That Festive Thing,

First off, this blog is going to feel like a confessional again, I haven't been writing as much as I know I should since losing the novel, but I think that it's understandable. I'm trying not to dwell on how horrendous it was, and how bad it mad me feel and blah blah blah, but it does sometimes feel like every time I pick up a pen (or set myself up with the laptop - you know, the figurative meaning of picking up the pen) I get lost in the feeling that this could so easily go missing, too, and that hurts. That is something really hard to overcome. 

However: 

I am happy that I made it home for Christmas this year - particularly because I made it home a few days early thanks to the Virgin Train strike that ended up being cancelled. I was able to work from home for a few days and that was actually quite nice - even when the dog was tapping my leg to let me know that he needed some attention.

I'm really happy that I didn't have to lug a case full of presents back to my parents' house whilst stressing as to whether people would like things (after hours of stressing in the shops when I bought the damn things) because I opted to buy charity presents instead. One of the other great things about that is that it's the person on the "receiving" end who looks bad if they object, however the best part is knowing that, despite the fact that there has been a lot of crap this year (and trust me, I know, it has often been overwhelming) it's not too hard to make things that little bit shinier, and there are a lot of people who will. 

Realistically, this is probably going to my last blog of this year, so see you all in 2018. Catch you next year!

To Mourn a Loss of Something Most Wholly, (Lost for Words)

I didn't think I was going to write this, but now I realize I need to.

I'm not going to be so arrogant as to say I need to write it for anyone who may need to read it - if I can be the cautionary wail, great, but that is not the purpose of this. The purpose of this is what most of my writing is; it is my catharsis.

Before NaNoWriMo started this year, I was excited. I'm a bit of a geek, so I always am, and I mean geek in the traditional sense of the word - not the it's emblazoned on the front of a sweat shop produced t-shirt and mass sold as fashion to people who would have used it as an insult kind of sense.

I had it in my head that I wanted to smash what I consider to be my record, my PB if you will (or if you won't, it's my blog) of 19 days. 19 days hurt. I got ill after those 19 days, but it was an adrenaline rush that most people wouldn't associate with writing a novel; I'm glad I get to be one of the people that knows better.

Anyway, tenacious is definitely an adjective people would use about me, and tenacious I was. I scrapped a whole 11 days off of my PB and "won" on the evening of day 9 in the café of Foyles book store. It was beautiful. It was perfect. I enjoyed it immensely.

Now, this was not an easy feat. I am still an ML so I was attending a huge string of events, I hadn't taken leave from work, so was still working my normal day job, though not my usual hours as my managers are incredible and let me have some flexibility, but I fit writing 50000 words into 9 days of my life. I felt like the steamiest pile of animal droppings you can imagine - I was wrung out, but God, I was happy. I kept having these little panics where I woke up in the middle of the night and thought "I need to back this novel up" then would decide to do it in the morning as bed was warm and comfortable and laptop was in living room and that far. Yes, words dropped out of my thought process so you can almost tell how tired I was. Each time I had picked up or touched the laptop in that 9 days the goal was simple and attainable only with remarkable focus. Unfortunately that meant that I was so engrossed in writing and remembering to save that I forgot to save a back up...

This is the point where I wish this were a horror story I was writing. I wish I could skip back a couple of chapters and scrawl THE MC THREW BACK HER BED CLOTHES, CLAMBERED DISCOORDINATELY OUT OF THE BED AND SAVED BACK UPS OF THAT FILE ON EVERY USB DEVICE SHE OWNED but she didn't. I didn't.

In the afternoon/evening of the eleventh day of NaNo, I closed the laptop lid, put it into my bag and thought nothing of it. I went home and I didn't plug it in. It lost power over the weekend and when II came to loading it up on the Tuesday night for a writing session, it was already gone, and so were any hopes of retrieving it. 

Now, I have a magnificient army of friends who rallied like I have never seen anyone rally to try and revive this file. They weren't going to let it go down without a fight, but it was too late. It kind of felt like simultaneously watching a car crash in slow moyion and super speed and reverse. It was nothng short of a shit show and I had no clue how to react. 

That's not wholly true. There was only one reaction, and I wish I could say that I wasn't in public when the crying started and I was on the phone to my mum wailing about how it was gone. I probably sounded like a four year old who had lost their bear, but in that moment, there was no greater loss to me than this novel. There are still very few things which I feel more of a sense of the loss of. 

The worst thing, to me, because I can be a bit odd about these things, is that this loss is undescribable. Devastated does not cut it. Heartbroken, nowhere near. Even to state that I feel heartshattered and inconsolable does not convey the gravity of how I felt, and the problem with that was it made me doubt myself. I sincerely thought, though have since brought myself to reason, sincerely believed that if I were unable to convey something of that immensity, something which was so inherently a part of me, what that loss meant, to my mother, what good could this novel have been anyway? If I couldn't ensure that she understood my helplessness, my need to change the unchangeable, move the unmoveable, my need to face a different reality than the one which I was presented with (though the only reality I really wanted was the one I had been writing on my laptop) how on earth could I convey a made up idea to a reader? My only conclusion then was that I couldn't. My conclusion now is that I was hysterical, and not in my usual haha sense. Hysteria had overtaken and no one can understand a hysterical person, much less take them seriously when they are professing that they shall never write again. Granted, had anyone told me I was hysterical and it would all be better in the morning, I would have been highly likely to throw something heavier than one of my shoes at them.

I probably still couldn't put that loss into words. I'm trying, but this is more like, these are the events, rather than a this is how it felt. I am mourning the loss. No one died, but it felt like someone did. It still does. I don't trust my laptop right at this moment - mature, I know. I wake up and am excited that it's still NaNo and I won already, and then I remember, my novel is gone. I had a few moments, no, hours, of not really even feeling like a writer anymore. I have picked up the pen to go back to it, but I'm writing around it. Part of me cannot bring myself to jump back in and re-write the parts I had already done. This wasn't some half baked first draft - one of these ideas has been forming for the past year, and the other. The other is what I would imagine a somwehat life long stutter feels like. It is that sentence I have always wanted to say, but it doesn't come out right; it has never quite fit. This was the first time that I didn't think the character was periodically being a petulant child. This was the first time I didn't think her partner was an arsehole of epic proportions that she should ditch almost immediately and find someone who, if not intelligent, at least looking a bit Godly so she can just admire them even if they never say anything remotely worth listening to. I was excited to start editing. I was excited about this entire project and I have to admit that for the past almost a week, lukewarm would have been a gross over estimation of my feeling towards it. But as Freddie said, the show must go on. 

