How's Your 2018 Going So Far?!

So, we've reached the end of January!  This month is always a strange one.  By the time you reach the end of it, you feel certain that it must have lasted at least seven weeks, and yet you're also stunned that February is already upon you.  Not to mention, there will be people who, on January 25th, felt compelled to post "ONLY ELEVEN MONTHS UNTIL CHRISTMAS!" all over social media...

I sat this morning, staring at a blank screen, wondering what to write about and, as is my wont, I inevitably started thinking back to this time last year.  Life was in a massively different place, at the end of January 2017.  So much so, that comparing seems unfair.  It would be like producing a smoothie made of dog poo and toenail clippings and placing it next to a really delicious chocolate malt shake and asking me which one I'd rather drink.

Regular readers may be aware of my fervent love of chocolate malt shakes.  And, er, even new readers should probably be aware that I don't tend to consume dog poo, as a general rule...

I've also started to realise that when I look back over the events of 2017, it's less a case of wistfully gazing over my shoulder, these days and more one of rubber-necking at a particularly horrific car crash.  I find that emotional outbursts of "I'm still so saaaaad" have been replaced with a stunned: HOW did I get out of that alive?!"

Case in point: this morning, as I was doing that half-curious, half-masochistic thing of checking Facebook's On This Day feature, I spotted a photo of me and a girl who was once one of the closest people on the planet, to me.  It was actually a very old picture, from one of our first ever days out, together.  And the first thing I thought upon seeing it was: "Man, I miss that hairband I'm wearing in this photo."

Go me?

I've said this a lot, especially in the last six months, so I don't want to repeat myself like a BBC Christmas schedule, but life is about rebuilding.  It's about filling the gaps and strengthening your foundations, even after the most traumatic of personal earthquakes.  

My plan for 2018 was always to get to a point where I'm no longer looking back over my shoulder (as much as I like Mike & The Mechanics).  It feels refreshing to have my eyes firmly fixed on the present and the future, rather than sullenly locked on the past.

I had a few goals to achieve in the first few weeks of 2018 and I feel like I'm on track with them, so far:

I told myself I'd join the ladies barbershop chorus I did a singing course with last year and I have (passed my audition, joined the committee and everything - they're well and truly stuck with me, now!).

I told myself I was going to branch out and meet new people this year and thanks to the above band of awesome singing ladies, I can tick that one off, too!

I told myself I'd spend more time with the friends I'd not seen anywhere near enough of due to my general wallowing throughout the first half of 2017 and I think it's fair to say I'm doing pretty well with that (my lovely friend Louise has even seen me scoff way too much pizza and then dramatically perform a song from Les Mis this month, so...result?!  Possibly for me more than her...).

I mean, I told myself I'd find a new job and improve my non-existent love life as well, but you know... I guess you can't have everything all at once...

My point is, whilst January has been a long month and the endless rain we've had down here in Cornwall has had me seriously considering building an Ark, it's actually been a pretty successful month, in terms of achievements.  Of course, saying all of this could bring forth some kind of harbinger of doom, to defecate all over the month of February, but...  Fingers crossed not, eh?!

I hope your 2018 is going okay so far.  And if it's not?  Have a look at what needs to change and get rebuilding.  I promise you, it'll be worth it.

5 Things I'd Like To See The Back Of In 2018!

Here we are in a shiny new year!  2017 was a hard year for a lot of us, for all sorts of reasons, so it's no wonder that we've greeted 2018's arrival with not only glee, but a steely resolve to improve on the last twelve months.  With that in mind, I thought it was time to come up with a few things I definitely don't want to take into the new year with me.  So, here are five things I would like to see the back of in 2018...

1. Donald Trump's sorry excuse for a Presidency

Okay, America.  You've had your fun, now.  You did the thing nobody thought you'd be daft enough to do: you elected an emotionally stunted, racist, tantrum-throwing, misogynistic reality TV star with literally no political experience, to the highest office your country had to offer.  Well done.

But really, with ongoing investigations into possible collusion with Russia, let alone his constant penis-measuring contest with North Korea (which has the capacity to destroy the freaking planet) how are people still supporting this maniac?!

Having someone this unstable in a position of enormous power is dangerous and has emboldened a whole sorry heap of white-supremacists and actual Nazis to come crawling out of the woodwork, praising Trump's name.  If he's not impeached in 2018, at least let someone do a bit of damage control and teach him how to be President without coming across as a spoilt, arrogant, unrepentant toddler with Mommy issues.

I really must stop sitting on the fence and say how I really feel...

2. Leave Voters Acting as Though Not Wanting BREXIT Makes Remainers Somehow "Unpatriotic."

Damn right we are.

When melty-faced hate-stirrer Nigel Farage was busily campaigning for the Leave campaign, he frequently said that if the result was close, say 48-52% in favour of Remain, then we'd have to take the wishes of those 48% into consideration, as it would be almost half the country who wanted out of the EU and it would be wrong to ignore them, completely.  How funny that when the result turned out to be 48-52% in favour of Leave, there has been no such concession at all.  WHO SAW THAT COMING, EH??!!

