A personal revelation

 Just call me Violet

Dudes, I have something to tell you. Something that isn't easy for me to admit. Something that I've known for years but that I've been in denial about. This may get a bit heavy so feel free to skip it. Here goes...


I am fat.


And before anyone does the dutiful friend thing of saying 'no you're not!', 'you look great!', etc etc, please don't bother. Because I know that I am. It's taken about ten years to admit it but there you go. I am fat. A porker. A whale. A heifer. And any other insulting animal-related term that you can think of. However, just for the record, please don't think that I'm upset by this 'revelation' or that I'm seeking sympathy in any way. On the contrary, I actually feel quite liberated by it. For years I've convinced myself that it's just an unflattering camera angle, that the mirror is lying, even that I'm happy with what I see when I look at myself.

None of the above are true.

It's not an unflattering camera angle, it's not 'one of those' mirrors, and I'm not happy with what I see. It's only by finally admitting that to myself and to you, dear internets, that I can actually start to change it. For good. If you convince yourself that you love how you look, then you can't ever really find the willpower to change it. Sure, I've made halfhearted efforts before. Hell, I've even made wholehearted efforts. But those efforts only ever lasted for a few days at worst or a few months at best. I've been to the gym three or four times a week for a respectable amount of time. But then negated my efforts with a bag of crisps here, a pizza there. That does not a lifestyle change make.

So now I'm standing here with a completely new outlook on things. A fat person's outlook. And it feels strange and confusing and, if I'm honest, a little bit frightening. Yes, I know being fat isn't the end of the world. But being fat can become your world. I have had serious problems with food in recent years. Only one person knows to what extent and it's not something I'm going to go into detail about. Suffice to say, me and food have got beef (arf). But I've taken the first step. I now want to be thinner more than I want the glorious tastes and textures of all that wonderfully disgusting junk food. I want to be healthy and fit and able to fit into all the clothes I want to fit into. I want to feel attractive and desirable and all of those things that I've never felt before, but heard so much about.

Some people are happy being fat. Some people look good fat. I do not fit into either category. I've been called names and had abuse shouted at me in the street. Some people could laugh that off, but not me. I'm not that strong. I'm not that happy with my own appearance that I don't care what anyone thinks. But I will be.

To one person in particular, I have this to say... your words hurt me at the time. I wasn't ready to hear them. I wasn't ready to accept them nor was I ready to take steps to change. But thankyou. Thankyou for making me challenge myself. Thankyou for making me face my problems, my insecurities and my weaknesses. Thankyou for making me see that I don't want to be fat.


I'm ready now.

Little letters

This post was inspired by the lovely Naomi of Rockstar Diaries. I always love her little letters so I thought I'd do some of my own...


Dear sleep,
I never seem to get enough of you. Late nights spent making plans and thinking and watching endless re-runs of Family Guy.

Dear gym,
I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. I've been going through a tough time y'know? But I promise you I'll be back. And soon.

Dear crisps, cheese, white bread, oreos and burgers,
I'm sorry but the time has come for us to say goodbye. You're not good for me and you're making me into a porker. Adieu.

Dear Autumn,
I love you. Conkers, jumpers, the smell of bonfires, the crunch of leaves underfoot. I love everything about you. Don't ever change.

Dear cancer,
Please go away. My Dad's had enough of you now. Give him a break?

Dear birthday,
You're arriving in five weeks. I don't really want to be 28. I'm not where I thought I'd be. How about you let me stay at 27? Or, even better, let me be 19 again? It'll be our little secret, I promise.

Dear Peep Show,
This series is making me sad. You're not as good as you used to be. Or maybe, just maybe, you bring back too many happy memories and I can't enjoy you alone.

Dear New York,
I'll be back. ASAP.

Blacking it up

Blackpool was...


Incredible, exhausting, busy (in stark contrast to my last visit), fattening (hello fish & chips, doughnuts, hot chocolate with whipped cream), loud, trashy, full of monstrous hen nights and stag dos, expensive, shattering and mildly frightening.

In other words, it was loads of fun. I can't say that I'd want to go there for a romantic holiday but for a day or two, and if you take it for what it is, it's hilarious. Example: a man dressed as a banana queuing up in a newsagents to buy something. Noone batted an eyelid.