Nothing can change that I won this year. Nothinng can change that I did it in 9 days. Nothing can change the fact that I knocked out a 20k day and it barely even hurt. The novel is gone, but it will not be forgotten, only revised. It's not okay, but I will be. 

It still greatly winds me up though that one of the novels in this project is called All is Not Lost, but actually, most of it is.

And on that note, I will catch you later.

Oh, Balls,

Is November really that close? Already? Are you quite sure? Oh dear, oh dear, oh balls. 

I was ready 2 days ago, but this always happens. I feel like I'm hitting the peak too soon and I am ready for NaNoWriMo to start early and then, this happens. This being the craziness of feeling like the world is about to crumble, catch fire and ultimately end because Jesus H. Christ why am I doing this to myself all over again? WHY? 

I'll tell you why - I thrive on the madness. 

Every year I tell myself I will be a good girl and prepare myself for the impending craziness, like stretching when you want to exercise. I will prepare myself for what's about to happen to me and then every bloody year I go, nah, sack that and pants it like Superman. It is never a very good plan. 

This time around feels no different, though having cool news digs is making it feel slightly more sane, I don't have a freezer big enough to store all of the pizza I could possibly need to last the duration of this month, which is less than brilliant. I also did a potentially silly thing and joined a gym. Unlike most people, if I'm paying to be a member of the gym, I will attend it, but the problem I have there is that I naturally won't be able to write whilst doing so (maybe with my phone on the treadmill or the bike, but I am pretty sure that would factor into a list of weirdest places to write in so maybe not) so it is either going to cut into my writing time or my sleeping time and my sleeping time already takes a hit during NaNo. Oh this is just going to go wonderfully, isn't it? 

I'm really looking forward to this now...

Catch you later

Oh, Bums,

Bums, what chapter were we up to? Had the protagonist moved into her stylish new apartment in town? I think she had. In fact, I think she was on her "holiday" back to her childhood home to look after Prince Pupperington...Well children, in tonight's chapter...

Okay, I don't think that voice suits me. 

Since writing last I have regained residence in my lovely flat, had my mother visit for the weekend, then the following weekend had both my parents visit, however that did lead to the acquisition of some glorious furniture and probably an extra couple of pounds of tummy flubber due to the Wetherspoon's breakfast. Ah, 'spoons.... 

The great thing about that is that I actually started feeling like this is nothing like student digs, and it is instead becoming an actual, adult apartment. Clearly, we can't be having that, so I got a pet.

This year has raced by, and quite frankly, I haven't cared really. Roll on the bit where I get to turn 25 - I hate even numbers. (Yes, I know, it's weird, but it's a thing.) However, I am not quite ready for NaNo to roll on quite so quickly.

Last year, my novel became my catharsis. My new job exposed me to a lot that I didn't know how to cope with and to say that I did cope with it would be a lie. I struggled, and it was because of that struggle that I was so glad to get my current role because part of it is to address that kind of struggle. (That was cryptic and vague, but I can't really say anything more.) As is often the case, I explored how I felt about some things in that novel and was able to express myself more capably in fiction than in any other form. The problem is that it does come at a cost. Last December I was really proud to have participated in my seventh NaNoWriMo, winning my sixth. Like the previous year, it was only one day early, which was such a distance behind on Day 19 in 2013, but things had changed. I wasn't a student anymore and last year I was MLing, working in one of the two best jobs of my career so far and also trying to write one of the hardest novels I have ever tackled. 

Clearly, I am insane because I am going to do it again. 

This year I am going to be just under a month into a new job (better than one day in, but not by much), will be MLing for a massive region that is also taking on new challenges (read the Facebook or the NaNo Forums) and will be taking on the continued challenge of that stupid book that part of me really regrets ever starting. It's quite a small part though. 

The problem with it is that it felt like several things I have been wanting to write for a very long time finally coming together in a bit of a series and that's difficult because it would be really nice to have something I could just crack out in 30 days and then pretty much forget about if I really wanted to, but no. This isn't going to be that task or book or series or whatever I want to call it. 

Joy to the world, I have created another mountain to climb. NaNo is coming, look busy. Catch you later. 

One Second Whilst I,

Every time I leave the room and my dog has to entertain himself for 30 seconds, I always tell him I'll be back in a minute. Whilst he doesn't sit there staring at his watch (most likely because he doesn't have one) waiting for me to return, I know that dogs do have a sense of time if you always stick to a timed routine that they can learn; he always knows the exact time my dad should be home, and he sits in the window sulking if he isn't there.

It's weird because I am used to being so very independent, and never having to explain where I am going to be, so it's rather strange to have to explain myself to a small animal in order to leave a room. Granted, he looks at me with his sad eyes which ask me not to go. 

Part of the problem is that Ted gets freaked out by a lot of things and it makes him very reactive. He's reactive when we leave him, around other dogs and apparently to me talking about him because I tend to speak these things out loud. Also, God help us if there are dogs barking on the TV. 

Something that not many people, dog owners included, know is that although they might have the loveliest dog that they could have, if they are a little over amorous when they approach my little dude, they're going to freak the living daylights out of him and he's going to bark. There's a company which produces yellow leads, collars, harnesses and scarfs to signal that the dog attached is anxious, however a, Teddy is not that bad if we handle him in a particular way and b, not enough people know what the yellow means and with the leads, you need to be pretty close before you can actually read what it says. 

Today, we met a little ginger cocker spaniel puppy who I fell a little bit in love with (but don't tell Teddy) and he was hyper as anything. Now, I knew that Ted and I could just have let him and his dad walk on without us and clear the way, and it would have been fine. We would have had a short walk, not have seen too many other dogs and would have been back to the house in time to get Ted in the bath and clean by lunch time, but we didn't do that. Instead, I settled Ted with the little tyke and then let them off the leads together. Granted, there were still a few points where he was being a little bit nervous (read: acting like a tit and forgetting how to play) but they were playing and running around, and were then joined by a lovely black Labrador. 

Though to be honest, I am just really glad that when we ran into a dog who had previously bitten Teddy, she kept away from him when he barked at her, because I wanted to avoid having to pick him up every time he is nervous. 

Anyway, catch you later. 

I Never Thought That,

Someone that was here when I grew up recently reminded me of how naive I used to be. Much as I would love to point out she didn't know me then and definitely doesn't now, I guess that there is a certain amount of truth in it and maybe still is...

A perfect example of that happened today. 

I had always assumed that people who abused animals knew what they were doing, and they knew it was wrong, but they did it anyway for unknown reasons. I thought I would never see someone do this, because why would they? Why would you abuse an animal in front of an animal lover? Or better, why would you do it at all? 

