Feminism - Why The Likes of Kelly Clarkson and Little Mix are Wrong.

I am a feminist.  I have never burned my bra.

I consider myself to be a feminist.  I'm a woman (at least I was last time I checked) and I believe in equality between the sexes.  I believe that women should never be reduced to simply their looks or sex appeal (as though that is their only worth) and I don't feel we should force our children to conform to gender stereotypes if they do not wish to.  To me, feminism is about freedom and respect.  It's a desire for women to be free to dress as they choose, work in whatever job they choose, love whomever they choose and live their lives in the manner they so wish.  It's about wanting women to be treated as equals not only when compared to men, but when compared to each other, regardless of sexuality, ability, looks, race or religion.  It's about wanting women to be safe.  It's about seeing men and women as equally important, equally worthy and equally deserving of opportunities and respect.  In fact, you can boil it down to one word, really.  Equality.  That's what feminism means to me.

I'll tell you what it's not about, as far as I'm concerned.  It's not about hating all men.  It's not about wanting women to be seen as superior.  It's not about reading a misogynistic slight into every criticism of a woman (because sometimes, criticism is justified).  

I also don't conform to any of the outdated stereotypes that are generally thrown at feminists.  I shave my legs.  I wear make up.  I like pink.  And even more shockingly, I like men.

I like some men more than others, admittedly.

The idea that all feminists are man-hating, hairy-legged hippies is massively outdated and frankly offensive.  In this day and age, you wouldn't get away with tarring many groups with the same, distinctly negative brush; so why is it okay to do it to feminists?

Unfortunately, one of the reasons is that the media frequently likes to wheel out the "ALL FEMINISTS HATE MEN" argument and every now and then, they find a willing celebrity to sit upon that rickety old chariot and say something utterly stupid to give said argument an undeserved air of credibility.

And that's why we get the likes of Perrie from Little Mix, loudly declaring: "I wouldn't say we're feminists.  We don't hate our men."  Or Kelly Clarkson telling us: "When people hear 'feminist,' it's like 'get out of the way, I don't need anyone.'  I love that I'm being taken care of."  Oh Kelly.  You know what, sweetie?  You can have a man who takes care of you and STILL be a feminist.  But hey, thanks for perpetuating an unhelpful myth!  

And there are more examples - many, many more.  From Taylor Swift referring to feminism as "guys versus girls," to Lady Gaga informing the world that she's "not a feminist...I love men.  I celebrate American male culture and beers and bars and muscle cars."  

Because, in case you're wondering, being a feminist means you must never drink beer, or go to a bar, or like anything manly, such as cars.  In which case, feminism must be about to kick me out on my backside, seeing as I quite like beer.  Oh and bars.  Oh and I went to see Top Gear being filmed once and met all three presenters.  I SIMPLY CANNOT BE A FEMINIST, BECAUSE I DO NOT HATE MEN OR STEREOTYPICALLY "MANLY" THINGS.

I hope you ladies are proud.

In a way, I want to laugh when I read quotes like those previously mentioned.  I want to shake my head in amusement at how utterly wrong those women have got it.  Because I know that feminism isn't about hating men, or wanting to be alone, or distancing oneself from anything that might be considered un-girly.  The problem is, there is a really serious point made by feminism and it's one that gets completely overlooked every time a stupid statement about man-hating gets plastered across the tabloids.  Feminism is about wanting equal respect.  And in truth, I don't believe we have that yet.

Sure, women can be doctors, lawyers, headteachers...  But this month, it was revealed that there is still a national pay gap of 15% between men and women.  Men still earn more than women do, in spite of women doing the same jobs as them.  George Osborne suggested that by 2015, he'd like to see women making up 25% of all boardroom seats.  That's not something we've achieved yet.  And even if we reach that, it'll still mean that women are vastly outnumbered by men.  That doesn't sound very "equal" to me.  

And that's just the UK.  There are still countries in the world where women are very much second class citizens, when compared to men.  In Saudi Arabia, females make up just 17% of the national workforce.  Under the Taliban, women in Afghanistan were prohibited from leaving the house without a male chaperone and any woman found committing adultery could be stoned to death.  Although the Taliban have long since been ousted, Afghanistan was still named in 2011 as "the most dangerous country to be a woman."

Whilst we're much more fortunate in Britain, there is still a sense of inequality that creeps into everyday life.  You only have to take a look at the @EverydaySexism account on Twitter, to see how much women put up with on a day-to-day basis - things that men just don't experience.  We're talking about cat-calling, the sexualisation of young girls walking home from school, inappropriate and unwelcome physical contact...  The list goes on and it is not okay.