Pup in a Cup ftw

We rode on the trams, went on a few rides at the Pleasure Beach (why does that sound like a strip club to me?), I had a Slush Puppy at the age of 27, we bought some rock, saw the illuminations and then battled our way back to the car through hoards of stags, hens and a weeping girl sitting on the pavement (why is there always one weeping girl?).


My companions for the day were my friend from work and her three kids. Just one thing: remind me to never have three kids. Incessant cries of 'Can I have this?', 'Pleeease? Buy me this!', 'I need a wee', 'I'm tired', 'I'm cold', 'Are we nearly there yet?'. I swear, they're nearly as demanding as a boyfriend.

But not quite.

I ♥ NY

Today I am mostly wishing I was here....


Eating one of these....


Washing it down with one of these...


And having this for dessert...


Followed by an evening stroll here with him....



Alas I am not. I'm at work, tipsy from a large glass of white wine at lunch and finding humour in the most mundane of activites. A girl can dream though, can't she?


All images are © me, fiddled with at Rollip, my new favourite plaything.

Things wot I like...

Getting Booshy in NYC

This week I am mostly loving...

• This interview with the Julian Barratt and the Noel Fielding. I've lost a bit of love for the Boosh recently. Series 3 was not up to scratch and, quite frankly, I think Noel comes across as a bit of a nob. But this excerpt had renewed my ardour slightly:

"JB: I’d like to do a book of menus.

NF: Really?

JB: Yeah, just weird, sort of… “Night-bruised onions.”

NF: Very funny. But made up?

JB: Yes. Or “wine-saddened potatoes.” Just sort of weird recipes. “Leave an orange in the shadow of a…”

NF: “Jealous pomegranate.”

JB: “Shadow of an angry man for four minutes.”

NF: [Laughs.] That’d be quite good.

JB: Yeah.

NF: The zest of a parsnip. The whimsical zest from a shaved parsnip. That’s good. We should do that. We should publish that."

• Kitsu Sakurako's AMAZING bento boxes on Flickr. Seriously. They're incredible. I particularly love this one...

• The photos of the wedding and the hen do. Hilarious. They're on facebook for anyone who's friends with me. If you're not then the hen do photos are here and the wedding photos are here. Those links should work. If not, I'm clearly a techno-rem.

• Kanye any website you like here. Hours (ok, minutes) of fun.

• See what's trending on Twitter in your local area at Trendsmap. Exciting things like 'Stockport', 'Sugababes' and 'ebay' are trending in Manchester at the moment. How subversive.
  

• I'm going to Blackpool on Saturday! I heart Blackpool. Fish and chips, rock, kiss me quick hats, 10p bingo, terrifying bed and breakfasts. I love it all. In a purely ironic way of course, ahem.

• I made the best buffalo wings ever for my tea. Frank's RedHot sauce combined with melted butter. Chicken wings jointed and oven baked for 1 hour. Combine the two. Heaven. Plus my homemade blue cheese dip. Double heaven. The diet starts tomorrow so this was my last hurrah. And what a hurrah it was.

• Miscellaneous other things include: Les Rythmes Digitales on full blast while walking to my car in the glorious Autumn sunshine; a couple of days to myself as the parents are away; tickets to see Michael McIntyre in October; Nobilo Sauvignon Blanc, it's my new favourite; and.... pay day on Friday!

I heart you Jacques Lu Cont/Stuart Price/Thin White Duke/whatever you're calling yourself

Digest this...

Things I hate #463:


When companies use ridiculous made up science words to try and sell their products. See: Bifidus Digestivum and Bifidus Actiregularis.

They're just big words!! With too many letters!! They will not make you immortal, stop you getting cancer, make that hot boy at the desk next to you fancy you or improve your life. They might, if you're lucky, make you ever so slightly less bloated. But even that's doubtful.

Stop using science to try and sell me bacteria in a pot.


I'm looking at you Danone.

Never stop laughing...

Pomegranate of consternation

What qualities do you look for in a relationship?


Potential for longevity? Humour? Trust? Romance? All of the above?

I want this....

My parents have been married for nearly 40 years. They've had their ups and downs, battled through various fairly major problems and worries and come out the other side, stronger than ever. How? Because they've never stopped laughing.