As I have mentioned before, I gave up eating meat over a decade ago and that was because I love animals. I love them all - maybe not equally, but still. And before anyone says anything spiders do not count; especially if they are in my bedroom. HOWEVER, when my dog is sick, I cook chicken for him, because it's what he needs to get better. (Bloody shih-tzus and their rubbish stomachs.) Even when he is well, I will put his dinner out which is basically meat, meat, more meat, bit of rice, some veg and blend. I don't take issue with this, because I know that dogs would pretty much always choose a meaty option over a veggie option. I love him enough to get over the whole handling meat thing, for him, even if it's not ideal for me. 

Now today I was walking the little fluff, and he has been really vocal in his disapproval of certain other dogs. Not being with him 24/7, I don't know all of the dogs that he has an issue with, so I'm being somewhat overcautious with the bigger ones that could actually do some damage to him. That being said, I make sure he is within grabbing distance so if he starts something, I can finish it. 

Today we came across a man with two big dogs. He has one lead in each hand, but the dogs looked like they were trying to pull him in half, meaning it was a little bit difficult to get Ted out of the way, but as we approached and I pulled Teddy into a short lead, he did pull the one on our side closer to him to give us space to give him a wide birth. Now, Ted wasn't always so yappy with other dogs, and this mouthing off hasn't come from a specific event so far as we can tell, so I'm trying, the best that I can, to socialise him a bit better and hopefully calm him down a little bit, so I let him approach the dogs for a sniff, until they all started barking at each other, and one of the other dogs - thankfully the one who was furthest away from us - started growling. 

Like I said, I keep Teddy in grabbing distance, so he was away from them quickly, I had the hold of the back of his harness and then he was in my arms within seconds and then I was getting us the heck back to the house. I looked back because I could hear the guy yelling at his dog, which I already thought was a bit unnecessary, but what I saw then made it worse. Not only did he hit the dog twice, he then started whipping the dog, who was cowering on the floor, with the lead of the other dog who he had, by then, let off of the lead.

After the whole thing of reporting this to the appropriate people, I still couldn't get it off my mind, because I can't help but feel that any time you have to hit your animal to regain some semblance of control over it, you have failed as a pet parent. And if you feel the need to not only use your hands, but employ some form of weapon against your animal, then you are the problem, not the animal. If that dog has previously gone to bite other animals or a person, why on Earth does he not walk him in a muzzle? Why on Earth does he walk him on a pathway which is highly frequented by dog walkers? This happened on the same day as another dog walker went off this path with a muzzled greyhound when he saw other dogs in the area. 

I know for some people that this might be a small issue, but it is just the latest in a line of crappy things and it's also one of the small things that add together to be a big issue. The way we treat animals and women and the environment and communities and property, well all of it adds up. Okay, so smacking your dog for growling and going for a smaller dog is nowhere near as bad as intensive farming or the killing of sea life which occurs in several countries around the globe, but it's the same problem attitude that women are lesser. Telling women that they belong in the kitchen as a joke and allowing girls to be married and have children in their early teens aren't the same thing, but both are products of the belief that gender has a bearing on our value, purpose and abilities (shouldn't have to say this, but IT ABSOLUTELY DOESN'T!!!!) Dropping litter does not equate to dropping bombs anywhere you fancy, but you kind of see where I am going here... 

Anyway, my point is that the little things matter, be they animal, vegetable or mineral. Catch you later. 

My Little Flour,

Whilst being at my parent's house, I have been watching old episodes of The Great British Bake Off and thinking about things that I would like to try out baking and it has made me think again about how people prioritise different things when they are baking. 

Bake Off does seem to want all of these wonderful and gorgeous bakes, and a lot of variety. 

I for one have absolutely never made any kind of bread - unless calzone pizza dough counts and even that went badly. I'm much more of a sweet tooth baker, but for the most part that is just alcoholic loaf cakes or rather simple flavoured cakes that I refuse to ice in anything other than butter cream because I cannot pipe icing for toffee, and I hate royal icing. If I'm baking it, I'm going to be eating some of it, so why would I dress it up in something that tastes that revolting? Don't get me started on marzipan either - that stuff is the work of the devil. 

Truth be told though, I would really like to spend more time in my kitchen, arguing with recipes and making more cake and other things. I feel like I would really enjoy (or be really stressed by) baking a Charlotte Royale, however it is something I will have to do at some point. I'm really quite excited about it, which is bad because it won't be any time soon. 

I think that the next thing which I will really enjoy is I'm going to pull out the book cake tin and rustle something up for the beginning of NaNo. I can't promise that there will be many book cakes, but there should be a couple. And knowing me they will be fantastically over the top. 

Catch you later. 

Let's Be Adults About This,

Not like that. Well,.

As previously mentioned, - and I will continue to mention because I'm bloody proud of it - I've just moved into a new flat, but my God are there a lot of things to sort out. 

Getting out of the old place was a hassle and half, because I had moved into there from my little studio. I had a kitchen full of utensils and machines that had to either fit into a much smaller selection of cupboards, or be relegated to the boxes in the loft. As such, there was quite a bit of stuff to come down out of the loft, the furniture to be either moved or deconstructed and the room to be cleaned. Honestly, all that didn't go so badly, however the major snag which did occur was when the van had a blow out on the M25. Thankfully my dad was in the van with the moving men or I would have been doing a Chicken Run (place head between knees and kiss your bum goodbye). 

It was a little bit crazy getting everything in, but that is where the fun really starts. Not only are there a ridiculous amount of boxes covering my living room, there's bills to sort out and it took me until Thursday to actually get any hot water as the gas was capped whilst no one was living in the property. I'm trying to sort my life out whilst spending time back in Manchester looking after my dog, Teddy (@teddytheshihtzu on Instagram).

All in all, I'm really doing the adult thing. I'm even going to be going to Ikea to pick up some new flat pack furniture and then will be constructing it myself. (Granted, my mum is going to be there to help me to carry it home...) Part of me really can't wait to go home. 

Catch you later. 

Oh, Darling,

Part of my brain keeps crying and saying, it's not even October yet - how are we thinking about NaNo already? (Because for this sentence, myself and my brain are becoming separate entities. Go with it.) 

I loved being a Municipal Liaison last year and it's something I am really looking forward to doing again, though part of me thinks that the last few months have really run away with themselves, because it really isn't so long away now, is it? 

Last year was my first year being an ML and I had just started a new job. It was an intense period of time, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Clearly this year I need to step up what I am doing to drive myself completely crazy, so I will be starting a new job in October, I've moved into a one bedroom flat on my own and I will be being an ML all over again. All whilst trying to work on a novel which seems to get more and more out of hand with every turn of the metaphorical page. 

Jees. 


