Growing up is hard to do!

We have all got good and bad points, strengths and weaknesses, YEP t’is a fact! It takes ages to figure it all out, which makes you wonder why you have to make so many important choices at school, when you’re a don’t give a fuck teen. So many questions and roads to go down, back alleys to play hide and puke in. Would you be a teen again? Honestly? Truthfully? Can you say you had it all figured out when you were 14, 15, 16… to be honest I don’t think I have it all figured out now but what I do have, that I didn’t have then is a sense of self-worth, dreams that are not made with mushrooms or some dodgy tablet from Acid Alan, I also have my own opinion which I am confident to speak. You don’t have to agree with me, and that’s OK, I am OK with that, but it wasn’t always that way. There was a time, I wore clothes similar to my friends even if it made me look like a bag of dicks, I bought perfume to blend in and ‘Heather Shimmered’ my lips all the way to butt end of a spliff because ‘Karen’ told me to.

I just didn’t trust or love myself enough to be better.

It takes us all quite a while meandering along our journey of life to decipher ‘who’ we are, I mean that point of teenager-vampire-ism, the bit when your hormones are rampant, you love and hate everyone and everything in equal measure. A bit like a new born vampire, instead of blood you feed on chips and weed, you shag anything that moves and dry hump everything that doesn’t, you’d fight with your own shadow if it looks at you the wrong way, you think you’re in love after going two’s up on a Marboro light down the very alley you played hide and puke in whilst bunking off school the day before. Everything feels heightened and very messy. The entire time we are just trying to figure it all out, figure out who we are, righting the wrongs over and over, AND seeking approval, love, friendship ALL of the time.

Getting to know yourself, takes years, and trusting yourself takes even longer. You don’t really have a fucking clue who you are, when fitting in is hard enough without having to fathom out WHAT YOUR GOOD AT, WHAT YOUR CRAP AT, WHAT YOUR STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES ARE, WHAT YOU WANT TO BE, AND WHO YOU WANT TO SNOG, MARRY AND AVOID.

What’s terrifying is that everyone seems to want to be like someone else! It’s a genuine cause of concern to me. I talk to my kids, probably a little too ‘honestly’ at times, but I want them to know that growing up, is a life long journey. I am a grown up, but I am still ‘growing up’, I am a work in progress. Know that you’re going to make mistakes and make some shitty choices, your going to learn from them and make better choices, the bad choices don’t define you or make you crappy person, you will get a little lost trying to find yourself, but don’t ever stop being yourself, TRUST YOURSELF and trust me to always be there to pick you up, brush you down and reset your internal compass ready for you to continue on your journey. Stop looking elsewhere for the answers to your life. Stop looking for the societal ideology of perfection when you already have it within your own grasp. It’s all about YOUR own perception!

I think growing up today is tough, with social media being a common denominator in painting up, glamming up, and glowing up, our perspectives of what is ‘supposedly’ expected of us.

At one of the most pinnacle times of personal growth the pressure to achieve and fit in a box is phenomenal. You must look like this, behave like this, marry by then, procreate before then, like this, like that, eat this, drink that, be brave, feel the fear and do it anyway. I mean what a load of fucked up advice is that, fight against your natural reaction to preserve and keep yourself safe and do the fucking opposite of that natural gut reaction. Bravery, is also determined by you, how brave you are is up to you and the boundaries that you set yourself, and so is your ability to BE WHO YOU WANT TO BE, warts and all, common, genital or other…

My advice about the box that everyone wants you to fit in – crush the box, recycle it, burn it, do what you want to the fucking box just don’t fit in it. I mean we have to conform and play nicely and all that jizz. (Yeah, I say jizz not jazz, so don’t correct my ‘kelly-ism’).

Start trusting yourself with the life you were entrusted with, carbon copies are for emails, pamphlets and newspapers at print – not for PEOPLE.

Trust yourself …

…. and so it begins, the ‘return to learn’.

Kelly Harris

It is no lie or surprise that I was somewhat of a childhood rebellion, but today marks the day that the prodigal child turned uneducated forty year old mother of four point five (The Hubster still requires parenting, like guidance to the washing machine, and times to be home etc..) makes a slow small step in a return to school to gain something of worth to apply to a CV. It appears that lying on official documentation is frowned upon and I can no longer rely on pert tits and charm!