My Dad bought a pomegranate in 2007. It cost about 50p. My Mum is well known for her... 'thriftiness'. She hates waste. Needless to say, he didn't eat the pomegranate. The pomegranate sat in the fruit bowl for weeks, months, eventually becoming hardened and wizened. It actually made a very convincing rattle when you shook it. The pomegranate became a source of much consternation for my Mum. "But it cost 50p! I can't believe you've not eaten it!". One day my Mum snapped and threw it in the bin but, unbeknownst to her, my Dad retrieved it shortly after.

Fast forward a few months.. It's Christmas Day morning. The sound of jingle bells fills the air. The smell of cooking turkey pervades the atmosphere. Bucks fizz is sparkling in champagne flutes. My Mum is opening a beautifully wrapped present, complete with ribbons and bows and a heartfelt handwritten tag.

Is it perfume? Some fancy chocolates? Some lovely jewellery.


No. It's the pomegranate.

My side?

No sprinkles here... move along please

Apologies if this turns into a bit of a rant.


I know it's Friday and I should be posting an entry filled with joy and weekend excitement, iced with an exorbitant amount of positivity, a sprinkling of 'look how great my life is' and topped off with a cherry of jubilance.

But I'm not going to. So nerr.

Quite simply, I'm bored of being the bad guy. I'm bored of being badmouthed. I'm bored of there only being one side of the story. I'm bored of there being a story at all. I choose to keep fairly silent about everything that happened. Yes I may have talked at great length about how it made me feel. But I've never resorted to name calling, I haven't divulged the minutiae of what happened, I haven't told only my side of the story. Because there are always two sides to everything. And I tend to find that the most vocal of the two is generally exaggerated as justification for what happened. If you shout the loudest then you must be right, apparently. All I want is for the past to be in the past. For the recriminations and anger to subside.

I spent 18 months of my life not being 'good enough.' It wore me down, frankly. Wore me down until I was so unhappy with myself that I could no longer see the good in me. And then I was berated for not liking myself enough, for having low self-esteem. And if I didn't like myself then how could I ever be 'good enough?' You can't love someone who doesn't love themselves.

I was weak. I was stupid. I allowed myself to be walked all over. The lies, the hurtful behaviour, the cruel comments. I should have walked away at the first sign. But I didn't. Because I always believed. In love. In me. In him. In us. I put up with more than anyone ever should. I wasn't perfect. Far far from it. My behaviour was scandalous at times. But when you've lost all confidence in yourself and you're terrified of losing the only person you think you can cling on to, despite the fact they're destroying you, you behave in ways that you never would normally.

Never again.

I'm so much stronger now. I do things for myself. Because I want to do them. I laugh. I cry. I feel. I allow myself to be me. And I won't let anyone tell me that I'm not good enough ever again.


If you're having to spend time trying to be good enough for someone, then maybe they're simply not good enough for you?

On a pedestal...

So, I went. I saw. I got nervous. I stood. I painted one of the worst portraits of my life. But it really doesn't matter. The fact that I did it is what counts. It was simultaneously frightening, exhilarating and utterly utterly wonderful.

The view of the Plinth from the One & Other office

I can't praise the One & Other team highly enough. From the moment I arrived at 5.30pm until the moment I took my place on the Fourth Plinth at 7pm they were welcoming, friendly and treated me like a member of the family. Interviews, briefings, photographs, security checks, more security checks... it all passed in a blur of nerves and excitement and a feeling of 'ohmygodiactuallyhavetodothisnowargh'.

Looking down from the Plinth

When I applied for a place on the Plinth at the end of July I never actually expected to be picked from the thousands of entrants. I applied as a bit of a joke really, a little burst of confidence that I thought I'd never have to back up. But then the email arrived. 'Congratulations!', it read. And I was thrilled, truly, but my allocated time slot was weeks away and I had other things keeping my mind busy. Then suddenly it was the end of August and the Plinth was drawing closer. I had to think of something I could do up there. I didn't just want to stand or shout or read a book. I wanted my hour to mean something.

And I like to think that it did. Certainly to me anyway.




I can honestly say that yesterday was one of the most exciting days of my life. I loved each and every minute and I only wish I'd taken a bit more time to look around and breathe it in. Almost £1500 raised for charity and I had the time of my life doing it. If you didn't watch it and you'd like to then you can find my hour here. Please ignore my daft voice and ridiculous pink tutu.


Thankyou One & Other, it was a blast!!