I'm also well aware of my ability to fall off the face of the Earth (well, screen) for extended periods of time, but hopefully the above is a decent enough reason. If not, well... 

A Message from Under the Bed,

I'm not literally under my bed - it's one of those divan type ones with no storage under it so I would have to be a literal wafer to get under there, and, well, I'm not. It's a shame really because I find that hanging out with the imaginary monsters under there not only helps with my writing periodically, it's also a nice space to go when the world outside is, put nicely, being a bit rubbish. 

Without going into too much detail because some of it is work and I'm not allowed to - today has been pretty crappy. In fact, no, it's this week. This week has been pretty crappy. 

However, the good news is that, after a case of the tantrums (throwing my toys out of the pram and deciding I have had quite enough of this novel right now, tah very much love) I have finally picked back up on the novel I started for last NaNoWriMo and no, it is not almost finished, and yes, I do realise it is almost November again, could everyone please stop reminding me? 

It's hard though, because whilst that novel helps me work through difficult things from life, work and all that sort of thing, there are some things that happen and they just feel too raw for me to be able to write anything close to it right then and then, so the novel gets put down. Also, with NaNo being such a frantic rush towards a word count and my ever more ambitious marathon sprints and everything else going on, my novel is still in a few dozen pieces and the idea of having to remedy that at any point soon; quite frankly the thought of it makes me feel quite sick. 

I know it will get there, and it will get finished and then it will very possibly end up like several others and be banished to the dark corners of my hard drive where I can think about doing something with it but not in concrete enough terms to actually, well, do anything about it, because the idea of that is terrifying, but I don't want that this time, so I'm trying to leave less in there for "The Edit" that is never, ever just one edit. 

Christ, Fairies had been out about three years before I realised there were words missing and apparently the ending was Just. Too. Subtle. for some people to understand what I was getting at, and if there is ever going to be a sequel to it - not ruling it in, not ruling it out - the ending can't really have that level of ambiguity to it, can it>? 

/Tangent...

Where were we? Yes, trying to leave less in there for the edit, but the problem with that is that there is a limit to how much forward progress you can make when you obsess over EVERY SINGLE WORD! 

I'm going to go search for my sanity. Catch you later.

Insomnia,

Insomnia is one of those annoying things that happen, and start impacting every part of your life.

One of the big reasons I want to have a flat to myself is that when the insomnia bug bites, it would be nice for me to be able to do something productive, like bake a cake or sit with my typewriter and do some writing, or even, if I lived somewhere better than where I do now (unlikely if I'm renting by myself but humor me) I could go out for a walk or a run after dark. I used to do it a lot when I lived in Kensington.

I used to love walking through Chelsea or Westminster at two or three o'clock in the morning, and just enjoying the quiet and the space and the freedom. By the time I got back to halls, I would either have to get ready for a lecture or be ready to sleep. Granted, sleeping by that time was probably a bad idea as it would mean the next night would be the same problem.

As it is, I feel as though there is nothing I can do aside from stare at my ceiling or have a moan - you can see which one of those two things won.

I'm not really sure where this latest bout of insomnia materialised from however I wish it would disappear back to from whence it came. I miss sleep.

Catch you later.

I've Been Ignoring My Blog Again,

Yeah, so I have been ignoring this thing again, and really, the truth is that I don't mind that. These last few months have been busy with work and dating and hating dating and all sorts of things and now it's Camp NaNo and I have never felt less like taking part than I do at this moment.

This past week I have been constantly exhausted but unable to sleep, so the idea of kicking my butt into writing has probably been one of the furthest things from my mind. Add to that the amount of work I have on at the moment and some other things that, for once, I would rather not talk about, I really don't know how this month is going to go and that's a shame because my unofficial camp project was to finish draft one of the novel from November which now seems to be somewhat unending. Part of me is tempted to stay up tonight whilst the fancy is taking me and cement all the little pieces together and then at least that is done. And the other part of me pulls a 'Scream' face every time I so much as think about doing that. Editing is not my strong point. Pulling the pieces of the novel together is not my strong point. I don't do chapters. This is going to be hell on Earth!!!

Alongside all of this I have had the joys of attempting to find myself somewhere new to live. Now, whilst this is not strictly necessary because where I live now I could feasibly continue to live for a while, but the distance to work and having to share with two boys and a mouse is not an ideal situation. I would much rather be back to living on my own, but it takes so much time to find a place, look at it and then inevitably write it off for whatever reason.

I make no commitments to this blog now other than the commitment which I make to myself at the moment. I am trying to be the best possible version of myself.

Catch you later.

The Quiet,

After two weeks of being back at my parents' house in Manchester, I was feeling really relaxed and ready to take on anything... 

And then what happened, well, happened. I've deliberately refrained from saying anything because I wasn't directly involved, but then when I went back again this weekend it made me realise - not for the first time, but it brought it home more I guess - just how something like that can affect a city and how it reaches out and touches everyone around it. And it hurts (well, of course, it does). 

I might not have been there, but a friend's little sister was. I might not have been one of the emergency responders on one of the worst calls of their career, but my neighbour was. I might not be one of the staff at the hospitals across Manchester treating the life changing injuries which people sustained, but they are people I have worked with.

The best thing I got to do, I firmly believe, was to add to the field of flowers that is covering the square, fight with the wind to light a candle and spend a few minutes in the relative silence. It was to walk around the city with a friend that I haven't seen in a long time and not let this take my city away. 

Yes, it is true that we could be scared, but that's not Manchester, it's not Mancunian, and it certainly isn't me. 

It says something about the buzz - and yes I do use that word deliberately - that we created this weekend with tattoo artists across the city, across the country - heck I think some American places even came on board in the end!! - throwing beautiful events to unite us under a inked banner of Manchester bees, the buzz created by the runners who still got up and smashed a 10k to raise money for all kinds of charities, and also for the buses, proudly displaying the #we<3MCR message across the city.

The Cold,

As I wrote yesterday, this past week I have done a fat lot of nothing much, and whilst that has been great I seem to have acquired a cold. Well, a sore throat and sinus pain, but those do seem to be the pre-warnings of a cold for me. 

Whilst that is quite frustrating, I guess that it is better for it to happen while I can sit at home and take it easy as opposed to push myself to go into the office and feel crappy whilst doing it. 

Unfortunately though, I had hoped to get through some writing or editing or something whilst I was back at home and one week in, I have not really done that. I haven't really felt like it. Granted there is the usual issue of urgh, I wish I had a laptop with everything collated so that it wasn't so much of a mess about, but still, I have access to a laptop, I have my netbook with me and a couple of notebooks, but aside from one brief scribbling session, I haven't really touched any of it. 