It's not okay for a girl in her early teens, wearing her school uniform, to have adult men ask her for sex, then yell "SLUT" at her when she says no.  It's not okay that I was once pushed against the wall of a nightclub by a man much bigger than me, who proceeded to shove his hand up my dress and tell me I was "asking for it," whilst a male bouncer stood by and laughed.  

When I say that women deserve equal respect, I mean it.  And incidents like those described above show a distinct lack of respect for women and girls.

I'm not saying for a second that all men commit vile acts like those discussed.  All the men I know would be appalled to hear stories such as those mentioned here.  The men who behave so horribly shame their sex.  It's also worth mentioning that women are just as capable of behaving in a sexist manner towards men.  But the prevalence of male harassment of women is of deep concern to me.  If it wasn't so common, we wouldn't need campaigns such as Everyday Sexism and if women had achieved genuine equality, it surely wouldn't be happening at all.

I've blogged about No More Page 3's campaign to take the topless girls out of The Sun before, so I won't go too far into it again; suffice to say I agree with Lucy Anne Holmes' affirmation that boobs are not news.  There's an argument to be had for women making the choice to model with or without clothes and of course, what a woman does is entirely up to her.  But by featuring a topless girl on page 3 of the UK's biggest selling newspaper every day, are we not simply reducing a woman to something to be ogled over?  What other reason is there for it?  Although the "news in briefs" piece was scrapped earlier this year (the quote on the news story of the day, placed beside the model's topless photo -using words that obviously didn't come from the model herself- as a sneering, mocking assumption by editorial staff that women couldn't be sexy and clever), we still have women being presented for the enjoyment of men, plonked incongruously amongst the headlines.  Where is the male alternative?  Where is the daily photograph of a man without his pants on?  There isn't one.  There never has been and there never will be.  it's okay to reduce women to a comically large pair of tits every day, but best not offend the blokes by suggesting they're just walking willies, eh.

My point - and I realise I've deviated a little - is that feminism will continue to be necessary as long as there is the slightest little bit of inequality between the sexes, be that here in the UK or anywhere in the world.  If women are seen as sex objects and little else, we need feminism to counter that.  If there are countries were women are genuinely seen and treated as second class citizens, then we need feminism to point out how utterly wrong that is.  And every time a celebrity opens his or her mouth and loudly declares feminism to be about man-hating, it makes it harder for us to get our very important message across.

Feminism isn't about hating men.  It isn't about wanting to be better than men, either.  It's about wanting to be equal.  And equality in turn, is about humanity.  All people deserve to have the same rights, the same respect and the same opportunities, regardless of their background, race or sexuality.  And regardless of their gender.

So, Perrie from Little Mix (and your similarly-minded celebrity friends), when you say you're not a feminist because you don't hate men, I have only this to say in response:  

I am a feminist because I don't hate men.  I don't judge people based on their gender and I don't actually know anyone who does, because I simply wouldn't associate with someone like that.  So next time you're asked about whether or not you're a feminist, ask yourself what that question even means before you answer it.  Because if you believe that everyone, regardless of whether they're male or female, should be treated equally, then I hate to break this to you, but you are a feminist.  Stop setting us back decades with silly, untrue statements and wear that badge with pride.

Why Some Acronym's DMC (drive me crazy!).

Aah, acronyms.  Helpful, fun abbreviations of common phrases.  Or at least that's what a lot of people consider them to be.  Having talked about embracing my weirdness in my last blog, I think we can confidently state that I am not like a lot of people.

I have issues when it comes to acronyms.  Specifically those used online.  In fact, even more specifically, the ones used when something is funny.  You know the ones:

• LOL
• PMSL
• LMFAO
• And so on.... (ASO?)

My issue - and I realise I'm being massively anal about this - is that they're simply not true.

I mean, really.  Did you really laugh so hard that your arse fell off?  Was whatever you saw or read online so utterly hilarious that your buttocks removed themselves from the rest of your body, such was the ferocity of your ensuing mirth?!  I'm going to go out on a limb and say no.

Equally, when you type "PMSL" in response to something online, have you ACTUALLY urinated in your underwear?  

Even when you write "LOL," are you seriously laughing out loud?

And don't get me started on people who say "LOL" in actual conversation.  If you're doing so with a bucket load of irony, then fair enough, but if you say "LOL" as a genuine, serious response to something in conversation, please rest assured there is a special place in Hell for you.  

