Why cant we say the word P****D?

Lately during my late night blog searching, internet stalking and newspaper reading, I have come across a very confusing subject. Why can’t anyone seem to call a period a period?

In a world where we are happy to call each other the most vulgar names referring to our most private parts why can’t we say the name of something that we all know happens to most women once a month!

So I am going to do something radical


There, one for every month of the year. Now whilst I am not going to update my various sources of social media when I am on my period, I am going to continue using the word as I can’t fathom out what the worlds problem is.

When I have eaten a whole bar of galaxy chocolate (mega size) I might even write on my blog  #bloodyperiod. #periodsarestupid #periodpainmadness or words to that effect.

Not that it generally comes up in conversation. But if it does I shall use the word ‘ Period’ and I shall teach my daughter to use the word to prevent such nonsense as

‘Mummy my lady flow is causing me grief, can you pass the chocolate biscuits?’


ps. I haven’t wanted to write about some of the names people call a period for fear of offence , but if you think lady flow, painters and decorators, or supporting Japan are suitable alternatives then can we have a chat? x




My Darling Girl

img_0351My darling girl, it was your birthday today. You announced to me at around 11am you like birthday’s and I could have one too.

Two years have passed since mummy was wailing in agony after being ‘induced’, only to find out it hadn’t actually worked at all. Much to the amusement of daddy, who then got the shock of his life as you were delivered by emergency caesarean. All very dramatic of course.

I knew in that first moment I saw you that you were going to be a special little girl. You see mummy isn’t a soppy mare, I have my moments when puppies are pulled out of wells etc. but on the whole I am more of a grand gesture kind of girl. But I want you to have these words my darling girl, then you can keep them forever.

You see you have changed me. I’m not talking about the four stretch marks I have or the wider hips. But in my heart. I am changing and becoming a better person everyday because of you. You have awoken a place in my heart and soul that I never knew existed. You have made me question it all and at the same time somehow confirmed it all for me.

I see in you bravery and wonder and a true enthusiasm  for life. You have reminded me that in this world of uncertainty and bad leggings there is always something to be excited about. You face all the challenges that life throws at you head on, your resilience is something I am so proud of.

Your ability to not be phased by anything and take it all in your stride is rubbing off on me. Sometimes when I am nervous or scared,  I know you might not believe me but mummies feel this too, I think what would you do. You’d have a quick check that the people who love you are around and you’d go for it. This is what I do and I will continue to do because of you.

When I look at you I feel like I did something right. When I look at you I want to burst with love and kiss you and cuddle you and tell you I love you a million trillion times. You have other ideas however and would rather I sang ‘Miss Polly had a dolly’ a million trillion times.

I would sing it a billion more if means you smile at me like you do.

I asked you the other day who is beautiful and you replied ‘I am’ and my darling girl you are, never ever forget that.

And remember my heart is yours, always x






Polyester Junction

Every morning when I leave my drive way I have a few seconds before I reach ‘polyester junction’ I call it this because its irritating and I don’t like it.

This morning was particularly busy for polyester, I can only assume that there was a sale on very expensive handbags or something. Any way, behind me waiting to also carry on her merry way,  was a lady in her car.

No I must make something clear, I had my daughter in the back of my car. The most precious thing to me and I make no apologies about putting her safety first.

After approx. 6 mins sitting at polyester waiting for a gap, merry lady starting dancing, well so I thought. Turns out she was flicking me the finger and shouting things that I care not to repeat on my blog.

This isn’t something I care too much about. But what I do care about is that at that moment in time I had some choices

1, Pull out and get hit by cars either side

2, get out the car and start dancing with her (metaphorically obviously)

3, Do nothing

Merry Lady also had some choices

1, Be patient and show some empathy for the situation at hand

2, flick the finger and shout obscenities

3, Do nothing

I chose to do nothing.

But the situation has played on my mind all day. Mainly I keep thinking to myself , what had happened in that merry lady’s life that morning to make her react like that? and when did we start thinking it is ok to lash out at each other over things that really, aren’t that big a deal. I’ve been  thinking about how I would explain her actions to my daughter (thankfully she was engrossed in her well known farm animal CD at the time). How I would explain that we live in a world were it seems  patience is no longer practiced and we seem to favour taking out our frustrations on others.

I realised that in that moment I wanted her to be on my side, in some kind of sisterhood act.

I wanted us to be nicer to each other.

I want that for the world my daughter lives in.







A Reply to the Daily Fail

There is an article in the Daily Mail titled ‘Struggling to lose your Baby Weight’

Its advice: give up coffee, get more sleep and eat less

Here is my response

 Dear Daily Mail

Bog off. If I want to survive on Diet Coke, coffee and salt and vinegar crisps I will.