Oh God, I just sneezed and it truly upset my dog. I think I need a hot tody.

I'm not sure how it has come to this because I would have thought that having an abundance of time would be just what I needed, but apparently not. Too much time with absolutely no structure is possibly - well, no, definitely - not productive. 

I think I needed something like NaNoWriMo in order to keep me on target and unfortunately that wasn't going to be a thing. Also I think that I would be tempted to go for another fifteen thousand word day, which, whilst very beneficial, would be pretty painful and probably would have brought on another nasty dose of NaNoFlu, which is never enjoyable! 

Anyway, I should probably put some effort in while thinking about it. 

Catch you later.

The Calm,

This past week I have been back at my parents' place in Manchester except for one epic trek out into Derbyshire. Whilst that trek gave me a new appreciation for Pride and Prejudice I am by no means falling over myself to do it again. The rest of the time I have been at home with my pup doing a fat lot of not very much, because this is kind of my holiday. 

Although I was terrified before I came up that I was going to get bored, it has actually been nice to go walking with the dog, get chatting to the other dog owners and vegetate in front of the television with no responsibility. (Yes, it is a bit like reverting back to my teenage years, but with the addition of the canine component.)

Much as I love my dog, and I really do love the little guy, it is weird living with him, because prior to this week I never have before. Every time I sit down to eat, he wants to come in the door or go out of the door so he can pee in the garden, every time I get snacks (and I really like my snacks) he's looking at me with these big, puppy eyes as though he hasn't eaten in weeks and wants everything that I'm having. Seriously, this dog will play at being starving even when his favourite food is in his bowl! And then there is a the exercise issue. 

I am well aware that I am neither the most motivated, nor the most proficient at exercising, however when trying to run through YouTube exercise videos, he kept putting his butt in my face, when I, finally, finished an abs video, he jumped onto my aching abs making them hurt even more. And then there was the run. Deciding that he needed to be tired out slightly due to the insane amount of beans he was displaying and needing to have a run myself, I took him along with me. All seemed to be going pretty well, until he decided, with no warning to cut across the front of my path directly where my feet were, then stared at me as though I had stood there and kicked him on purpose. 

That being said, when I returned from Derbyshire yesterday, feeling pretty sick and tired and just wanting my bed, it was lovely to be able to cuddle him and give him a kiss. His, almost, unconditional love (much more reliable when plied with treats) made me feel better when all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and sleep for a week. 

Anyway, the additional wonderful thing is that I have another week of this. Although puppy wouldn't be too happy if he knew that his parents were away for another week, he thankfully understands that I am better than nothing, which is a plus point.

Catch you later. 

Ouch,

What with one thing or another cropping up, I haven't yet managed to go out for my second run of the week, but I got home tonight with the intention of "suiting up" and getting out there, before realising that I had left my running water bottle at work and one of my feet was covered in blisters across the toes due to ill-fitting shoes. Great. 

Not wanting to put to bed the, I can't bring myself to say good yet, mediocre work that I put in on Sunday, and also the power walk and stair climbing I put in yesterday, I decided I was going to force myself into doing something tonight. I don't think I ever realised how many fitness videos there were on Youtube! I mean, seriously!!

One of my big issues with all of this is, I'm a writer. I tend more towards couch potato than runner/pilates and all of that sort of thing. I am kicking my own behind into this because I was annoyed about my horrendously expanded waistline, though it seems I have very quickly reached the point of needing a belt so that certain pairs of my trousers don't fall down! (RESULT!)

The great thing about YouTube is that it means that people like me, i.e. people with absolutely no idea what they're doing, can be easily inducted into the world of exercise without having to feel like utter muppets, because dance cardio does feel a little bit more like glorified twerking than anything else. (I'm not saying it is that, I'm saying that's what it feels like). The only problem with it though - well, no, not the only problem, but one of the ones on the list - is the sheer lunacy of the fact that I still don't know if I'm doing it right. 

Now, that might not sound like that much of a problem for some people, but here is the problem in simple terms: 

How do I know I'm doing it right? 

You'll feel it working.

What does it feel like? 

Essentially, your muscles hurt.

Well, how do I know if I'm doing it wrong? 

You'll injure yourself.

How will I know I've done that? 

Essentially, your muscles will hurt.

Can anyone else see the problem there? 

I love running and exercising when I get back into it, but I can't help but laugh at how pathetic I know I am, so this is just going to be fun. 

Catch you later. 

Oh, Well This is a Novelty,

I went into John Lewis today in order to admire the pretty laptops and, well, to pine over another new techy thing, though this one would have been completely unnecessary.

For the past I can't remember how many months, my beloved and beautiful PC has been sat in the corner of my room doing nothing because, and this is the very honest answer, I could not be bothered faffing about on the floor trying to figure out why it had disconnected itself from the internet. Again. However after pinning for a new, and completely unnecessary laptop, I came home, fought off the dust bunnies and sorted out my old pal. 

Granted, this does throw up the issue that I will need to clean the heat sync on the CPU and reapply the thermal paste, however I am not doing that right now. Partly because I haven't bought new thermal paste yet.

ANYWAY, it has brought about the rather disquietening feeling of sitting at my home desk and looking out of the window of my room (there isn't much of a view aside from the roof of my neighbour's kitchen). 

It is not the first unfamiliar feeling today though as it was only this morning that I was pulling on compression pants to go for a run for the first time in, probably around two years? 

The good thing is, I don't hate running. The bad thing is, I'm not overly sure I like it. Or enjoy it rather. The thing is, I find running quite weird because essentially the best part of it, or so I have been told, is the bit where you can feel your body saying, can we slow down a bit, can we walk for a minute, there's a bench there, can we sit? And rather than giving into that voice that is asking to stop, you push on and you achieve, and you strive to get further and further each time you go, or faster and faster before you give in to the feeling of needing a rest. I mean, what is that? 

It almost sounds like an exercise in self-denial and why would anyone want to do that to themselves? I don't know, I cannot tell, and we'll see if I stick at it better this time. Catch you later, when my legs stop hurting. 

When I think About,

One of the things that I find scary in life, other than spiders and heights, is publishing things. 

Whether it be blogs or novels, publishing is terrifying because it exposes parts of you that you may not want to have exposed. Although it can often seem like these things are just words on paper or a screen, my blogs have a lot of my emotion in them, or they come from a place where I'm being emotional and they are a way of me working through it. There are some that I write up do then decide I can't post because they are, ultimately, too exposing. They make me feel too vulnerable.

Self publishing, when I first did it, was a nightmare, but I s it as a hurdle that I just had to get over. I couldn't and wouldn't fail was how I saw it, but now that it's easier to do, well, less process heavy, I think the reason that I can't bring myself to do it is less because of finishing things and editing them than because of how raw it can leave you feeling. 