So, in the interest of fairness, I've come up with some more truthful acronyms for you to use in your everyday online life.

• LABTS: Laughed A Bit Then Stopped.
• CQTM: Chuckled Quietly To Myself.
• SAB: Smiled A Bit.
• DEL-WIFAT?: Didn't Even Laugh - What Is Funny About This?

I'm sure you'll agree, these are bound to catch on.  You are MOST welcome.  LOL.

Embrace Your Weirdness!

I have something to tell you.  You're weird.

Wait, wait, let me finish...

You're weird and it's great.  I'm weird, too!  If you're sitting there, reading this and thinking: "What the hell does she know?  I'm not weird in the slightest!" then I'm afraid I'll have to break this to you as gently as I can:  Yes you ARE.  We ALL are.

I ride little wooden animals.  Of COURSE I'm weird.

I was musing over this subject earlier this afternoon, after briefly debating the use of the word "normal" to describe anyone.  The fact is, the only standard of "normality" we have to go on is the one that society (and by that, I mean the media, to be honest) has given us.  Do you dress a certain way?  Do you go to work?  Can you tie your own shoe laces?  What bothers me about the word "normal" is that it's used as something of a one-size-fits-all word and frankly, well...  It doesn't fit, does it?  

There's a serious debate to be had about the word "normal" and whether we should lessen our usage of it to describe people.  In certain contexts it's fine (he had a "normal" heartbeat, for example), but in the way we live our day-to-day lives, who's to say exactly what normal even means?  

People are, by their very nature, both intrinsically the same and powerfully unique.  We all need food and water to survive.  We almost all feel human emotions, such as love, anger, sadness and desire.  But we're also all shaped by our environments, our family situations, our beliefs and a whole multitude of other things besides.  That means that whilst humans are instantly recognisable as such, what makes us us differs wildly from person to person.  How can we ever find such a thing as a human to hold up as an example of "normal" to judge others by?  More importantly, why would we even want to?  Whilst the similarities we have can bring us closer together, it's our differences that often spark interest and debate.  It's by talking to someone from a totally different background that we learn new things and challenge our own views.  If everyone was exactly the same, the whole world would be populated by nothing more than a very, very long chain of those paper dolls we used to make in school.

Oooh.  I feel so special and unique...

And then, because this is me we're talking about, whilst thinking about this quite serious subject, my mind went off on a wild tangent and I wondered how many people I'd need to form a flashmob and what song we should sing in order to impress someone.  And I realised that that's because I'm weird.  We all are.  Because if there's no such thing as "normal" (and I don't necessarily believe that there is), then the alternative must be that we're all just a little bit strange.  At least, we must all have the potential to seem that way to others.

The thing is, we should be embracing that weirdness.  Because all of those funny little habits we have, or those phrases we use that seem to have been made up out of thin air, are exactly what makes us us.  When we factor in our likes and dislikes, our hopes and dreams and our silly little ways, we're adding colour to those paper dolls.  We're making ourselves individual and that can only be a good thing.

All too often, we explain away some of our odder hobbies or quirks in a self-mocking tone, as though we're ashamed or embarrassed by them.  But why should we be?  A person is a wonderful mess of influences and opinions, mashed together inside a body that's all too often longing to be changed in order to fit an unrealistic idea of beauty.  Whatever makes you different, whatever it is that makes you stand out, that's something to be proud of.  Worn like a badge of honour.  Do we want to be blank paper dolls, or do we want to put colour and patterns out into the world?  Yes, there'll always be people who don't like the particular colours or patterns we put on display.  And that's okay, too.  Because you're not displaying yourself for them.  You're doing it for yourself.

I've reached a point where I'm not that fussed whether people think I'm odd anymore.  I know I sometimes say or do strange things.  My point blank refusal to walk past an "hilarious" photo opportunity is testimony to that fact.

I believe I've made my point...

And a fondness for stupid photos is just one of my odd quirks.  There's also the fact that I can't drink a drink if it has "bits that aren't supposed to be there" in it.  Or my secret wish to live in a musical, in which everyone bursts into song at random and somehow everyone knows all the words and the dance moves.  There's the fact that I can never resist an opportunity for fancy dress, plus my weird desire to have someone magically "find" a coin behind my ear.  There's my habit of reading children's stories at work in various regional accents "just for fun" and my penchant for "YouTube karaoke."  There's a hundred other things about me that some people would just find strange, too.  And I'd probably find a few things weird about them, as well.  Because we're all unique.  We all paint our paper dolls in our own colours.  There is no "normal."  