If I am happy with my body and couldn’t give two shits about losing a bit of weight that I put on whilst growing the most precious thing in the world, then so be it.

If after my daughter needs me in the night, meaning I have only had 3 hours sleep, I have a Crunchie for breakfast then that is no one’s business but mine.

Stop bullying women into thinking they are doing it all wrong and making them question everything they put in their mouth.

Being a mom is hard enough without this crap everywhere we turn. We are doing an amazing job, and we all look bloody beautiful.


A very happy mummy x


A Woman of Age

This week has seen me be called ‘A woman of age’ and I am very curious as to what this really means. I don’t feel of an age. In fact I haven’t pondered my age since I was waiting to turn 18 so I could proudly share my ID with my younger best mate and guarantee her entry into the dirtiest club in town on a Thursday night, many moons ago.
Truth be told I couldn’t give two hoots about my age, of an age, young age , old age, middle age or the bronze age for that matter.
In fact the only age I’m concerned about is the maturity of my cheese and wine (and even that’s not true as I have been known to drink all wines and eat Primula cheese out of a tube. (google it it’s basically plastic in my opinion)
But what I do get to thinking about it is what is the obsession is with what age a woman is? Why should it matter what age I am?
I will put the situation into context for you. I was speaking with a friend about returning to work full time after an extended (very extended) maternity leave. I am not slating this friend at all as she was merely concerned as to if I was coping with the workload combined with parenting and running a house. But it seemed she may have been more concerned as I was doing a lot of stuff ‘of an age’

I am proud to be doing loads of stuff in my life and thankful that I am in a position physically and health wise to do it. I don’t ever want to get caught up on age and what it means I am capable of, but most importantly I don’t want to be limited by my age to what people think I may or may not be able to do. I take motivation from my daughter 20 months old determined to work out how you unlock the pump on my fake tan so she can put he cream on like mummy and I also take motivation from my 80 year old nan who following a hip operation was back at her hairdressers appointment the week after and I notice that age doesn’t cross my mind when I marvel at what both of these lovelies achieve in a day.

Next time someone says I am of an age I am going to reply yes , I am of a fabulous age!

Daydream Believer

It’s 22:07 on Tuesday 20th of July and I think I have just been wolf -whistled at. Below are a list of reasons why this may have been a mirage, daydream or part of heatstroke

  1. I was walking my dog and holding a bag of dog poo
  2. Wearing  my husbands Bermuda shorts (with a fetching jungle flower pattern on them )
  3. Teamed with a vest with a coconut oil stain on the nipple
  4. With said coconut oil in my hair, hence looking like it hasn’t been washed for months
  5. with my long white chin hair glistening in the moonlight
  6. All topped of with a pair of Alan Carr style specs

Upon reflection I believe the whistler  could have been stoned

x x

I’ve stopped giving a shit

I was on the first sip of coffee, my first.

My daughter was still asleep and I thought I would have a mooch on social media. Now without naming names I was looking at what I would consider to be the three biggest ones.

About half a cup in I realised that I had wasted a good ten minutes of my life reading the same old story, women desperate to lose their baby bellies before their holidays in six weeks, women weighing in and berating themselves for having a meal with friends as it put a 1lb on. Delete delete delete delete delete.

And in my inbox from one said site, 3 messages from a well known herb type weight loss bollocks company asking me if I want a free sample. Delete delete delete delete delete .

NO! I want to drink my coffee and not be bombarded with how much we aren’t good enough, or how much we are trying to be something that we’re not or how we just aren’t thin or beautiful enough. Delete delete delete delete .

Lately I’ve been look at body confidence pages, plus size model pages and healthy eating sites as opposed to specific ‘weight loss’ sites. The messages have been completely different. In particular I find the plus size models accounts to be full of, first be happy then if your not happy with your body change it. There is gym ideas and healthy meal plans of course. But nothing comes before being happy and self acceptance.

As I’ve travelled along my journey I’ve realised something very important. I forgot that I actually like me . And I also realised how shitty I’ve been treating myself. I truly believe as well that by surrounding my self with these messages from the world portraying how I should be feeling and how I should be looking I’ve added to the self loathing.

I feel  at the moment the best I have in months, I’ve been focusing on looking after me and making efforts to do things that give me body confidence. Painting my nails, tanning and wearing all those outfits I love and had forgotten how great they make me feel.

I am in love with the phrase ‘healthy is the new skinny’ and you want to know the craziest part : I’ve lost weight. Now if that’s not a contradiction in terms I don’t know what is.

k xx