Thing is, ANYONE can read it, ANYONE can write an Amazon review or say whatever they want on whatever platform. The most difficult bit of that can sometimes be that you're going to want to read it, and sometimes that is really difficult. 

I have always been lucky to be surrounded by a large among of amazing people who are happy to read over things for me, and they have often been fantastic at spotting mistakes and plot holes that I wouldn't have seen myself. Self publishing is probably always going to be a minefield of mistakes though, because none of us are going through this with a professional editors perspective, though maybe that's not such a bad thing. 

The thing about editors is that, as much as they are very useful and very intelligent people, they can also be pretty brutal, and I think that you have to be a certain level of prepared for that and I'm not overly sure that I am there just yet. Maybe one day, hey?

Catch you later.

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies,

I miight as well just jump right into the middle of my thought processes at the moment, because that is all that this is going to be anyway... 

Usually, I write a good old romance novel and then discount it after November as a pile of crap, but a good exercise of focus. Things I love are put down whilst I do it and often are not picked up again because I am fickle at best with these things. 

November was different, but not in the usual way that writers say oh this is different because this current project is the best thing I have ever produced. It's different because, well, it's a whole different kettle of fish. 

I have previously tried to write things with a bit of disaster and craziness in the middle, but this is a sort of semi-apocolyptic thing with a romance novel in the middle of it. I keep needing to step away from it for a bit and then go back to it, just to give myself some headspace to recover. The problem is that writing anything which is that harrowing can be an emotional experience that really takes it out of you. The stuff that I'm writing at the moment is the stuff of my nightmares, but I have to keep reminding myself that it is the fabric of some people's lives and that really isn't overly far away when you think about it. 

And on that sombre note, I will catch you later. 

A Walk To Remember,

Now, I know that I am obviously biased, because I love Nicholas Sparks, however I have just finished watching the film adaptation of A Walk to Remember and it made me want to set something on fire because it was SO BAD. 

SPOILER ALERT - If you have not read the book, and intend to do so, stop reading here.

AWTR is one of the best books which Nicholas Sparks has written. It bares a vague resemblance to the story of The Fault in Our Stars, though it did come out a few years prior to that. It is a beautiful story of two teenagers who fall in love and one of them is terminally ill. It's set in small town America a few decades ago and the narrator is looking back at his life from more than thirty years on. One of the most touching parts of it for me is the ending where the man, now in his fifties, is still wearing his wedding ring because he never saw occasion to take it off. His devotion to the love of his young life is admirable and beautiful. 

IN NO WAY WAS HE THIS YOUNG OFFENDER THAT THEY MADE HIM OUT TO BE: Hollywood, you have been a bad bunny. Go to the naughty corner and think about what you have done. 

No really, 

The thing that annoys me is that they changed parts of it for no logical reason. His dad is supposed to be a congressman who is away in Washington regularly, not a cardiologist who left his wife an shacked up with another woman. This was not another story to vilify men who leave their wives and children - what is your obsession? Stop making out that dad's leaving automatically makes their children (particularly the boys) awful people, because it just gives it more weight when people try to use it as an excuse. 

Just to temper that, yes, there are people with legitimate issues because of things that their parents did and did not do, but that's not what Hollywood displays either. 


In other news, it would appear that I have decided that my challenge for Camp NaNo is something along the lines of writing a blog a day. Yes, that was my plan last year and yes it epically failed, but we'll see how well it goes this time.

Catch you later. 


Oh, you do drugs because mummy and daddy

Catfishing,

I need to write about this because this came up and I can't believe what was said about it. 

First things first, I am registered on a dating site, because I find that I either friend zone people too quickly or lack the necessary sports equipment to ask them out. Now, that's all fine and dandy - granted it has some problems sometimes, but I'm a sensible girl and I make sure I meet people in public spaces and tell someone where I am going. 

I was messaging someone this morning and he told me that he had been catfished twice on this site. Now, obviously that is not very encouraging for me as a reasonably new user to this site, but it did peak my curiosity to ask what happened. The boiled down essence of what this guy told me was that the women were heavier and less physically attractive than he had been led to expect by their profile photos (I mean, this guy is not going to win world's sexiest bachelor himself, but that is an aside). 

Now, I got a little defensive over this, because I think it's a horrible thing to say, no matter how prettily you phrase it, but I think that was particularly because he stated that he thinks it's "important that people have full body pics on their profile, if not they are hiding something." So, instinctivlely, I challenged him and suggested that no one is 100% truthful on their dating profile - I'm pretty much certain mine says I like cycling, but that is a bit of a stretch, I own a bike, I can ride it and I do enjoy it when I'm out on it, but that comes to a grand total of once or twice a year... Maybe these women felt that if they put photographs online of their full body, they wouldn't recieve responses or as many responses, or they might even get one of those *lovely* aggressive responses like the guy on Tinder who felt the need to message a lady who had swiped right on him in order to let her know that he was out of her league.

I don't understand what this whole thing is of people feeling the need to pass comment just because you put yourself out there on a public forum. It's almost as though dating sites have become an unofficial *ROAST ME* forum and I'm not comfortable with that (me being an average height, average weight person with moderate confidence getting a reasonable amount of good attention on these things) so I can only imagine what it would be like for someone who perceives themselves to have the sort of 'faults' which these people like to attack.

I mean, what are people on that this is suddenly an appropriate course of action? Surely we are all using these websites for a similar goal? (I say similar because naturally there is a range from those who want to find a relationship, to those who want to casually date and those who are simply looking for casual sex.)

As I see it, whether we are dating online or dating in person, you always present the best side of you to new people. I know that in 4/5 of my profile photos my hair is blowdried nicely, I'm wearing makeup and I look pretty good as compared to the way I look on a daily basis - though to balance that there is a photo of me and my dog having a cuddle which provoked a message "Lose the mum jeans." Ha, yes, because I'm going to take advice on what to wear from a random stranger on the internet... no, thank you. I don't allow boyfriends to tell me what to wear so you have no chance mate. 

The simple way that I see the whole of this thing is that people will put up photos on the internet that they are happy to present to the world as themselves. They will write what they are happy with about themselves, or what their perception of themselves is and that is what they will then project outwards. I personally read between the lines of profiles and I do question why people have said certain things or posted certain photos and that is why I end up choosing whether or not to speak to them, because at the end of the day, I am a very headstrong person and I know myself rather well by now. 