Almost half the country want to remain in the EU.  Almost half the country saw through the outright lies (£350million to the NHS) and the manipulation ("Let's take our country back!" - erm, I wasn't aware we'd lost it...) thrown at us by the Leave campaign.   And just like with Trump's victory in America, almost half the country was aware that this whole referendum was going to bring the knuckle-dragging racists out of their caves.  Sure enough, it did.  When I spoke out as a Remainer on Twitter, I was told by a barely literate Leave voter that my surname (which comes from my Greek-Cypriot grandfather, who came to the UK as an immigrant and worked hard to build himself and his family a life here), makes me "not as British as me, so I'm shutting your ARSE out of this conversation."  Yep, I don't get to have an opinion, because my blood is not 100% British bulldog fighting spirit, tea and clotted cream.  I've lived here all my life (besides a couple of years in Germany whilst Dad was in the RAF), I am patriotic and I consider myself British, but that pesky quarter Greek-Cypriot part of me means I have no right to air my views.  Because damnit, this is Britain and we don't want immigrants here, anymore - we're taking back our country!

Except, you know, those immigrants often do the jobs we don't want to.  And they frequently work long hours, dedicating themselves to our crippled NHS.  They've brought multiculturalism to our country and made it - at least once - a more tolerant, community-minded society.  They're our friends, neighbours, partners, workmates...  And a quick DNA test will lead most of the people roaring "BRITAIN FOR THE BRITISH" to discover that their blood isn't "pure" British, anyway.

And yes, I know not all Leave voters are racist and me talking in this way might rub those who aren't up the wrong way.  Unfortunately, the fact remains (ha!) that a lot of people have taken the "Leave" vote to mean that they can openly voice their intolerance for minorities, immigrants and even certain religions with impunity.  And that needs to be called out.

But, casual racism aside, one of the most irritating claims made by Leave voters is that Remainers are somehow "unpatriotic" for wanting to stay in the EU.  And that, my friends, is utter rubbish.

I wanted to remain because I'm patriotic.  I wanted to see the country prosper through trade and through free movement of skilled workers.  I wanted to remain because I didn't want to see vile racists believing they now have carte blanche to air their despicable views.  That's not the country I'm proud of.

Obviously, if I could see the back of BREXIT full STOP in 2018, that would be flipping marvellous.  But if that's impossible, then at the very least, I don't want to hear any more Leave voters calling people like me "unpatriotic" for having a view that isn't buried in colonialism or xenophobia.  And I certainly don't want to see BREXIT used as an opportunity for racism.

3. Corruption in Hollywood, the Pervasion of Abuse Against Women - And Victim-Blaming!

2017 was the year that #MeToo took off as a hashtag on Twitter.  I read hundreds of those tweets.  I wrote several of my own.  It saddened me that so many women - and indeed several men - had experienced sexual harassment, assault or some other form of abuse, be it physical, psychological or emotional.  It saddened me.  But it didn't shock me.

It didn't shock me because, unfortunately, my own experience of an abusive relationship earlier in the 2010s, opened my eyes as to just how common it is.  Just how frequently this stuff actually happens.  It's frightening.  And it has to stop.

I also wasn't shocked by the accusations against major Hollywood actors and producers.  Why?  Because Hollywood is the capital of an industry that has long placed men in positions of enormous power, yet graded women on nothing but their sexual appeal.  If a girl wants to make it in movies, she has to be pretty, slim and willing.  That's been the not-so-tongue-in-cheek "joke" for years.

But what was almost as depressing as the sheer scale of the corruption in Hollywood and the pervasion of abuse against people from all walks of life, was the victim-blaming and the hand-wringing done by certain sections of society.  From creepy trolls on social media, bad-mouthing the women who came forward, as though finding themselves in the position to be abused in the first place was entirely their own fault, to guys like Matt Damon, who became the poster-child for all guys moaning about not being able to grope strangers anymore, when he said: 

"I do believe that there’s a spectrum of behavior, right? And we’re going to have to figure — you know, there’s a difference between, you know, patting someone on the butt and rape or child molestation, right?"

Depends on whose butt you're patting, moron.  If it's a random girl you've never spoken to, how do you know she's of the age of consent?  How do you know you haven't just molested a child?  More importantly, regardless of her age, how do you know she's okay with you touching an intimate part of her body?!  Why was it ever generally accepted that a guy can just start groping a woman he's not remotely familiar with?   Why is it even okay for guys to send sexual messages to women they don't know on social media (like the guy who, when I tweeted a photo of a bruise acquired during paint-balling, felt it was appropriate to DM me to ask whether I actually got bruised in a kinkier way)?!

For weeks after the Harvey Weinstein news broke, I kept seeing guys moaning on social media: "Well, how are we supposed to know if a girl's interested, if we're suddenly not allowed to touch her?!"  USE YOUR WORDS, IDIOT.  Ask if she wants a drink.  Flirt in a way that isn't massively crossing borders.  Read her body language.  All we're asking is that you don't just randomly come up to us as a total stranger and put your hands on intimate parts of our bodies without asking.  It's NOT that hard.

JUST STOP BEING CREEPS IN 2018, OKAY???!!! 

4. People Who Just Can't Accept The Doctor Being A Woman.

When Jodie Whittaker was announced as taking over from Peter Capaldi as The Doctor in Doctor Who last year, I cried.  I cried because I've been besotted with the show for the last 12 going on 13 years and I couldn't believe that I was finally going to see a woman in the title role.  

Then I got mad.  Because, predictably and frankly boringly, out came the misogynists.

"What next?!  Pink, fluffy dice in the TARDIS?!"  Shrieked the horrified Daily Mail readers.

"I'll never watch the show again - the BBC has ruined it!  IT'S POLITICAL CORRECTNESS GONE MAD!" Screamed men with daleks tattooed on their arms (right next to their UKIP tats, probably).

