habits are anything to go by I’d be in a squat by June.



A letter to little me

Maybe it’s the time of year, with another birthday approaching that makes you all nostalgic. Maybe it’s having a bit of a rough patch that makes you sit back and have a re-evaluate.
Either way, so much has happened in the last month that has made me think how great it would have been if 10 years ago, someone would have prepared your 16 year old self for what was to come.
Because growing up kind of sucks big balls, so it would have been good for a heads up.
So given half the chance, I thought I’d write to my 16 year old me. Or 16 year olds some place else.

Dear Me, Dear You, I don’t know how to address this.

So I turn 27 in a few weeks and the last little while has been a right old ‘grow the feck up’ rollercoaster. I thought I’d take the chance to write to you so you know what’s coming your way in the next ten years. I wished I’d had this letter then so I could have had a bit of forewarning, so I’m writing it now so that you do.

For starters. Enjoy your lie ins. Something happens in your mid twenties and no matter the day of the week you wake up at work time. And you rarely go back to sleep because there’s always something boring like washing to do. So sleep now. Whilst you still can. Also, don’t take it for granted. In ten years shit will get real. Your problems will extend far beyond that guy texting you back or what to wear on Saturday night. Things that you don’t want to happen to people you care about more than anything in the world will happen and it will suck. You’ll spend hours laying wide awake just worrying. Real worry. So whilst you can sleep now. Do.

On a lighter note, you will stop worrying about the stuff that seems really important now. If you balls up at work or a mate gets wound up at you, at the moment it is catastrophic in your world. It’s not. In 7,8, 9 years time you’ll adopt a slightly more ‘fuck it’ attitude to things and certain people and that’s just fine. In fact, it’s better than fine. It’s a beautiful thing.

Talking of beautiful. You are.

Maybe not to everyone, most days not to yourself (although you’ll get better with the self loathe thing). But you are. In your own way. And to your own people.

At the moment you’re awkward with the way you look, and how you dress, and your height, and your weight and that kink in your hair.
You’ll always have a hang up. (Unless you turn out conceited. And a bit of a twat. But I’ve checked and that doesn’t look like it happens) But you’ll learn what suits you, you’ll learn what doesn’t. You’ll learn to weigh up the importance of abs over pastry. On the most, let the abs (and your general heart health) win but don’t get paranoid. Because the other thing you’ll learn is that the pictures you look at on the internet of the pretty, skinny women. Yeah them? They’re bullshit. You’ll never look like them pictures because the people in the pictures don’t actually look like them pictures. Neither does any other human. Anywhere.

You’ll find you will meet some people who are concerned with your looks. Bin them. You’ll meet some guys that will take you at face value and won’t want to get beyond your body. Bin them. People will make some really nasty comments about you along the way, and for the most you’ll take them to heart. Instead you know what you should do with those comments? Bin them.

You’ll loose some friends along the way, but that’s fine too. Some people are meant to be in your life for certain periods. Some people are meant to be in your life for good. You’ll learn who’s who.

Promise me this. Don’t ever be chuckaway with people’s feelings. And whatever you bloody do, don’t stand for anyone that’s chuckaway with yours. You’re going to think you’re in love. A lot. You will be in love. You’ll fall out of love. That will feel like a steel capped boot to the gut but you’ll get over it. You’ll go through stages where you think you’re going to marry every man you ever meet. You’ll go through stages where you are adamant that you will live a life of solitude and cats in a musty room of despair. I haven’t got the answer on this one yet but here’s hoping it’s somewhere in the middle.

Just don’t settle because ‘you should’ or ‘it’s time’. If there’s that feeling in your belly that’s telling you it aint right, listen to it. And at the time you’ll break a heart. You might break your own. But if your guts telling you no, you should listen.

You’ll learn that the feeling in your belly is right 90% of the time. Trust it. Please.

Especially when it comes to lads. Listen to even the smallest warning sign. Because honestly babe, some of them really are bloody time wasters.

Stop being scared. You’re actually relatively smart. And you’ll do well. But only if you believe in what you’re capable of. That little monkey on your shoulder that’s telling you that you’ll fuck it up or telling you that you’re no good? Learn to live with his inane mutterings but ignore him. He’s going to hold you back if you’re not careful.

Other than that all I can say is try. Try to be good. Try hard not to be a dick.  Try to care about those that matter. Try to care less about those that don’t. Try to be good with money (that won’t happen, again I’ve checked and it doesn’t). Try to be a great friend. Try to work hard. Try to get on a plane at every opportunity you can. Try and be a good kid and spend time with Mum & Dad. Stuff’s going to happen to them that will make you realise how much they mean. Try to learn new things. Try to be understanding. Try to get a job you really love, no matter how long it takes you to find.

Try is all you’ve got girl, but try all you will.



Me. Or  you. Or whatever