So embrace your weirdness.  Don't ever try to conform to something that doesn't really exist.  You're you.  You're strange.  And if you won't take my word for it, listen to Dr Seuss:

"We are all a little weird

And life is a little weird

And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours,

We join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."

"I've noticed you around... Um..."

Essentially, the subtext of this blog is: I NEED SOMEONE TO TAKE ME OUT FOR A DRINK, PLEASE.

Last night, I found myself having a conversation about crushes.  Not the "squeeze someone until they can't breathe" sort of crush, but the "OH MY GOD, I WANT TO SQUEEZE HIM" variety.

And yes, before we go any further, let's face the facts: I'm 28 (plus three... Okay, so I'm 31.  Ugh).  I am way too old to be all gooey eyed over someone I barely know, right?  WRONG.  You're never too old to have a crush!  To suggest that there's an age limit to getting all excited about seeing someone who makes your knees go wobbly is just ridiculous.  Frankly, if there is, then whatever the cut-off point is, I don't want to get there.  Stick me in a time-manipulating vortex when I get close; I'll stay one year below that age forever.

Anyway, I digress...  The fact is, chatting about crushes made me reminisce over a few of mine.  Bizarrely, my first sort of crush was on Boy George.  Yes, Boy George.  I didn't fancy him, I hasten to point out, what with being about two or three years old at the time.  I just loved him deeply enough to name one of my dolls after him and to sing Karma Chameleon to myself constantly.  My first proper celebrity crush was on Matt from boyband Bad Boys Inc.  Followed swiftly by Richie from Let Loose...

Looking back...  Yeah, I approve of my taste, back then.

And then there comes a point in a tweenager's life, when he or she has their first real-life crush.  I'll be honest, mine was on a boy called Robin, who I went to school with.  I was about 11 and he sat on the same table as me.  Ooh!  It was clearly destiny.  Except it wasn't, because when I discovered that my family and I were moving away, I realised, with shocking clarity, that I hadn't actually had a crush on him at all.  I'd had a sneaky crush on a boy called Martin, who I thought I only saw as a friend.  Only when I was driving away (well, my dad was driving; I was 11, keep up kids...), never to see him again, did my pre-adolescent brain treat me to the truth:  It was him I liked all along. Let me tell you, dear readers, there is nothing more dramatic than an 11 year old girl, sobbing over her own lack of self-awareness, where these things are concerned...

I'll go out on a limb here and say that huge, hormone-fuelled crushes during your teenage years are possibly more of a girl thing than a guy thing.  Ask most women over 20 and they'll be able to reel off a list of popstars, rockstars, actors or - shock, horror! - people they knew in REAL LIFE, who they privately fantasised about, or obsessed over.  It's something of a rite of passage; an awakening of feelings we might not have experienced fully before.  Crushes are confusing, a little bit scary and amazing all at the same time.

Of course, they can be a bit devastating as well.  I remember having a crush on a boy called Matt in the year below me at school.  Looking back on it, he was a bit of an arse, because he'd happily hold my hand and say nice things to me, but when asked one day whether he and I were "going out" (I was about 14 at the time), he laughed, called me ugly and pulled a face that made me concerned that he might be violently sick at the idea.  And that, friends, is the story of why I spent an entire French lesson, scribbling over the lovehearts I'd drawn in my homework diary.  Bastard.  It's also why I largely stuck to having crushes on unattainable popstars...

Yes, I practised signing my name "Emma Brennan."  I was OBVIOUSLY going to marry Lee from 911.

The thing is, I've always been quite shy when it comes to this sort of thing.  Whilst I'll happily dance like an idiot on a night out, or play the role of the chatty, sociable one in my friendship group, or impress virtual strangers with my (awful) jokes, if you put me in front of someone I have a crush on, one of two things will almost certainly happen.

1.  I will develop a severe case of verbal diarrhoea and talk at the poor boy.  This usually involves me saying the most ridiculous thing my brain can possibly conjure up, only to then attempt to dig my way out of whatever silly statement I've made, in a vain attempt to appear "normal."  In almost all cases, I fail miserably.

OR

2.  I will become almost mute.  Any sentences I do manage to form will be punctuated with a dazzling array of "ums," "ers," and "aahs." Hence the title for this blog...  Well, okay, it was inspired by the Touch And Go song, but also the mute thing.

TWO THUMBS UP, EM.  WELL DONE!  HOW ARE YOU SINGLE?! No, that's not my real hair...