The final countdown...

Image from here

7pm, tomorrow. Be there or be... not in London.


This time tomorrow I'll be sitting in portacabin in Trafalgar Square. I'll most probably be feeling sick, nervous, terrified, excited, or a combination of all of the above. I'll be preparing to take my place on the Fourth Plinth.

I'm utterly gobsmacked by how much money has been raised so far. Almost £1300! That was beyond my wildest dreams when I first started out, I set my original target at £200! I have been continually amazed by the generosity that people have shown, the kind words and the good thoughts that have been coming my way and the way of my parents.

My Dad's had his second round of chemotherapy now. He's on a reduced dose from now on because of the horrific reaction he had to the first lot. It turns out that he developed Neutropenia as a result, which basically means that he had a ridiculously small number of white blood cells. He could have died. The slighest infection could have been fatal for him. But he's still here. And I'm so thankful for that.

He's reacting well to the second round and has even been on a 6 mile walk. His hair is falling out daily. Soon he won't have the moustache that he's had since I was born. But he's still laughing, still smiling, still positive. He's a legend, my Dad.


So tomorrow's for him.

365

One year later.


365 days have passed since the first time it ended. Days pass quickly. Nights more slowly. But still time passes. Inevitably. Unstoppable. Ever moving forward.

If I have could have one wish it would be this: I wish you could see the person I really am.


"Can we climb this mountain
I dont know
Higher now than ever before
I know we can make it if we take it slow
Let's take it easy
Easy now
Watch it go"

Temporary madness?

As I wrote yesterday, the wedding on Saturday was an incredibly emotional day for me (and everyone else present). There were only 30 people at the wedding ceremony and the scale of the intimacy and the close relationship that everyone had with the Bride and Groom resulted in a lot of tears (including the Best Man - a 6ft 3" strapping policeman - bless 'im).

The part that really got to me, however, was the reading. It's from Captain Corelli's Mandolin and it may well be one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard...

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."

-St. Augustine


Sigh.

Here comes the Bride...

Incredible.

That's the only word to describe this weekend. The beautiful sunset on Friday night, the drinks with the Bride and Bridesmaid in a lovely little bar, the clear blue sky and beautiful wedding venue, the tears that fell when the vows were exchanged, the wonderful meal and the free flowing wine and champagne, the evening do and the first dance to 'Rule the World' by Take That. The emotion. The love.


It's been one of the best weekends I've ever had. Emotionally draining, tiring and expensive. But so wonderful and so joyful. I'm so incredibly happy for Gemma and Alex. They've found true happiness together and I can't even think about the ceremony without crying. Seeing one of my best friends marry the man of her dreams and the father of her child was without a doubt one of the most special experiences of my entire life.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Bride and Groom....

A few wines may have been drunk by this point...

And now I need some sleep.

Bathtime

Ahh, Friday...


It's been a long and strange week. I'm still not entirely sure about certain things that have happened. Why, who, what, when, how. But it really doesn't matter now because for the next two glorious days I shall be staying here. I'm off to Bath for the wedding of one of my Uni friends. The ceremony and wedding breakfast are taking place here and I for one cannot wait. The weather forecast is wonderful, the wine will be plentiful and there will be much laughter, foolish dancing and tipsy, hazy memories made. I'm taking a Chris as my plus one. Not the Chris whose name was on the original invite. But still.

I fear I may be a weeping mess at the ceremony. It's the first wedding of a friend that I'll have been to and she's been through so much in her 27 years on this planet. She's so strong and so beautiful and she's found a man that can catch her when she falls, make her laugh when she's down and tell her she's the most wonderful person in this world.


Isn't that all anyone really wants?



I had it. Once. It was nice. Very nice.

Argh

Things I hate #643:

When someone is angry with me for no fathomable reason.


I'm a sensitive soul really, despite brash northern appearances. I care greatly what others think of me and how people see me. I also care a huge amount about being liked. I would never knowingly do something to make someone angry. I would never intentionally hurt someone. When I make mistakes I apologise for them. I also hate the thought that someone would say bad things about me behind my back. Nothing hurts me more. Especially when I don't get the chance to defend myself.

I make mistakes. I'm human.

But I'm always but always sorry for them.