How dare a woman play the role of an alien who can, canonically, change their entire body in order to avoid death.  That's not realistic!  How can the Doctor possibly have a vagina?!  What if she chips a nail whilst running away from a Cyberman and bursts into tears because it's her time of the month?!

It was depressingly obvious that this would happen.  And the people yelling and screaming (not all of them men, it must sadly be said), are so totally transparent in their misogyny, it's laughable.

"Oh no, it's not because she's a woman.  It's because she's such a bad actress," insisted one Facebook user who has clearly never seen Broadchurch.

"They've deliberately chosen an ugly actress who looks like a man," spat another person who has blatantly never seen Jodie Whittaker.

Guys.  Guys and weirdly misogynistic girls... Calm down.  Jodie's spoken two words on screen, so far.  We haven't got a freaking clue what sort of Doctor she's going to be.  So, if you really are the "lifelong fan of the show" that you claim to be, how about you get over your aversion to female anatomy and give her a chance?  How about you consider for just a second, that you're not the only Whovian in the universe and that the show doesn't bend to your rule?  Perhaps you'd like to consider for a brief moment, the fact that there are young girls who watch the show who are now being given the subtle message that they can aim higher.  That they are equal.  That they don't have to be the sidekick; they can be the hero.  And if that really upsets you, then mate... You need to have a serious word with yourself and find out why you're so anti-women.  Because it's 2018.  We can vote and everything.  You're going to have to get used to it, because we're not going anywhere.

And we've got the keys to the TARDIS.  If you don't like it, the door is right over there.  Except I think you'll find your world will most definitely be smaller on the outside.

For the record, after just two words in the role, I believed 100% in Jodie's Doctor.  She's going to be...

5. People who throw insults at anyone they disagree with.

Yeah, yeah, I know I've used the term "knuckle-draggers" to describe people I disagree with in this very blog post, but in my defence, I'm using it against racists, misogynists and people who victim-blame.  Oh, and Donald Trump.  So...  The term stands.

What I can't stand - and what I vehemently want to see an end to in 2018 - is the tendency, particular on social media, for people to resort to insults the very second they see a harmless opinion that differs from their own.

Example:

Me: I really dislike Little Mix.

Random Little Mix Fan: YOU ARE UGLY AND FAT AND I HOPE YOU DIE.

There's an air of anonymity given to all of us when we browse social media.  Even if we're using our real name and photo, we're still talking to someone from behind a screen.  Someone who we'll probably never come into contact with in real life.  That counts double for the people who use a made-up name and whose avatar is a picture of a cartoon, or a dog or basically anything other than their actual face.

But none of that means that you have the right to abuse someone because they happen to dislike a movie you really enjoyed, or because they dissed a musician you're a fan of.  

It happens way too often and much, much too easily these days and I hate it.  We're losing our ability to have reasonable debate.  We're losing our respect for differences.  And all because far too many of us are desperate to be RIGHT ALL THE TIME and to hurl insults at someone is apparently easier than being grown up enough to accept that they're entitled to have a view that we don't share.

When you think about it, it's utterly stupid:

Person 1: I didn't enjoy that episode of Eastenders.

Person 2: YOU STINK OF CHEESE AND I HOPE SOMEONE SMACKS YOU IN THE FACE.

Who knows, maybe 2018 will be the year that we all grow up just enough to allow other people to express an opinion, without us feeling the need to insult them in reply.

Side note: if the person expressing the opinion in the first place is being racist, sexist etc, then of course feel free to be creative in your insulting responses.  I know you're not supposed to sink to their level, but we have a troll in the White House: all bets are off.

Yep, I went there.

Look, the reality is that none of these things will probably disappear in 2018, no matter how much I want them to.  But having a rant about them all has made me feel a bit better, so...  I'm chalking that up as a win.

Happy new year, everyone.  Let's make 2018 a good one.

My Mantras For 2016

The condensed version of this blog is: be a lovely person.

So, it's here.  2016 has arrived, amidst a sea of snotty tears, drunken regrets and high-levels of pining (or was that just the way I marked its arrival?!).

At this time of year, it's customary to make a few resolutions.  Being someone who's sick of making resolutions that I almost never keep (for example, my fingernails have yet to go a full year without being nibbled), I decided to avoid the term "resolutions" and instead, 2016 is going to be the year of the PERSONAL MANTRA.  I have many I need to stick to this year - some serious, some... well, less so - but I've whittled down the list to a choice few.  Feel free to borrow some of these mantras for yourself.  And feel free to kick me up the bum the second you see me straying from any of them.  Just don't do it too hard.  I bruise like a peach.

1. "I WILL NOT OBSESS OVER THINGS BEYOND MY CONTROL."

It's amazing how completely un-me I become when I'm stressing out about something I have literally no control over.  I don't like that stressy version of myself and nor does my digestive system (TMI?).  So, in 2016, I am resolving to be a little more Zen about it all.  

I'll be brutally honest: I will break this one.  In fact, I already have broken it, by checking to see if a Facebook message I sent yesterday has been delivered (it has) and read (it has not), yet.  But there's absolutely nothing I can do about the matter and therefore, I need to go into a meditative state, to a certain degree.  Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean...

If life isn't going the way I want it to, I need to look at what I can do to change things.  If the situation is entirely out of my hands, then I need to just trust that it'll work itself out, eventually.  Tying myself up in knots over things I have no control over is just a waste of energy.  2016 Emma needs to learn to be more Elsa about it all.