I know that there is little sense in me chatting with anyone under 25 because generally I find that I have to be the mature one, and I am currently no-one's mother and I like it that way! If someone waxes lyrical about that fact that they have travelled all over Asia or took a gap year to "find themself" I can generally write them off as well, because quite frankly, I don't care if you thought that a visit to Thailand was how you found your inner whatever, I don't think that drugged tigers and injured elephants are the roads to self-discovery. I also find it hard to stomach anyone who puts anything along the line of bacon is life on their profile (you laugh, but I've seen it) and it's not just because I'm a vegetarian, but more because I find it passive aggressive towards vegetarians, vegans and anyone else of the persuasion not to eat bacon. 

Perhaps all that is as bad as the no ugo's and no fat chicks, but I don't think so...

Catch you later. 

Packing the Tent Pegs,

I'm currently sat in my bed with aggressively ginger hair, wearing a sun dress and a fez. I'm trying to figure out if it's worrying, or if this is exactly where I thought my life should be right now.

It's the first day of camp and I'm still trying to decide exactly what I'm going to do, other than procrastinate, of course.

Part of me would really like to finish the novel that I started in November but I'm not certain that I will manage to get that done.

The other options are obviously writing something new, focusing on the blog or finishing something else and starting to edit it. Any of them would be a good thing, but I'm still not sure which would be the best thing at the moment.

A couple of weeks ago I turned 24 and it has made me make a few changes that I'm hoping are helping. I'm trying to exercise more, eat less rubbish and get my life going in the right direction. It's very slow, very difficult and very strange, but I also know that I am committed to it, so that is good.

Anyway, I had best get on with whatever it is I'm doing. Catch you later.

In Too Deep,

I can already tell that this is going to be one of those blogs that I write more for me, and then look at and think, okay, maybe don't publish that, because of the fear that it leaves me feeling a little exposed. 

I'm sat here listening to what can only be called Romantic Ballads (no, seriously, that's what the Spotify playlist called them) and I can't say that it is helping with the whole effort of not getting emotional. 

Almost a year ago, a relationship that I had been in for a long time, and which I had emotionally committed to in such a thorough way came crashing to a not so abrupt end. It had been a long drawn out process that I can genuinely say wasn't helpful or healthy for either of us, and the truth is that it took a very long time for me to pick myself back up after that. A very long time.

Despite that, I worked on building the life that I wanted, which is an ongoing goal, but I am in a much better position now that I was 12 months ago. 

Now, I'm not going to say I'm over it, because I don't think I could commit myself to that, but I have got to the point where I could be happy, and that's dangerous.

Dangerous? Well, yes. Despite the fact that I can be alone, I can do things by myself and only be mildly uncomfortable, I am happy with my own company and don't really need to leave the house at weekends if I don't want to, the dangerous thing is, I like being in a relationship. 

I like having that special person I speak to all the time, that I can feel close to and that I can laugh with. I like having that commitment to that person. I don't know why, I just do. 

And danger occured. 

Out of nowhere - I wasn't even looking for once, appeared this man. In my usual styling, I'm not going to put his name on here, but C walked into my life quite casually, and then that was it; he was there. 

I'm not going to say that meeting him felt like nothing I had ever been through before, because it was like something I had before, and maybe that was part of the problem. In the space of when I stopped writing these blogs and when I started again, I met him, I started dating him, I stopped dating him and I realised I had fallen for him. And I also realised how much I hated that I let myself fall for him. 

Now, I know it's not like you get a choice in it, but really, I should have known better. He's in a place in my life that it will be a while before he will be gone, or I would have to do something drastic to get rid of him, and I don't want to do that. Partly because I don't want rid of him from my life. The beautiful thing about it has been that despite the fact that there have been tears, there has been pain, and there has been a bit of heart break, on my side at least, it's been pretty amiable. Most of my breakups have been screaming arguments or accusations and all that sort of thing - this has been a very polite, I guess. 

So, why am I mentioning this? Well, because, right at this moment, I don't want to write anything to do with romance, because it makes me want to tear my own eyelids off. I also don't want to ruin the thing that I wrote for NaNo by writing something stupid like, and they broke up because happy endings are for Disney and everything sucks. But where would we be if I didn't have an excuse for not writing? 

Catch you later.

Despite the Protest of Injured Fingers,

I decided it was better to write this early and have it waiting in the wings so to speak, in a kind of Blue Peter, here's one I wrote earlier -esqe style...  And then I forgot to post it! WELL DONE CHARLIE!

It's that time of year again where I start making badly veiled references to camping and an almost feel my readership groaning as they wonder how many times I will do this - All of the times, kids, all of the times. 

As we head into April, the nights are brighter, moods are clearer and the only rain we're praying for is our imaginations. I'm much more settled in my job than I was in November (where I had been in post for a day before the madness started) and I am hoping that there will be time, though not an ample amount I am sure, to commit to the doing of a thing. 

Much like the camping trips of my youth, I am attempting not to plan too much and will be flying by the seat of my pants. Yes, there is a funny photograph which goes along with the memory, no, I will not be sharing it. 

It's going to be a funny old month though. Despite the fact that my Easter plans have unfortunately changed from what I thought they were to be, I am still not going to be in London. I'm going to Yorkshire with my parents and the dog - I'm not sure if I had previously mentioned that they have got a dog, but yes, that's a thing, and we are taking him on his first holiday. As much as my idea of a holiday would be trotting off to a cottage, sitting by a roaring fire and having the dog pottering around, it is not really for the Easter holiday when the temperatures are supposed to be such that the roaring camp fire feels as though it is burning in the air. 

Here is goes, cringe if you must, so I will be pitching up to Manchester mid month, praying for a miracle and a steady stream of ideas, climbing mount improbable and abseiling down the other side, wearing odd socks, getting muddy, getting soaked, eating snacks, though leaving the pork scratchings for the dog, hoping that only my imagination rains and that the trees are alive with the sound of inspiration. Procrastination can take a hike, there will be no one manning its station. Pacck you marshmellows and grame crackers, wash your socks in the sink, layer up on the jumpers and let the wasps drown in your hot vimto drink. The world is going mad, or might have already gone, so hi ho, hi ho, it's off to the Camp Na No retreat we go, with a notebook and pen, we're doing this again, hi ho, hi ho, hi ho. 

Catch you later.

As If I Needed,

I have gone and done myself an, albeit minor, injury.

Last week, in a fit of infinite stupidity a message between brain and muscle got confused so instead of moving a whiskey glass upwards and sideways, I moved it diagonally, smashed it into a table, smashing it and slicing open a large cut in my finger. As that was bleeding profusely and refusing to heal quickly - it was pretty grim - I apparently failed to notice that a glass splinter had lodged in another of my fingers. Now that the cut is healing, the glass splinter is causing me a few problems.