So yeah.  I'm really not good at the whole "I like him, therefore I shall ask him out" thing.  In fact, I'm atrocious at it.  I can flirt like nobody's business, but only if I'm either not so besotted with the guy that it may require waterproof mascara should he turn me down, or if I'm fuelled by alcohol or hyperactivity.  Basically, what I'm saying is:  Plonk me at a Manics gig, or send me to Alton Towers to ride on a rollercoaster or three, hand me a glass of wine and then watch me go into THE ZONE.  But under normal circumstances, expecting me to actually speak to another human whose face I like?  ARE YOU CRAZY?!

There is, of course, a serious issue to this whole thing.  I'm not a confident person when it comes to my looks/bodyshape etc.  We live in a society where women are kind of expected to be stick thin, with massive boobs and shiny hair and perfect skin, thanks to the ridiculous images the media happily pump into our brains.  Add to that the fact that my last relationship was abusive and therefore it took a while for me to even want to be with anyone else and you can kind of see why I'm not the type to sidle up to someone attractive and just slip him my number.  At least not without running away, shrieking, which would totally ruin the moment...  "CALL ME!  AAAAAAARGH!"

Crushes are a safe way to feel things that you don't always get to feel when you're single.  As long as you're prepared to accept that nothing may come of them, they're an enjoyable distraction from the world.  There's something genuinely lovely about feeling a bit light-headed because someone you secretly fancy has smiled across the room at you.  It might have meant nothing.  It  might have been wind.  But in your head, it can mean the start of something fabulous.  And that's okay.

Frankly, I think we should embrace our crushes (literally; that would be nice!).  Life can be amazing, but let's face it, it can also be full of things like working when you've got a stinking cold, or having to pay bills you'd forgotten about.  Allowing your world to be brightened, even in a small way, by the secret object of your affections, is quite a nice break from the norm.

And whenever we feel sad, because we'd like a crush to be something more and we're not sure it ever will be, we can at least console ourselves that the version of the person we keep in our heads will never hog the duvet, force us to watch something we don't want to watch on TV, or fart.  Ever.  Everyone's a (slightly lonely, slightly sad) winner...

And just in case my crush is reading this:  "I've noticed you around.  Um...  I find you very attractive... Um..."

Worth a shot. ;-)

F*R*I*E*N*D*S

I'm starting to wonder just how many photos exist of me holding in the giggles...

I'll be brutally honest with you...  I'm writing this blog partly because I've had the theme from Friends going around my head for the last twenty minutes or so and I'm hoping that this process will remove it from my brain.  It's bad enough that I hear the opening line and then feel the need to clap like they do in the song.  I've had it in my head long enough for my dog to keep looking at me like I'm some demented performing seal.  CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP!  

And because I like to share, here is I'll Be There For You (aka the theme from Friends) by The Rembrandts.  And now you can have it in your head, too....

The thing is, once I'd forced myself to sit on my own hands in a desperate effort not to do the claps, I did actually stop and think about the lyrics to the song and how they really do have a lot to say about friendship.  You see, for all the trite quotes you'll find on the subject, it really boils down to one thing: I'll be there for you.

Last year, I fell out with someone I'd been friends with for over half my life.  I put a brave face on it, but truth be told, I was pretty devastated.  I'm obviously not going to go into personal details here, but suffice to say, it became clear that the friendship seemed to be beyond repair, despite my efforts to fix whatever had gone wrong (and I'll be honest and say I'm still not 100% sure how it came to break down so irrevocably).  It ended and I was heartbroken.  In the 16 months since then, I've thought a lot about friendship and what it really means.  

It means wearing tops I gave them no choice about.  Apparently.

See, in both ancient Latin and Greek, the word "friend" is very close to the word "love."  And that's what I think is vital in a friendship.  If you don't love someone, just as they are, in spite (or sometimes even because) of their flaws, then is that person really a friend?  Or are they just an acquaintance?  

When I had that fall out last year, it made me resolve to cherish my friends even more than I already did.  To tell them often just how much they mean to me.  To see the good in them, even when they can't.  To "be there" for them, just like the song says.