2.  On a related note: "I WILL TAKE CHANCES TO BRING POSITIVE CHANGE INTO MY LIFE, RATHER THAN RUNNING SCARED LIKE THE PROVERBIAL CAT."

I am massively guilty of being one of those people who makes excuses as to why she can't do something.  

• "I can't go and talk to the guy I've had a crush on for a ridiculous TEN MONTHS because he's got his friends around him and it's too scary."
• "I can't enter this writing competition, because I'm not good enough and I'll fail."
• "I can't go to the thing because I won't know anyone and I'll feel awkward."

And so on and tragically so on.  The thing with failing, or being knocked back, or feeling like a socially incompetent fool is that they're things most of us all have to deal with at some point in our lives.  And you know what?  They don't have to kill us.  Humans are rubbery little creatures and we have a tendency to bounce back.  I should know that better than most, considering some of the ludicrously awful things I've had to bounce back from over the years.

Besides which, there's nothing worse than beating yourself up with regrets.  A failure or rejection hurts - of course it does - but it's a full stop at the end of a sentence.  And that sentence only exists at all because you tried.  If you don't try at all, your sentence doesn't have an end beyond "what if?"  And all that's going to do is keep you awake at night.  Sometimes, however scary the situation is and however large the spectre of failure looms in your mind, you have to just give it a go, anyway.  Mind over matter and all that.

Additional mantra: "I WILL LEARN A NEW POSE FOR PHOTOS."

3. Again, following on from the last one: "I WILL NOT DENY MYSELF."

Okay, before you all rush to tell me that I'm advocating a life of 24/7 binge-drinking, eating my body weight in chips and dying of excess before I hit 40... Nope.  All things in moderation, obviously.

BUT: Life is short ("and you are hot" - sorry, couldn't resist a Doctor Who quote).  In no way do I think we should blow all our life savings on frivolities, or gorge ourselves into a food coma, but nor do I think we should sit, munching on a lettuce leaf, talking ourselves out of things we want to do.

Yes, we should look after ourselves and live our lives with a degree of sensible-thinking, but there's going to come a day where every single one of us will close our eyes for the last time and few of us can ever know when that will be.  I'll say it again: LIFE IS SHORT.  Much too short to be spent denying ourselves little bursts of happiness.

Eat the damn cake.  Buy the shoes.  Stay out later than you planned.  Don't deny yourself the chance to make memories or, at the very least, to put a smile on your face.

Did I mention that life is short?!

4. "I WILL BE HONEST WITH MYSELF."

Thanks to giphy.com for this illustration of how my nose got so big.

I know that I am over-analytical.  I know that I look at everything I do with a critical eye.  There are probably many reasons for it, but this is a supposedly light-hearted blog, not a terrifying journey into the inner-workings of my tortured mind, so we'll leave those reasons to one side, for now.

The thing is, I like to think that by being very self-aware, I'm always honest with myself.  In truth, I'm not, really.  Sometimes, I tell myself I don't care about something, when the reality is, I care so much about it that it keeps me awake at night.  Or, I'll tell myself I'm fine, when I'm anything but.  It's not just me, either; we all do it, to varying degrees.

The fact of the matter is that if we can't be honest with ourselves, then we're never going to be truly honest with anyone else.  And that sucks.  So, even if it means feeling a bit of pain, or making ourselves vulnerable, we ought to accept our feelings and own up to them, if only to ourselves.  Plus, once we start admitting "okay, I feel a bit angry or upset about this, even though I've said I'm fine," we inevitably start finding solutions to problems.  Just by admitting that we feel a certain way, we start to understand ourselves better and the path we're on gets that bit clearer.

Also, once you're honest with yourself about the way you feel about people or situations, it becomes ever so slightly easier to be honest with those around you, too.  Telling others how you're really feeling doesn't have to be some big, touchy-feely deal (unless you want it to be; I mean, whatever works for you...), but it can definitely lighten the load.

5. And speaking of "lightening" things... "I WILL NOT USE MY PHONE WHEN I'M SUPPOSED TO BE ASLEEP."

No make up selfie.  Only two years too late.

Seriously, though.  It hurts my eyes.  Why do I do it?!  What Earth-shattering thing is going to be happening on Twitter that I simply cannot miss?!  WHY MUST I CONTINUALLY CHECK FACEBOOK MESSAGES THAT HAVE BEEN DELIVERED BUT NOT SEEN?!

I am in a very serious, deeply committed relationship with my bed.  Sleep is my "other half."  Why I feel the need to then whip out my phone, squint in the darkness and scroll through endless mundane rubbish, when I could be blissfully zonked out beneath the duvet, is anyone's guess.  But as from now, unless you're a friend in serious trouble, if you message me when I'm in bed with the lights out, you're not getting a reply until the morning.  Twitter, Facebook and the like can wait.  My beauty sleep, as evidenced by the panda-circles around my eyes, simply cannot.

If there is such a thing as puppy-broodiness, I now have it.

So, there we are.  My mantras for 2016.  I won't always stick to them as rigidly as I probably should and I'm bound to think of a few more as the year goes on, but I reckon if I try to live by them as much as I can, I'm giving myself the best chance of a bloody good year.  Here's hoping.

20 Wishes For 2016

So, I think I blinked or something and suddenly 2016 is going to be here in less than three weeks' time.  I'm pretty sure last time I checked my calendar, it was still May, or something.  Maybe that's why I keep missing appointments...