Part of the problem with this is it is on my dominant hand and my other finger is still sore from the injury it sustained. My typing speed has taken a real hit and as this splinter is in the tip of my index finger, which is my main digit for typing. It's also pretty vital for pens and quills, so I can't even handwrite everything.

It might seem like I'm being dramatic - it surely feels dramatic when people around me are insisting I go to a walk in centre or something - but it really is rather bothersome at the moment.

Hopefully it won't have too dramatic an effect as it is almost Camp NaNo and I think, after much debate, I am going to commit myself to a project, though exactly what that is going to be I have not quite put my metaphorical finger on.

Catch you later.

A Room of One's Own,

Hello my digital darlings.

I can't believe that it is March already and I haven't actually written anything on here. It seems strange until I remember that life has been such a busy mess the last few months that I've been returning home on a Friday evening, collapsing headlong across my bed and not moving until Monday morning. (This is only a slight exaggeration I assure you).

So, what was it that was on my mind to prompt an exercise of the fingers and thumbs?

Well. Several years ago I was given a book called A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf. It is a combination of essays discussing the needs of a woman in order to write, though it is based in a different era where women were allowed to read but were excluded from particular libraries and, where they could read the same texts, were not allowed to receive degrees at most universities.

Though times have changed dramatically from this, the idea that what women need is a room of their own and money in order to write and create has not changed. In order to have any hope of committing the time which the craft takes as well as the energy and everything else which is demanded by the notebook and pen (other other writing implement at your finger tips) women, well, anyone of any gender or no gender at all needs space, time and independence.

I've picked this up and put it down a few times and I have wondered why, but I think it was an issue of I didn't want to pick it up completely until I knew that I was ready to commit to it again.

I have kind of been the same with dating. I admit to having spent the last year seeing people and thinking about what I wanted, and a lot of times it felt like what I wanted was to go back to what I had before, but recently I realised that I can't.

This last year has not changed me, but I have reacted to the things which were placed before me a little better than I used to, and I can see that I am building parts of the life I have always dreamt of.

So this is it. I'm ready to commit back to the blog, so I'll catch you later.

Most Turbulent of Times,

For once the turbulence to which the title refers is not a violent or speedy change within my life which has prevented all writing from occurring, though it would be true to say that everything has been exceedingly fast paced for a while and shows no sign of letting up any time in the not too distant future, but the simple fact is that we are living in such turbulent times politically and socially that the world has felt like it is hurting towards a situation where my novel could become reality at an all too alarming rate. 

Though I have always paid attention to what is going on in the world, I have never had to be so aware as I do these days. My current job gives me a fuller enthusiasm to keep a finger on the pulse of current events because what is happening, whether it be within the media or in politics itself, can have a great effect. 

I have never wanted to turn this blog into a rant about my political opinion and in the last few weeks there have been several times where I truly believed that any attempt to post anything, even if it were just funny anecdotes about my sweet little dog, it would have inevitably turned into such. 

The difficulty is partly how saturated the media has become with negativity and I readily accept that this has not just been the last few weeks, however I believe that it has worsened, and this has lead to something more troubling to me. Somehow, this has made everybody an expert in politics which makes it very difficult to go back to place where you feel at home and switch off from it all whilst you spend time playing with your dog, who loves you so much that he is still staring at the bus stop where he and your mother left you a week previously, eagerly awaiting your return. My dog honestly reminds me of Stitch, though that is partly due to the amount of times I have to say "Hey, get that out of your mouth!" 

Sweet little thing that he is, he spends a lot of time trying to put everything that isn't his dog food into his mouth, though if you were to offer him treats during his little hunger strike over not wanting to eat dog food (he'd been on boiled chicken and rice for a few days after a poorly tummy) he would almost bite your hand off. 

The unfortunate thing about having him around, and believe me the pros outweigh the cons tenfold, is that if there is anything on your knee, be it netbook or newspaper, that is suddenly considered prime real estate in his eyes, so the item must be moved so that the canine hot water bottle may take up being a lap dog. 

I can't really say I am complaining though. I love that little fur ball. Here's to hoping that the world calms down some and normal life and writing can resume. Catch you later.

Don't You Know, I'm...,

I started off Veganuary thinking that whilst this was not going to be easy, it wouldn't make me feel like a fish out of water, so to speak, but then it happened. 

Suddenly everything that I enjoyed eating was off the menu and it was like going through the same process that I did ten years ago only more difficult, because this time, I'm the one doing the cooking and not my mother. Adding to that that I didn't run out of everything non-vegan before January started so it is now sitting in my cupboard and staring at me every time I open the door. 

That being said, in some ways it is still easier than I originally thought it might be at my weaker moments, and I'm getting better at spotting what is and what is not on my allowed list, even if I have had one slip up.

To try and make my life a little bit easier, I decided to head up to Alexandra Palace for the Vegan Life Live event. The problem was that technical issues meant that I didn't get there until late, so the whole place was packed and I kept bumping into the same bloody woman and her gaggle of idiotic children. To hear her speak you would have thought that she was the world's first vegan and her little "cherubs" were the first things under 18 to be raised on a vegan diet. 

Overall though, it was a fun event and a nice little way to get out of the house for the day, although getting the tickets for free is no good when they're offering enough deals that it is necessary to buy certain things rather than have to order them on the internet later. 

All in all though, I have realised that, despite the fact that in February I am going to have to go back to eating cheese and such, even if it is only to get rid of all of the things I still have in the cupboard, but it's not that hard or that expensive, so I will be making a conscious effort to reduce the amount of milk and egg products I am consuming and go from there. 

The Certain Age Crowd,

I'm sat here watching Gilmore Girls and I wanted to be amused by this whole idea of the thirty something gang where they have all moved back to their parents' houses after finishing university. Granted, it's the Gilmore Girls, so they play up the stereotypes, but it is a situation many people are finding themselves in with the idea that those of us "blessed" enough to still be in our twenties are generation rent. 

Yes, we are generation rent, because the amount that house prices has gone up these days, who the hell can afford to buy a frigging property? 

I guess that the other thing is that this generation tends to be a little bit more, well, free. We tend to be able to pick up quicker and go further, whether it be to travel for a few weeks for a holiday or to just up sticks and live abroad. I mean, why wouldn't we? 

There is a big world out there and it isn't such an alien thing to want to see it, touch it, smell it, hold it or whatever, but it has never been so accessible as it is right now. Things are crazy and the world doesn't work in the same ways that it used to, so if you can disappear to another country for a few months and make it work, why wouldn't you? 

New experiences are important to us because they are what keep us happy and keep us growing. New experiences help us to move forward, and that is the way we want to keep going.

Catch you later.