I'm not saying I'm a perfect friend.  Far from it!  Oh my goodness, I imagine I'm incredibly irritating at times...When I think of all the things my friends have put up with over the years, I sometimes wonder how I've got any left!  From confidence crashes to unrequited loves, my friends have been there through it all.  Sometimes with a hug.  Sometimes with chocolates.  Quite often with a metaphorical kick up the backside.  Because that's what friendship's about.  It's not just about saying everything will be rosy.  Sometimes, it's about telling you what you need, rather than want to hear.  But it's always about having the other person's best interests at heart.  I know that my closest friends would tell me if I looked awful in a certain dress.  I know they'd give me a damn good talking to if I was being all "woe is me" and putting myself down too much.  But I also know that if I told them my dream was to do a one woman stand up comedy show, they'd be in the front row, desperately trying to laugh even if everything I said was about as hilarious as a slice of slowly moulding cheese.  That's what friendship is; supporting each other and loving one another enough to be honest.  Ish.  

Friendship is also about spinning a boat in order to soak your friend as much as possible.

I've been incredibly lucky.  I've found a group of friends who don't mind me obsessing over the Manics (in fact, one actively encourages it!), making naff jokes, dancing like my Nan, being a sensitive so and so from time to time, or going off on bizarre rants about nothing in particular.  In other words, I've found a group of friends who accept me for me, with all of the little oddities that make me unique, just as I love and accept them for all their funny little ways.  And they prove how much they care in all they say and do.  From Lydia literally picking me up off the pavement after my abusive ex had left me in such an emotional state that I could barely stand (and Kirstie admitting to sleepless nights, worrying about that situation), to Lizzie taking me to Butlin's for my birthday and making me giggle until I ached, they are each worth their weight in gold.

If your friend won't pose in a toilet with you, your friendship is not real!

That, to me, is the essence of friendship.  Being there for one another in good times and bad.  Sharing in-jokes that make you laugh until your tummy hurts.  Knowing that you can be yourself, without judgement.  Feeling supported and encouraged, however crazy your dreams might seem.  Anyone can be a mate.  But it takes someone special to be a friend.

Someone special.  And Lizzie.  MWAHAHAAAA!

So now that I've written about how great my friends are and how empty life would be without friendship, I've finally gotten that theme tune out of my head.  Result!  All that's left is to tell my friends that they are awesome, that I appreciate them more than they could ever know and that I'll always be around for them.

In fact, you could say: "I'll be there for you.  Because you're there for me too."

Oh bugger...

Butlin's By The Sea...

I have always loved magic shows. One of my as-yet unachieved ambitions in life is to have a coin magically "found" behind my ear.  I know; I should probably reassess my life goals.  But I digress...  So when my friend Lizzie discovered that Stephen Mulhern was appearing at Butlin's every weekend over the Summer, it was a question of when we went, not if.

Where was never in doubt.  We live in the South West; Minehead seemed our best option.  And so, on Saturday the 10th August, we found ourselves setting off up the M5 for an entirely new experience.  I'll be honest:  I somehow spent an entire childhood never having been to Butlin's.  Ever.  In fact, I was a Pontins child, but shhhh, don't tell them that.  My point is, I had very little to go on.  I know what holiday camps are like and I'd seen pictures, but basically, I was a blank page, in terms of Butlin's expectations.  So it's quite an achievement for them to have impressed me enormously before we even got there.

Basically, Lizzie and I were troublesome and couldn't get there on a Friday; we could only manage Saturday and Sunday that particular weekend.  Butlin's breaks tend to be for 3, 5 or 7 nights at Minehead, but we were allowed to book for just 2, which made us feel thought of and as though our individual needs were being met right from the start. Not an easy task for a big company!

We were staying in the most basic accommodation, but everything was so clean and comfy that we didn't have reason to envy the guests in the bigger apartments.  We had a welcome pack that let us know everything that would be going on during our stay and gave us helpful numbers to call if we needed anything extra.  We had a wander around some of the other accommodation blocks and were incredibly impressed with the huge variety on offer.  There seemed to be something to suit every budget and every possible other requirement, from traditional chalets and deluxe lodges, to the stunning Blueskies apartments.  You really are spoilt for choice at Minehead!

Given that we arrived with plenty of time to spare before the show we'd actually gone there for, Lizzie and I decided to do the obvious thing - explore!  Well, what can I say?!  I don't think I've ever been anywhere where there has been so much to do, all of the time!  In the space of barely a couple of hours, we went on fairground rides, played on arcade games in the Skyline Pavilion (which has to be seen to be believed), posed for pictures on "the big deckchair," hired a fun bike and actually ended up completely lost, until a very lovely redcoat (whose name I never got, sorry!) pointed us in the right direction...  Thank you!