...Anyway, it's that time of year when bloggers tend to review the past twelve months.  Me, I like to hone my position as the black sheep of the Internet family, so instead, I've decided to come up with 20 wishes for 2016.

Who knows, some of the things on this list may actually come to fruition in 2016.  Stranger things have happened...

1. World Peace

Because duh.  It makes sense to get the big one out of the way first.  We all want a nice world, free from fighting, right?!

2. Health & happiness for all my family and friends.

Again, because duh.  I'm pretty sure that's a fairly universal wish.

3. To sell lots of copies of my books.

I write books.  My latest is a children's book, called Seven Days With The Cherry Tree Gang.  If you buy it, you never know, you might be contributing to the day when I finally stop being a woman in her 30s, still living with her parents...  

Seriously though, I'm so passionate about writing and I genuinely think this latest book is the best I've written.  I promise if you check it out, I won't shamelessly self-promote anything else in this blog. 

I have an author page and everything!

4. For the guy I still have a ridiculously huge crush on to actually reciprocate (or to just, you know, not be terminally single).
You know, I'm pretty nice, really.  I can cook, I'm kind and funny (or at least, funny looking) and I know the offside rule.  Frankly, a bloke could do a lot worse.  Sure, I'm cool with being single - I'm never going to be one of those women who can't seem to cope without a man on her arm - but it would be quite nice to have someone special in my life, again.

5. For someone to invent a cure for cancer.
Imagine a world in which a diagnosis of cancer wasn't a scary thing, anymore.  A world in which a doctor just had to give you antibiotics for it, or something.  I want to live in that world.

6. To develop the ability to eat whatever I want, whenever I want and for the weight to only go to my boobs.
Okay, so I'd end up making Katie Price look flat-chested, but it's a small price to pay.  Mmmm.  Food.

7. To somehow invent time travel.
I mean, come on.  How cool would that be?!

8. To own a Shetland pony, like the one in the Amazon advert.
Because seriously, LOOK AT IT:

9. To become some kind of tester for Irregular Choice shoes.  
I'll write blogs reviewing them or something and in return, I will have the greatest collection of footwear EVER.

10. For someone to finally invent "meat" that can be grown in a lab (cheaply and quickly), which tastes exactly the same as real meat, but which doesn't have to be obtained by killing anything.  
I love meat (and yes, I am now giggling at how dirty that sounds) and I also love animals.  It's possible, guys. I support ethical farming practices, but I genuinely do wish we could have meat without any animals having to die.  If we can grow fully functioning human organs in a lab, how come we can't "make" a steak?!  Sort it out, science.

11. For someone else to invent a product called "Cellulite Bang!" to use on your thighs.
"Bang!  And the cellulite is gone!"

12. For all horrible "isms" to disappear off the face of the Earth.
Racism, sexism, homophobia-ism...  Oh, you know what I mean.

13. To become the Doctor's next companion.
Me.  In the TARDIS.  With the Doctor.  Hell, yes.

Make this happen, BBC.

14. For every copy of Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker, Fifty Shades Freed and Grey to spontaneously combust, never to be reprinted.  Ever.

I think we all know that this is for the good of humanity.  And if EL James could show some kind of remorse for peddling a stalking, coercing, manipulating, threatening, controlling bastard as a romantic hero as well, that would be just dandy.

15. To form a band.  Or join a choir.  

Basically, what I'm saying is, I'm a frustrated diva who needs a stage to sing on.

16. For TV to stop making people famous for doing nothing.  

I'm looking at you, producers of TOWIE, Geordie Shore, Made In Chelsea and so on.

17. Actually, for a lot of reality TV shows to finally die the death they've been crawling towards for years.

Does anyone give even the slightest shit about The X Factor, anymore?  And if so... WHY?!

18. For all humans to suddenly be able to use basic grammar, so my brain won't have to explode, anymore.

"Should of" doesn't mean anything, people.  It's "should HAVE."  Don't make me hate you.

19. To visit DisneyLand in Paris with my bestie.

It's planned, so bring it on.  I need to meet Olaf.

20. To just be happy.

At the end of the day, life is short.  We make of it what we can.  So let's make 2016 a good one, eh?!

Cooler Than The Red Dress - How a Trigger Helped Me Move On

In November 2009, I bought a dress.  It was a red, silk bandage dress and it was a bargain at just £29.99.  I bought it with the intention of making it that year's "Christmas Day Dress" (I always like to wear something nice on Christmas Day) and as soon as I got home, despite it having been raining the entire time I was out and my hair therefore resembling something from an 80s power ballad video, I took a few photos and put them up on Facebook.  

Seriously, the hair...

So, why am I harping on about this, six years later?  Well, Facebook has a feature called "On This Day."  For any given day, you can check and find out what you were up to in years gone by.  It's become something of a habit of mine to check this feature first thing in the morning and on the whole, I quite like it.  Sometimes, I see something funny and it makes me smile.  Sometimes, it brings back bittersweet memories.  But every now and then, I see something that I didn't want to be reminded of at all.

Yesterday, when I checked the "On This Day" feature, I saw the photos of me in my red dress.  I actually thought to myself: "Blimey, I haven't worn that for years.  I wonder if it even fits, anymore?!"  I then thought absolutely nothing more of it and got on with my day.