All I ever wanted was the same in return. To be treated as I would treat others. I've not aired my dirty laundry in public, I haven't said a single derogatory word. And there are many I could have said. Maybe should have said. But, as far as I'm concerned, what goes on in a relationship is between those two people. It's noone else's business.

I've let go of the past. I wish you had too.

A New York Tale: Part 4

Best subway station ever?

Have I seriously not finished this holiday rundown yet? Apparently not. Catch up here, here and here if you want to/have a desire to bore yourself/are having trouble sleeping.

The fourth day of our little sojourn started with egg and cheese bagels and hazelnut coffee at Zanny's. We may also have bought flapjacks for later. For later read five minutes later. I'm all about the justification for buying baked goods though, it makes me feel better.

How mammoth is that?! Ugh, I suck

A subway ride later and we emerged at our destination... the American Museum of Natural History. I have but one word for it: amazing. Also: huge. So, two words then: amazing and huge. Yes, I am still talking about the museum. Badumtish. Seriously though, best museum ever. It took us about two hours to get through the space exhibit and that was only a tiny little part of it. Then there was the space show in the Hayden Planetarium which delighted me and made me feel like a tiny little person in a huge huge world.

Arf

d.b.a.

We spent most of the day in the museum and we barely even saw half of it as, before long, that darned happy hour was calling us again and tempting us with it's cheap boozes, the swine. (We did manage to fit another Shake Shack burger in first though. Obv.) We headed to the East Village and tried La Linea, d.b.a. and a random Irish bar. Beer and gin abounded. Although not together. We may be British but i draw the line at that.

Mason jars ftw

With rumbling stomachs and feeling a little tipsy we wandered aimlessly until we happened upon a fantastic little restaurant, Mara's Homemade. Ribs, fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes and all manner of soul food goodness was consumed here. However, the highlight was the gin and tonic. Strong as you like and served in a mason jar. Two gin and tonics were enough to ensure that by the time we made it to see Ladytron at Le Poisson Rouge we were drunk enough to contemplate drinking Rolling Rock. And Stella. Ugh. The memories of the night are a little hazy, to say the least. Nearly as hazy as this photo...


This was taken in the Peculier Pub (seriously, I can't believe I went somewhere with such a gross misspelling in the name, it goes against all my pedantic sensibilities). If you ever go there don't ask what bottled beers they have. C made that mistake and was promptly handed an A4 sheet of paper, printed both back and front, that listed approximately 45 million different beers. Fail.


To be continued...

Playing the fool

I've just spent my lunch hour looking through old photos. I have but one conclusion. I am a fool.


Exhibit A: Smoking cigars whilst seemingly not wearing any make up and being approximately 3 stone heavier than I am now. Don't I look please with myself though.

Tribeca, Manchester - 2007

Exhibit B: The infamous 'snarl' picture. No, I don't know what I'm doing either. But how we laughed.

Lake District - 2008

Exhibit C: Posing with a bottle of Blue Nun at Glastonbury. Bought as an homage to Sir Alan of Partridge.

Glastonbury Festival, 2008

Exhibit D: Dressing up as Mikhail Gorbachev for an A-Level History revision weekend in Anglesey. We had to dress as a historical figure. Most of the girls went as Jackie O. I went as Gorby and my friend Emma went as Gandhi. We did it for the bald wigs alone.

2000?

Exhibit E: Mimicking a bust in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. Note the wrinkled chin and ridiculous expression. Again, I'm really rather pleased with myself here.

The Met - April 2009

Exhibit F: Dressing as the bearded lady for a circus themed birthday party. I am sans beard here though, it was just too darn itchy.

Manchester - April 2009

Get shaky (face)

Oh Ferris, I heart thee

As it's yet another cold and rainy day here in the North of England, I think it's time for a little list of things that are currently delighting my face and keeping me warm and chuckly despite the grey...

• The Fat Man Can Can. I wouldn't click on that if you're easily offended or at work but it made me guffaw this morning whilst browsing the b3ta newsletter.
  
• Tape Yourself. This is almost on a par with shaky face in terms of sheer puerile enjoyment for me. See evidence of me doing a shaky face at Bloom Festival last year below. I've had various comments on this picture, the most complimentary being that I look like Mangalore from the 5th Element.
  

Well fit.