We even managed to watch a couple of children's shows in the Skyline Pavilion, prior to heading up to Centre Stage.  Even though we were *cough* a few *cough* years older than the little audience members, we were caught up in all the fun and ended up dancing and laughing, having an absolutely brilliant time.  We both agreed that for a family with children, this place would be Heaven for the kids and an ideal break for mum and dad, too!

We ate at one of the many food outlets dotted around the campus.  You can add food to your stay so that everything is paid for up front and I've heard many good things about the delicious meals on offer if you choose to do things that way, but to be honest, there's so much to choose from, you're bound to get something tasty however you go about it.

Having arrived a little early for Stephen's show, we managed to take in some of the Centre Stage atmosphere before it began.  There were games being played, lots of children of all ages on the dance floor and a real buzz about the place.  Credit has to go to redcoat Matt, along with Kyle and Bethan, for ensuring that everyone was kept thoroughly entertained right up until showtime.  In fact,we were enjoying ourselves so much, we almost forgot that there was a showtime.  Put it this way: I lost count of the number of dance routines I learnt and Lizzie and I didn't stop smiling all night long!  The redcoats do a genuinely fantastic job and every one we met was lovely, too.

Stephen's show was just as brilliant as we predicted it would be and we were fortunate enough to meet the man himself afterwards - what a lovely guy!  

We hung around until closing time after the show, enjoying more games, dances and entertainment. There really is something for everyone to enjoy and we both agreed that we were looking forward to our second night, even though we hadn't even finished the first! We checked out the on-site nightclub afterwards - there's definitely plenty of fun on offer for grown-ups as well as kids at Butlin's.  By the time we crawled into bed, we were tired but extremely happy and thoroughly won over!  In fact, we were already planning our return visit...  

On Sunday, we headed to Splash Waterworld, to check out the fun pool and all the slides.  We had a fantastic time, riding the water coaster and being carried along by the river rapids.  The weather stayed sunny for us, so we had a chance to dry off on some more fairground rides, before checking out a few more shows.  I swear, something happens to you at Butlin's and you just forget the real world - before I knew it, I was dancing along with Angelina Ballerina...

By the time we left on Monday, both of us had a serious case of the post-Butlin's blues.  Look at Lizzie; that's a girl who doesn't want to go home!

I think the best way to sum up that first ever experience of Butlin's is to say that it took me completely by surprise.  I expected to like it, but I suppose, if I'm honest, I didn't think I'd love it as much as I did.  Everyone we met was friendly, nothing was too much trouble for anyone; even when Lizzie unfortunately lost her phone, the staff at reception were incredibly sympathetic and helpful.  There's always something to do; a show or a sports event, or a new activity to try.  The scenery is stunning, with the beach literally just across the road...  I'm really trying to pick a fault with Minehead Butlin's and it's just not happening!!  Which is the best indicator of it being a fantastic holiday destination.

In fact, no... The best indicator is the fact that we've already been back again since and had yet another fantastic weekend (three nights this time!) and yet again couldn't fault anything about the trip.  From the friendly (and very talented!) redcoats, to the cleanliness of the complex...  From the helpful staff, to the incredible array of entertainment..I can't think of a bad word to say about the place.  I guess all that remains to be said is.. See you very soon for our next weekend! 

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall...

That's me, that is.  No, I'm not pointing to my boob.  

When you look in the mirror, what do you see?  Without a mirror, can you accurately describe yourself?  It sounds like a really silly question, but here's the thing:  I bet your description of yourself would differ wildly from what someone else might say about you.  Because when we look at ourselves, we have a tendency to see the things we don't like.  The things we wish we could change.  So, in the spirit of honesty, I'm going to be brave and tell you what I see, when I look in a mirror:

• A nose too big for my face.
• Hair that only behaves sometimes.
• Too many wobbly bits (my tummy, especially)
• Skin that behaves very rarely
• Teeth that will never be perfect
• Too many lines.

Pictured: Me in the mornings...

In a world of airbrushed images of perfect, white, shiny teeth, peaches and cream skin and glossy hair, we've become used to being frequently reminded that we just don't match up.  Faced with magazines filled with perfectly toned, size zero models, we're used to glancing down at our cellulite and sighing sadly into our morning cuppa.  By the way, did you know that the oh-so-slender size zero bodyshape is actually only achievable by less than 5% of women, whereas up to 95% of women have some degree of cellulite?!  And it's not just women, either.  Statistics and surveys are beginning to show that more and more men are unhappy enough in their bodies to actively consider some form of cosmetic surgery.  In fact, last year, a study by the University of West England revealed that a shocking four out of five men would describe themselves as "unhappy" with their bodies/general looks.