Today, when I checked the feature, I saw a public comment on my Facebook wall, written six years ago, by a man who, back then, I hadn't actually met.  It said simply: "I added you as a friend just so I could click the "like" button on your red dress album. :)"  Seems harmless enough, right?  Just a bloke I'd spoken to via a mutual friend's status updates, who'd cheekily added me as a friend himself, after seeing some photos he liked.  I took it as a compliment.  I thought he was gorgeous and I was pretty chuffed that he liked a few pictures of me, especially since all I could notice when I looked at them was the state of my windswept hair.  He jokingly added that he wasn't a stalker, honest.  I joked back that "it's not stalking, it's selective walking," thanked him for the compliment and deliberately put a kiss at the end of the message, because did I mention I thought he was gorgeous?!  We took the conversation to private messages and did some harmless flirting.

If it had ended there, seeing that perfectly innocent-seeming comment in my "memories for today" would have had no effect on me, whatsoever.  The trouble is, it didn't.  That "gorgeous" man whose cheeky message flattered me and made me laugh became, over the course of the next two years, the man who emotionally, psychologically and sexually abused me.  He's someone who, for very obvious reasons, is supposed to be blocked on Facebook.  Why he wasn't is beyond me (he is now), but I found simply being able to see his profile picture and his cover photo shockingly triggering, even though he looks different now to the way he looked six years ago.

People talk about being "triggered" online a fair bit, these days.  We put "trigger warnings" on posts about sensitive subjects and many of us - myself included - talk quite openly about what our "triggers" are.  But only if you've ever been triggered can you possibly know what it feels like.

I saw his photo and, when I hovered over his name (wondering why the hell it was clickable when he was supposed to be blocked), I saw his cover picture, too.  And instantly, I had to cup a hand to my mouth, as though I was about to be violently sick.  My breath started to come in short, shallow bursts.  I felt too hot and too cold at the same time.  My hands began shaking, until they shook so violently that my whole body joined in.  And that reaction happened years after the abuse did.  That reaction happened well after I've put my life back together and moved on from what he did to me.  That reaction had nothing to do with not being over it, or needing further counselling or anything like that.  It's just what my closest friends refer to as my "abuse hangover."  

In the four years since I left my abuser, I've actually walked past him in the street.  And bizarrely, it didn't trigger me in the same way that seeing that he was suddenly unblocked on Facebook did.  I think it's possibly because I've had a bit of a low week this week and Facebook has something of a part to play in that, so seeing him there was the cherry on the lousy cake.

The thing is, in true Carrie Bradshaw-esque style, once I'd stopped the shaking and the nausea and the general feeling of "ARGH!", I started thinking more and more about that red dress.

I suddenly realised that there's a subconscious reason I have barely worn that dress in the four years since I left my abuser.  And it's purely because it was that dress that brought him into my world - or at least, onto my Facebook friends list - in the first place.  I suppose, in a totally stupid way, I blamed it.  I associated it so much with him, that it became ugly; the very last thing I would want to wear.

It's no coincidence that, in the semi-autobiographical novel I'm in the process of preparing for publication, the character loosely based on me wears a red, silk bandage dress on the night she first meets a mysterious, dark-eyed stranger, who becomes her psychological tormentor for the rest of the book.  And yet, I never realised that when I was writing it.  I didn't think anything of it at all.  I just thought "I like red, so she can wear a red dress."  But somewhere, deep down in my brain, a voice was obviously trying to make a point.

It's weird when you realise stuff like this.  It's strange to suddenly understand why there's an item of clothing in your wardrobe that you feel you can't wear.  But it's a wonderful moment when you realise that you can and you bloody well will.  What happened to me came so close to breaking me.  But I stuck all those pieces back together again - with a little help - and I got stronger.  Stronger than I ever thought I was capable of being.

I met my abuser on New Year's Eve.  For the first two years after I walked away, New Year's Eve wasn't a nice night for me.  It brought back too many memories and made me think about stuff I had worked really hard to push out of my mind.

Then, in 2013, my friend Lizzie and I went away together for New Year.  We spent it at Butlin's, having fun and getting a bit drunk and dancing, singing and doing all the things you're supposed to do at New Year (minus kissing anyone at midnight, but you can't have everything...).  Ever since, I actually look forward to the date.  We have our routine of going there now and it's fun.  Getting to the point where I could enjoy New Year's Eve again was a big deal for me and it was a way of realising that I was over what happened and ready to move on.

This year, I'll be doing the same thing.  I'll be having fun, with one of my dearest friends and I will be wearing a smile.  

And I'll also be wearing a red, silk bandage dress.  Because, sometimes a trigger is more of a call to action.  It makes you realise that the bad things are in the past, however painful it is to remember them.  It forces you to realise how far you've come, even if it feels like a tiny thing can open up old wounds.  Seeing that supposedly harmless memory wasn't harmless for me, at all.  But I refuse to let the past spoil the present or the future.

I will be wearing that dress on New Year's Eve.  To make a point to myself.  To create new memories to replace the old.

Because I can.

And so it's 2015...

A photo taken at midnight on New Year's Eve.  I think you'll agree, it's a masterpiece.

Greetings!  It's only been three weeks since I last blogged, but we're now officially a week into the new year.  Speaking of which, I think I might make a belated resolution never to use the word "greetings" at the start of a blog entry again...

Well, it's that time of year when we all start looking back over the year just gone and then forward to the year just beginning.  Or rather, it would have been that time of year, had I written this at some time between December 29th - January 3rd, like I planned to.  To be honest, we've kind of gone past that time of year, but hey, who cares?!  In 2015, I'm a rebel who writes new year posts a week later than planned!

