A little story about worry

So here goes.

Time to talk about something that would normally stay in the dark deep box of stuff that Jo wouldn’t necessarily put on a blog. Like, ever.

But sod it. Rather than worrying about what people think about it, I’m just going to write it.

For those of you that know me well, you’ll know for a number of years I’ve struggled with anxiety. I used to worry about worrying about worrying about stuff that nobody else would ever consider to be something you would need to worry about.

I’d have panic attacks daily, sometimes twice, sometimes thrice and things like going to work, or straightening my hair or getting out of bloody bed stopped being those things that were easy.

I’d worry about everything..

I worried so much about how I came across that I genuinely wondered why my mates were my mates.
I worried so much about how I looked that I genuinely wondered why I ever had a boyfriend, let alone one that was actually quite nice to me.
I’d get myself in a state about going to a family BBQ because I would spend the whole time worrying that everyone would think I was a knob.
I spent a LOT of time worrying that I was a knob. That was a big one.
I’d worry that my bus was going to crash. That I’d get the sack, every day. That the chicken in the fridge was almost certainly going to kill me. That the bloke on the bus was staring at me because I looked like a troll.

I  got some help, I got a diagnosis to stop me feeling like a lunatic, I spoke to some people but  it never went away. Not properly. Not until recently.

Now, without going into a load of detail, in the last year I’ve finally had some proper things to worry about. When your family’s health and well-being is put in danger, you finally realise what worry should be. What worry was saved for. And that thing wasn’t the size of your nose or your arse or your boobs.

And as shit scared as I have been at times, it put my old worry into a bit of context.

Out of nowhere, I no longer worried about walking into a pub in case people were wondering who the Wicked Witch of the West was. I stopped worrying that I was going to loose all my mates and money over night. I realised that getting myself in such a state about my belly that I’d have a panic attack was literally fruitless. People’s lives, health, that’s what mattered. Not my hang ups.

hey girl, I'm feeling fly tonight

hey girl, I’m feeling fly tonight


On Monday I had a little celebration. It was exactly 365 days since my last major panic attack.

I had a bag of Malteasers, a cup of tea and decided to write this.

Because I know a lot of people are where I was 3/4 years ago. When they thought that worry was gonna control them for the rest of their days and they would die alone and in a house with some cats because everyone would run away from the bird who had a panic attack all of the bloody time.

And I suppose I just wanna say it’s going to be alright. Something massive will happen and from an outsider looking in, it will be the thing that tips you over the edge. But actually, it’ll be the thing that saves ya.

Because it’ll make you realise what you should worry about in life.

And that thing isn’t what’s in the mirror, or in the fridge, or on the bloody bus.

LL x

If you need a little bit of help with the worry thing, then click here for some tips x


Honestr : The New Dating App. #2

So you remember last year when I wrote that blog about how different things would be if we were forced to be honest when online dating? You know, when I said I wanted to develop a new app called Honestr? Well here it is…

Anyway, it dawned on me that there was one question I didn’t quite cover in enough depth.

The question we all get asked a million times over.

“So, what you looking for?”

I’m pretty sure 85% of the guys on these apps would quite like a response similar to “a quick bunk up and a bacon sarnie” but I thought it was about time I supplied you with a Honestr answer. 

And dare you all to be this brutally honest next time you’re asked.

“What you looking for then babes?” Says Jamie, 27, from New Cross.

“Well” says Jo, 27, from Croydon “honestly, here’s my not completely exhaustive list” 

1. I’d quite like to meet someone that is completely open to and willing to dance round my kitchen to the Prince Greatest Hits on a semi regular basis.

2. A relationship that is quite heavily centred around the savage piss taking of one another.

3. A bloke that is quite open to having to sleep between old towels once a week when I’ve fake tanned. And is kind of OK to waking up next to someone who smells like biscuits once a week.

4. Someone who will turn a complete blind eye to the amount of hummus I eat in any given week.

5. A man who will not challenge the fact that, when driving, I turn into a really angry version of Adele.

6. Someone who will have an equal level of love for British gangster films and not tell me that it’s a bit “blokey”.

7. In a similar vein, someone that’s ok with the fact that I love a pint.

8. In a very similar vein, someone who’s ok with the fact that I probably won’t even wear heels at our wedding. 

9. To meet someone that’s fine with the fact that when I wake up I often look like Bam Bam from the Flinstones.

10. But most importantly someone who is perfectly capable of having just a good a night at a 5 course fine dining experience as they would be getting mistake drunk on a Saturday afternoon in Weatherspoons.

So, in short Jamie, not a great deal. You? Bunk up and a bacon bap? 

Thought so.


Croydon boy

25 things you need to know when dating a boy from Croydon

Ah Croydon boys. You’ve got to love ’em. They are a law unto themselves and a real individual breed.

However, if you’re not used to them (or you aren’t from Croydon), they can take some adjustment. And if you’re dating them, even more so.

So here’s a little fail safe checklist of things you need know if you’re going out with a bloke from The Cronx.

  1. You’ll never mean more to them than Palace do.
    Until he’s ready to marry you. And then you’ll be on an even footing with the Red & Blue army. Before this point, don’t you even dare try and suggest that he sacks off a home game to ‘spend quality time’ with you. He won’t. And he’ll hate you a bit for it.



