Dear Reader

Dear Reader, I'm having what my age group have deemed a 'quarter life crisis', at the ripe ol' age of 25 I have started to panic, I don't think I panicked at 24 and I definitely don't think I was panicking at 23 but at 25, it's panicking time. Here comes the anxiety fuelled panic in 3...2...1... - I'm panicking that I'm not where I should be in life - I'm panicking that I am nowhere near as successful as neither my boyfriend nor my father (at my age) - That I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life - That I'm just going to float around between jobs that I don't truly enjoy for the rest of my life - That I'll never figure out a job that I actually love - That I will never be truly at peace with my body shape/the way I look - That I will never be as successful as my boyfriend and my father - That I will never earn enough money to be able to live comfortably and much more... I'm feeling brave today Dear...

Dear Readers, I'll be honest here, #commuterlife is really just a massive rant hiding behind a hashtag. It's an excuse to swear and vent and be rude about people you don't even know, and you know why? Because I am tiny, blonde and very very British and there is absolutely no way I would ever have the balls to say these things to peoples faces....therefore here I am, spouting my nonsensical, slightly violent thoughts to you...whoever is reading...my constant readers. So remove your children and (hopefully) prepare to have a giggle at the daily mother fucking struggle of being a British commuter with a very anger fuelled internal monologue. Isn't it amazing how a small change such a listening to music as you travel can change your whole outlook... I'm currently sitting on my train home from London, its crowded, people are tired and ready to get home, it's completely full, people are uncomfortable and no one would dare make eye contact or speak to another hum...

Dear Reader,  Today I'm not writing to you as usual, today I am writing to a stranger...which come to think of it, you are too. Well now that we all know our place... Dear man standing next to me on the train, (Calm enough start you think, sure there's nothing to rant about here.  Well the bloody well is) Let me rephrase.  Dear old white man with large stomach standing somewhere between too close and BACK THE FUCK OFF distance from my face. At what stage in train etiquette proceedings did you feel this would be even marginally a good idea? It's buggeringly bad enough that I have to sit on a crowded train, on which there is fuck all air movement but now I have to deal with you leaning over me for eleventy billion hours as we make the rickety, cramped journey home.  At what stage in life did you forget about people's bubbles? Oh wonderful, now you're coughing, you've fucking trampled on my bubble and now you're coughing on it. Thanks a lot. ...

Dear Reader, I am officially a commuter, a grumpy, tired, stop stealing my seat and stay on your BLOODY SIDE...commuter. To be fair, I'm not grumpy really and we all know I never actually tell anyone to stay on their side, I'm quite small for such a huge wuss. It's more of loud internal monologue whereupon shouting occurs at random points. I'm sure that should you be able to tape it and play it back, it might make a rather good radio show. So as of last week my people watching has kicked up a notch, I'm in London now, way more people to watch here... However, what the BLOODY  HELL LONDON?! Do you have to sign a document before you live here saying that under no circumstances will you ever move out of the way?! I mean I'm all for sticking to your guns but this is ridiculous. The amount of people that have whacked straight into me when all it would have taken is a 3 degree shift to the left is quite maddening. And I tell you what's more, I'm so Br...

Dear Reader, I have recently started helping out at my local Brownies group, I was once a Brownie myself in the late 90's early 2000's and fellow Brownies of that era will be saddened to hear that alas, the mud brown culottes did not last. As a 23 year old, being surrounded by around 20-ish 7-9 year olds is slightly daunting. Some of the girls are sweet and shy, some talkative and wanted to tell you all about their lives no matter how lengthy and unrelated the story, and some are just wonderfully nutty. All, however have the power to lift or dive bomb an adults confidence at the blink of an eye. I call it the rise and fall of self confidence at the hands of small people. N.B. I do not consider myself an adult but one must act the part when one is in charge of said children. Even if you want to cry following an empowering talk with a young girl about skin care when she tells you "yeah you have a massive spot on your head". I have learnt a few things about worki...

Dear Reader, I wasn't planning on writing a blog today but I've been at work and felt enamoured to write about brands that I love that are doing their bit for the world and the people in it. So my company is running an event next month called The Healthy Living Show, our website is www.healthy-living-show.com if you felt so inclined. So basically we're bringing healthy food, drinks, products together and inviting the public to come and buy their products. It's a mixture of foods, clothing, make up, fitness, eco products, charities and many more but the main point is about living a healthy life. Be that vegan, vegetarian, paleo, organic or just being eco-friendly; I call it happy healthy living. Anywho, back to my point...I'm an avid tangent goer offer, the key is to remember the point that you were attempting to make. Chances of which are vastly improved by the fact I'm writing all this down. As I was saying, back to my point, today I found a brand that ...

Dear Reader, One of the books I’m reading at the moment is ‘Stephen King; On Writing’ and he writes a piece about how sometimes you have parts of a story and you just can’t quite make them work. He calls it the ‘teacup and the handle’, you can’t have a teacup without a handle nor is a handle any use without a teacup. I attempt to write short stories, dear reader, and I often come up with teacups with no handles or handles without the teacup. Bits of stories that you just can’t make work or can’t figure out which direction they’re supposed to go in and so just come to a halt. I can’t tell you that my short stories are good nor can I tell you that they’re awful because to be honest, I’m not sure I know. Can any writer turn around and honestly say that they think one particular piece of work is truly awesome? I have no idea whether my writing is any good at all. I really need to give my old English teacher, Mrs Mack, a call and get her to pop round for a cup of tea and a good...