Ahem.  Anyway, I did make a resolution or two this year.  One was, as always, to stop biting my nails.  Progress was made in that area, until two nails broke this week and I ended up gnawing the rest of them down to the same length, like the five-foot gerbil I apparently am.  The other, more important one, was to finish editing the novel I wrote last year and do my best to get it published.  Frankly, even if I end up posting it chapter by chapter here, I want it out there, so to speak.  That said, nothing quite beats the feeling of holding an actual book in your hand and thinking: "I wrote this!"

Remember when I was a published author AND still had naturally curly hair?!  CRAZY TIMES.

So, what was good about 2014?

Well, I measure my years by the memories I made (and yes, that's a statement so utterly saccharine, I suggest you all brush your teeth after reading it) and although 2014 had its ups and downs in places, there were some fantastic memories made.  So forgive me if I get all nostalgic for a moment...

January:

Seconds after this was taken, I fell on my arse.  True story.

I started the year with a discovery:  Fake ice is horrible to skate on.  Real ice is lovely; you glide smoothly across it and you feel all Wintery.  I have never, ever fallen over when skating on real ice.  Fake ice?  Feels like you're skating on a chopping board.  I adore ice skating, but I think I'll stick to the real stuff in future!

In January, I also went to see Matt Smith in American Psycho The Musical (which I reviewed here).  I hung around afterwards, because DUH, Matt Smith, but I didn't meet him.  However, he did wave at me, so clearly he was secretly in love with me...

I also announced that my resolution for 2014 was to finish the novel I had begun the previous year and to get it published.  Bit of a big stretch for one year.  I finished it, though.  Just have to edit it down, now...

February:

In February, we established that you're never too old to pose in a ride meant for children.

In February, Lizzie and I went to Butlin's.  Get used to the "Lizzie and I went to Butlin's" part of that sentence, because it's going to crop up a lot in this little 2014 review...  We get asked now and then why we go during family breaks and not to the adult weekends.  The reason is twofold:

1. We've heard some major horror stories about the adult weekends that nearly turned my hair back to being curly.  Lizzie and I have both had bad experiences when it comes to being hassled in a very negative way by blokes who haven't quite understood the word "no," so we avoid that by going during a time when most people are there with their kids.  It's not that we hate being chatted up or we're not looking to meet a nice guy (we are!), it's just... Well, like I said: HORROR STORIES.  We're also a pair of big children, who actually enjoy watching Scooby Doo Live.  Me more than Lizzie...  Oh and there wouldn't be party dances on an adult weekend, would there?!  WHAT IS BUTLIN'S WITHOUT THOSE?!

2. We've never agreed on a weekend we'd both equally enjoy.  That said, there's an adult weekend on my birthday this year and I quite fancy it...

Also in February, Lydia booked tickets for she and I to go to an open air concert on Weston-Super-Mare beach.  5ive and The Backstreet Boys were going to be there, which was our reason for going.  McBusted were headlining, but we weren't quite so fussed about them...

March:

March was the month of sticking your head against someone else's.

My parents celebrated their 33rd wedding anniversary in March.  I say "celebrated" but actually... I'm not sure we marked it in any way, whatsoever.  Still...

In March, Kirstie and I travelled to Cardiff to see "our boys," the Manic Street Preachers.  If I remember rightly it was my twelfth time of seeing them live and still just as exciting as the first.  And since our gig outfits always look fabulous, darling, here's a photo:

April:

Mum and I on a rollercoaster.  Because life is one, according to Ronan Keating.  Or something.

Mum and I had a mother-daughter day out to Crealy in April.  Seeing as I've now not been to Alton Towers in well over a year and am craving a rollercoaster, this little trip may need repeating.  We had a lovely day and I laughed way too much when we got utterly soaked on the log flume.

Also in April, I had my fourth tattoo.  A quote from Doctor Who, with a shooting star above it, inked on my foot.  I bloody LOVE it.

What I don't love is my curled toes.  I swear, I have normal feet.  Honest.

The most important thing that happened in April was that I finished my novel.  Sure, it was something crazy like 12,000 words over limit, but it was FINISHED.  Quite an achievement, even if I do say so myself.

May:

In May, I was badly dressed and Kirstie & Lizzie looked like they should be in a band.

My younger sister turned 28 in May, which made me feel really old was lovely.  

My friends and I had a fabulous girly day out, during which we went toboganning and I almost had an asthma attack from laughing at Kirstie choosing to go so slowly that she was practically indicating round bends.  I love that girl.

Rusty, the labradoodle who I joke my mum loves more than me (which I would practically approve of, because he's awesome) turned 2 in May.  Aw.

Check out that beard.

Lizzie and I also went back to Butlin's, because OF COURSE WE DID.

Weeeeeee!

June:

And again: Weeee!

In June, I did something I'd never done before.  I tried water-skiing.  I blogged about it, but the link isn't to hand, so... You know, search for it or something.  Or not.  It was amazing fun, even though I only managed to stand up for something like 4 seconds at a time.  The big downer of the day?  My mum nearly drowned.  Yeeaah, she fell off a jetty into the sea.  And she can't swim.  And I screamed and froze to the spot like a useless idiot.  She was pulled from the water by a workmate and a guy who never gave his name (I think it may have been Batman), much to my shrieking relief.  She has vowed never to go near water again.  Except the shower, because she'd stink otherwise.