I've been thinking about this a lot in the last week or so.  I'll be honest, it was something as simple as a tweet that set me off.  I noticed that even people I consider to be ridiculously attractive have hang-ups about some aspect of their physical appearance.  And I won't lie; when I read the tweet that got me thinking about this subject, I wanted to yell: "NO!  YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!" like some demented version of Christina Aguilera.  Instead, I dug a bit deeper and realised just how often we put ourselves down.

Don't get me wrong, I am the Queen of the self-put-down.  I like to think of myself as being humourous about it, rather than maudlin, but I definitely do it.  Someone complimented my dancing the weekend before last and I responded by replying: "But I have all the rhythm of a three-legged tortoise!"

But you should see me rock the Choco Latte. ;-)

The thing is, we just don't always listen.  And it's understandable.  I mean, come on!  These images are everywhere.  "Perfect" bodies in TV adverts.  Ridiculously muscular men in magazines.  Check your junk emails, or spam tweets and I guarantee you that there'll be messages telling you how to "lose weight - fast!"  We're living in a world where we're bombarded with pictures of what we're supposed to look like.  We see these pictures every day.  Women have it hardwired into their heads - if you want a man, then damnit, you better be skinny and beautiful.  Men are confronted with pictures of six packs and start thinking that's what they all need to look like.  It's entirely understandable and it's okay to have the odd hang up.

BUT...  Let's go back to the thing that started me pondering this whole issue.  You see, the way we look at each other differs enormously from the way we look at ourselves.  Just days after reading the tweet that made me go all Christina Aguilera, my friends Kirstie and Lizzie had a conversation.  Now, if you're unfamiliar with Kirstie and Lizzie, they're sisters and they look like this:

I like that Lizzie looks as though she's holding in the giggles, here.

Hopefully, neither sister will kill me for mentioning them in this blog (seeing as I'm going to Bristol with one on Monday and Butlin's with the other next month), but I think both of them are stunning.  Like, not just "oh, she's my friend, so I'm going to say how pretty she is, cos that's what girls do."  I mean, literally I would cut an arm off to look like either one of them.  Okay, maybe not an arm.  Maybe a nail.  But you get my point...

And the conversation they were having?  Yes, it was about their body hang ups.  And I love both girls (and relish being alive) too much to repeat it in a public space, but I sat, as a passive observer, thinking: "DO I NEED TO BREAK OUT THE AGUILERA AGAIN?!"  And I told them.  Because they're two of my very best friends in the world, I felt able to say "oi you, shut up, you're gorgeous," or words to that effect.  And Kirstie responded by saying something that blew my mind.  I mean, honestly, I'm still picking out bits of mind out of my laptop keyboard.  She said that she envied me.

I was, of course, wearing a suit at the time.  

And that's where I come full circle in this blog, to be honest.  I haven't told you all that Kirstie complimented me in order to brag or big myself up.  I'm telling you, because it finally made me realise that yes, it's okay to have hang ups, but we have to realise that the way we see ourselves doesn't necessarily match up to the way other people see us.  When she looks at me, Kirstie doesn't see those things I mentioned that I see when I look in the mirror.  Just like I don't see the things that she dislikes about herself, or that Lizzie dislikes about herself.  

And yes, I 100% believe that personality is worth so much more than looks.  Beauty fades with time, but what makes you you will never change.  I'll always appreciate a sense of humour and a sensitive nature over a six pack any day of the week.  But when we're talking about physical appearances, maybe, just maybe, we should stop comparing ourselves to unattainable perfection and start trying to see ourselves through the eyes of those who love us, or fancy us from afar, or who just think we're a little bit awesome, instead.

So tomorrow morning, when I look in the mirror, I'm going to try going through that checklist of things I dislike about myself again.  And I'm going to remind myself that the people who matter don't see those things and that maybe, I should try looking differently:

• My nose is Greek.  And I'm proud to be part Greek Cypriot.
• My hair frames my face and behaves a whole lot better now than it did when it was a crazy mass of curls.
• My wobbly bits are actually just feminine curves.  And they're not even that wobbly.
• My skin is Greek, too.  So it's olive-y.  And that's okay.
• My teeth don't need to be perfect.  I can still smile.
• Every line I get on my face is a memory of something that made me laugh, or a hard time I've survived.

What do you see when you look in the mirror?  Try looking for the person others see and you might be pleasantly surprised.