  2. If you can’t get hold of him for any reason, but need to talk to him urgently, just try walking into Riley’s.
    He’s probably there. Taking pool ever so seriously. And ignoring his phone.
  3. He’ll probably still live at home.
    At least until he’s about 25/26 anyway. Because he was born in Croydon, he’ll die in Croydon and in between times staying at his Mum’s is cheap as chips and he still gets his washing done. She’ll be quite accustomed to making two bacon sandwiches on a Sunday morning for his lady friend ‘he met in the pub’.
  4. Ask him what he did for a Saturday job as a kid.
    He either worked in Sainsbury’s (probably Selhurst Park to be nearer Palace) or in any one of the 18 phone shops in the Whitgift Centre. He probably still knows a bloke that knows a bloke that works in one so will hook you up with a good phone contract.


    The joys of a Saturday job Image:

  5. He’ll know a lot of ‘blokes that know blokes’
    Who will be able to get their hands on anything from trainers to 50″ TV’s to joints of meat.
    Don’t ask any questions. Just leave it. Relish in the cheap nature of your Sunday lunch.
  6. He’ll wear a long-sleeved Ralph Lauren polo shirt on at least two of your first four dates.
    Smart Cas, mate. Smart Cas.
  7. His first date suggestions with either be The Treehouse (esp in the winter and the fire’s on), going out in Wimbledon (fancy init) or going to Westow House in Palace. Standard Croydon boy chirps.


    Classy little drink, babes.

  8. Getting him in a pair of shoes will be like pulling teeth.
    If he can’t wear his trainers to the pub, like fuck is he going. He’ll wear shoes when taking you for a nice dinner. Or to a funeral. That’ll be all.
  9. Talking of which, he’ll often offer to ‘take you for a bitta dinner’.
    Not ask you if you’d like to go for a meal, or try out this new restaurant he’s heard about. Bitta dinner it is. And that could be anywhere from the Savoy to Mexican Monday’s in Spoons.
    Bitta dinner babe.
  10. He’ll have grown up drinking in Blue Orchid and Lloyds No 1 Bar which means his ability to down a Smirnoff Ice is world record breaking. 
    milan bar

    Let’s go Lloyds, drink Smirnoff Ice and dance to Sean Paul, mate. Image:



  11. He’ll also know every UK Garage song that was ever released from nights like this. If you want a laugh, watch him sing all the words to an Artful Dodger track one of these days. Quite heart warming.
  12. Due to the savage nature of his early life drinking habits, he’ll be able to back Jager-Bombs like there’s no tomorrow.
    Don’t think this makes him a functioning alcoholic, he’s got a decent job and a nice car babes, he just learnt to drink shots like a champ in Walkabout.
  13. Don’t get offended if you’re doing a ‘bitta shopping’ in the Whitgift Centre and a few girls pass him and smile/smirk/hurl abuse at hi.
    It’s Croydon. Everyone’s slept with everyone.

    croydon girls - comso

    And if she looks like this, don’t cry. He was young, drunk, and lonely at the end of the night in Tiger Tiger. Image ;

  14. He’ll go out on what you might class as a ‘lad’s night’ about three times a week. Because all of his mate he’s known since he was 16. And they live down the road. So they just go out – all. the. time. And get carried away. And forget to come home.
  15. If you ever see his year book from school, he will look a reject from Blazin’ Squad. Don’t dump him for it. He was young, and naïve, and at the time having tram tracks shaved into your head was the done thing.


    Meet you at the crossroads, babes. Image:

  16. He also would have had a moped. Or a a Ford Escort. Or a Ford Fiesta. Or a shitty old Golf the minute he turned legal.
    If he had any of the latter 3 he probably lost his virginity in it. If he had a moped he probably tried to loose his virginity up against it.
  17. He also probably had a ‘tag’.
    No, not an electronic tag (although, not completely unfeasible) but like a tag that he would graffiti on his school books. Or on his pencil case. Or on like, trains.


    But bruv, where’s my sharpie at? Image:

  18. He will call everyone babe.
    Not just you. His mum, his boss, his dog, the postman. Everyone is babe. It doesn’t mean he fancies them more than you. It’s just a natural filler for him.
  19. You know you’re special if he’s got another nickname for you. Croydon boy’s love a nickname.
    Bubs, Moosh, Treacle. Pumpkin. Those ones will be saved just for you.
  20. Talking of natural fillers.
    Fuck is also one. They just say fuck like there’s no tomorrow. They often just say it to fill a silence.
  21. He will have got stoned in South Norwood lakes as a teenager.
    It’s like a Croydon rite of passage.
  22. If you want a laugh ask him if he ever owned an Avirex jacket as a teenager.
    Go on. Ask him. See his face. Ha.


    I worked 18 double time shifts for that jacket, man. Image:

  23. Also ask him how many times a week he goes to the chicken shop and/ or Nandos.
    Double whatever his response is to get the actual truth. If you learn nothing else from this list, learn that they love a bitta chicken.
  24. Sometimes they revert back to being a teenager.
    And try and get you to go Valley Park for a date night. ‘But babe, we can go Frankie & Bennies and go to the pictures’. Except it isn’t a fancy Warner Bros. cinema is it anymore? And basically you want to take me for dinner on an industrial estate, babe. Nah.


    Cheeky calzone and a night at the pictures, moosh. Ah come one, it’ll be like old times. Image;

    25. Make sure you never slag Croydon of in front of them.
    They are loud and proud about The Cronx. Don’t ever let them hear you rinsing it. Or they’ll never take you for a bitta dinner again.