Also in June, Lydia and I went to that gig I mentioned in Weston-Super-Mare.  The Backstreet Boys cancelled... And McBusted became our mutual OBSESSION.  They were so good.  Like... SO BLOODY GOOD.  Considering they were the band we weren't that fussed about seeing, we drove back to our hotel afterwards and could talk about literally nothing besides how brilliant they were.  Shortly afterwards, James Bourne replaced Matt Smith as my number one crush and I totally blame him for the fact that I'm so into blonde guys now...  Lydia and I have OMFG tickets to McBusted's 2015 tour and to say I'm excited is the understatement of the century.  Every time I think about it, I want to pee.

So I'll say again: WEEEE!

July:

Lizzie and I went to... SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN BUTLIN'S.

July was the month in which London held its annual Film & Comic Con.  I went dressed as a TARDIS.  Lizzie went dressed as a character from Skyrim and basically outdid me on every level with her awesomeness.  I met Jenna Coleman and Paul McGann and was a massive fangirl about it.

Paul McGann is just one of the nicest celebrities I've met.  He took the time to shake everyone's hand and ask their name.  And he told me he would happily "wield" my sonic screwdriver.  Which he then held upside down, but hey, a lot has changed since 1996...

I had forgotten how deep a shade of red my hair was in July, too.  Not that I dye my hair or anything.  It changes colour by itself.  By MAGIC.

August:

My amazing mum turned 62 in August.  She rocks.

After being engaged for a thousand years(!), my gorgeous friend Kirstie got married in August.  We had a hen do, during which we randomly attempted balloon modelling (badly) and Lydia and I wrote "Kirstie" on our chests and practically wet ourselves laughing.  It was an awesome night, spent with the best friends a girl could ask for:

Lydia had ballon-skillz.

August also saw Lizzie and I go to... Can you guess?!  Yeeeeaaaah, we went back to Butlin's.  Why?  Because that is WHAT LIZZIE AND I DO.  It was another awesome trip, filled with laughter and silliness.  We met two new redcoats.  Oh and we met Gareth Gates.  As you do.

It could happen to ANY one of us.

August wasn't all fun and games, though.  That was the month when the world lost one of the sharpest comic minds and one of the most cherished actors of a generation.  I grew up watching Robin Williams' films.  He was a legend in my eyes and always will be.  His death - in such tragic circumstances - affected me more than almost any other celebrity's ever has.  If there's a Heaven, I bet he has them all in stitches up there.

September:

My dad turned 57 in September.  September babies are the bestest babies.

I also had a birthday in September.  I turned (whisper it) 32.  My friends and I celebrated this with a trip to a private karaoke booth, so I could unleash the frustrated diva within me.  It was so good, we've been back again since and are talking of making it a semi-regular thing.  You've gotta love a sing-song.

A week later, I went to Adrenaline Quarry with my mum and some workmates, where I went on a massive swing over said quarry and then jumped off a cliff.  Just your typical Sunday...

I'm the one on the right in both pictures.  The one screaming her FACE off in the top one.

In an unfortunate event, I accidentally saw a photo of my abusive ex in September.  It wasn't fun to have those memories come flooding back, but on the plus side, my gut reaction was: "He looks like a gnome."  Progress is progress, guys.

October:

In October, Lizzie developed a taste for human blood.

October saw my mum retire from work.  The kids still ask how she is and what she's up to, even three months later!

Lizzie and I went back to Butlin's and dressed up for Halloween a day early, because we like to be ahead of trends.

November:

November was the month I turned into a man.

Lydia and I channelled Dougie Poynter and James Bourne in November.  We did a bit of posing and leaping about and, to our delight, made it into the fan video for McBusted's debut single, Air Guitar.  

My workmates and I also went out in November, to celebrate mum's retirement with a scrumptious dinner.

Mum and I went 1950s style.  Rock and roooooll.

Oh and I went to work dressed as Superman for Children in Need.  Like you do.

December:

In the Navy... You can sail the seven seas...

Kirstie and I went to London in December, where we saw the Manics for the second time in 2014.  Only this time, it was particularly special; the band were playing their acclaimed 1994 album, The Holy Bible in full (as well as performing a greatest hits set).  The night was one I'll never forget (I blogged about it here) and I'm rather sad not to be going to another Holy Bible gig this May/June.  Love my boys...

Christmas was upon us before we knew it and I had a lovely time with my family.  I'm lucky to have these guys in my life and I was thoroughly spoilt this year!

Family portraits.  We're doing them right.

After Christmas it was New Year (and the award for stating the obvious goes to.... ME!) and Lizzie and I ended 2014 in the same place we started it... BUTLIN'S,  Well, duh.

I see a camera and the rock horn just sort of... HAPPENS.

And so that was that.  Another year done and dusted. 

So what of 2015?  Well, so far, I've got a few plans lined up:  Butlin's in February (of course), McBusted and Derren Brown in April and no doubt plenty more besides.  I've cut another chunk of words from my novel and this will be the year it sees the light of day, fingers and toes crossed.  

Above all, here's hoping 2015 is happy and healthy.  I spent half of 2014 with acute sinusitis and you know... If I'm going to have a cute anything, I'd rather it was my bum.  Best of luck to all of you with any plans you have for this year and I hope 2015 is awesome for us all.  I'll be here with my endless wittering on, of course.  The year may change, but some things never do...