• Uncomfortable plot summaries. I particularly enjoy the ones for Ferris Bueller and the Alien films.
• How to be an awesome girlfriend like Sloane Peterson. More Ferris Bueller. I'm having a mini revival. "Anyone?... Anyone?..."
  
• A time lapse video of the Milky Way. This is amazing and reminds me of of the show me and C saw at the Hayden Planetarium in New York. Happy days.
• Miscellaneous other things include curry and drinks with work ladies later (the costs sisterhood, hell yes), wedding next weekend in Bath, plans taking shape, lemon and ginger tea at my desk in the morning, Sainsbury's mini cooking chorizo - fat little bundles of sausagey wonderment, wasabi peas, the return of Strictly Come Dancing and, with it, Alesha Dizon's joyous laugh and Green & Black's cherry chocolate...

Happy Saturday, everyone!

Fall-ing

Tick tock, tick tock...


The nights are drawing in, it's getting colder, it hasn't stopped raining in what feels like forever. Gone are my flip flops (not that it was ever really warm enough to wear them, I'm just the queen of inappropriate footwear) and back are the stompy winter boots that I wear from September through to March. Dreams of ice lollies and cold sauvignon blanc are replaced by ones of a warming shiraz and Lancashire hotpot served with pickled onions and red cabbage.

Although I love summer with its seemingly endless days, its festivals and its sunshine (well the two minutes we get a year anyway), I'm always thankful when September rolls around. I love autumn. To me it feels like a season made for change. With the changing of the leaves comes a feeling that anything is possible.

I'm in a reflective mood today. It's been a tough week at work and the next lot of chemotherapy is looming large. But it's Friday night and I've got a large glass of red wine in my hand, a hot bath about to be run and a new episode of Rebus to watch.

Ahh, hello autumn.

Turning the corner

I'm posting over here today. Go, read!


"I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
Now there's poetry in an empty coke can.
I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
Now there's majesty in a burnt out caravan.

You got me off the paper-round,
Just sprang out of the air.
The best things come from nowhere,
I love you I don't think you care.

I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
And the symmetry in your northern grin.
I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
I can see myself in the refill litterbin.

You got me off the sofa,
Just sprang out of the air.
The best things come from nowhere,
I can't believe you care."


Ah, Guillemots, you get me every time...

We are (not) raving...

Time to hang them up?

I am old.


I don't mean in terms of my actual age. I'm 27. That's not really old at all. Plus, I still get asked for ID literally every time I try and buy alcohol (I got asked when I was trying to buy an 18 rated DVD recently too. Fail). I think my face is actually defying the aging process as I used to get into nightclubs without ID when I was 15. Now I can't so much as buy a bottle of wine in Spar without getting asked. Me and C were actually the peter pan and tinkerbell of all couples, 27 and 31 respectively, yet getting away with student fare on the buses and having to prove our ages in Asda.

No, I'm not old in terms of years on the planet.

I'm old in terms of how utterly incapable I am now of coping with more than one night out in a weekend. Even one night out is pushing it to be honest. I used to be a fairly stamina-tastic party goer. I've lost count of the number of times that I got in from a night out, had a quick shower and then went straight to work. No sleep required. The number of times I've been in a club till 7am and then emerged bleary-eyed and blinking into the morning sun. The many times we'd get home, crack open the wine and spend the day staving off a hangover by simply not stopping, eventually going to bed at least 36 hours after we last slept.

Not any more.

Over the last year or so I've become too old for the getting messy, out till 8am, up all night and all the next day malarkey. I'm in bed for 10pm Sunday-Thursday. If I'm not out on Friday night I'll be in bed for about 10pm too, exhausted from a week at work. And, on nights out, even if I do manage to stay out past 2am, it's just generally not as much.... fun as it used to be. I no longer have the insatiable desire to rave it up until the small hours every weekend. Occasionally I still love a big night out, the getting ready, the putting music on, the pre-going out drinks. Just not all the time. I'd rather go for a nice dinner, have a bottle or two of wine and watch a film.

A year or two ago, I was always looking for the next night out, always looking at DJ lineups, constantly looking for the next party. I just don't have the desire or inclination to do that anymore. I think I've lost my party gene.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'm actually growing up.


Terrifying.


Disclaimer: This post was brought to you by the second day of a stonking hangover, tiredness and a banging headache. Let's see how I feel on Saturday morning before I hang up my glowsticks for good.