They call it adult education these days and as I embark on this new journey of ‘return to learn’ not ‘fail to prevail’, I find myself rushing around this morning to get the child army out of the door and my typically, and well timed poorly son is struck down with another of his headaches. I am in a state of slightly heightened panic as I know I am going to be late for my first day, and I think, here we fucking go, Groundhog Day….. and detentions!!!! The panic of being late triggered thoughts from the school classroom of 93’ that came rushing back in wave of anxiety. I am not an anxious person, so this was an annoyingly inconvenient emotion to battle with to say the least. I just kept thinking…. What if … what if…. what if they don’t like me. What if, there is one or a even a few, entitled little pricks in there waiting to make my life hell. Shaking off this absurd and ridiculous way of thinking and realising that even as an adult your past can haunt you when you least expect it to and the years and years of ‘hairy, freckled girl taunts’ clearly haven’t been completely forgotten by my slightly anxious inner self. I awoke the memories of that ‘resilient’ prodigal child, that kept turning up even if it was to be knocked back down again, I put on my boots and knew very well should I need to, this boot would fit perfectly up the entitled arse of any little prick with a little too much to say. Metaphorically speaking of course!

Turns out it was a small group of five of us, one already bailed, it appears truancy still happens in adulthood. I am shit with names, so have already forgotten all of them, but there is plaited light brown haired lady, green haired lady, headphone-emo teen-lady, a Dawn French descendant, me and the tutor whose name also fails me. Covid restrictions were in full swing, sanitise in, sanitise out, and do not shake it all about, sit in your allocated space, do not move for the entire two and a half hours. This is not helpful nor is it practical, when all the windows are wide open to enable full circulation of possible polluted air space of which, I am fucking freezing in.

The top highlighted point on the pupils contractual obligation was CONTRIBUTION! Which is made far harder when your primary focus is wiggling your toes and fingers in hope that it’s enough movement to maintain enough circulation to prevent losing any digits. As the cold took over and my tits became so cold I could hang a coat from my nipples, I cuddled my own boobs in a loose half foetal position whilst dissecting fragments of text from the ‘Gruffalo’, ‘We’re going on a bear hunt’ and ‘The Mousehole Cat’.

Yes … this is the reality of having to retake your GCSE’s. Thankfully, I am conversant in my knowledge of the chosen subject matter and could recall the stories almost word for word without the actual fucking book. The years of reading to my children has paid off …. for one of us at least!

The Mousehole Cat

Growing up is hard.

To my daughters, my neices and any other little girls feeling lost that I have any kind of influence over.

Growing up is hard. We think we know everything, we think we’ve got it all worked out.

What we all want to do is just ‘fit in’ , but what we feel like we are doing is ‘standing out’ to be judged, being scentenced to friendships is not the same as choosing your circle wisely.

It’s natural to want to be liked, needed and loved, but it’s crucial to love yourself first. Like yourself so much you’ll want to be your own best friend, then you’ll need for nothing because the magic magnet of ‘attraction’ happens when you align yourself in the above order. What you attract will be better, bolder, brighter and more than ‘enough’ as long as you remember to respect yourself enough to walk away from, and kiss goodbye to anything that no longer serves you, grows you, or makes you happy don’t ever lower your standards to keep anyone, if they’re not making you happy, it’s time to find and surround yourself with people that do.

Remember self respect, dignity, and integrity are far more important than pretence, fakery, and manipulation.

Wise words from a wise old ‘has been’, the once was, shadow in her circle, the lamb to the slaughter, the follower never the leader, the lost not the found.

Until… I learnt to love, respect and like myself before anyone else.

Kiss it goodbye.

…….. what makes you feel empowered?

…….. as a woman what word makes you feel empowered?

‘Wordslut’, what a word. Wordslut! This is the title of the book being offered as a prize for a competition I entered and for a chance to win I had to comment a word that makes you feel empowered as a woman.

Well it really got me to thinking? The cogs were indeed crunching into gear early this morning as I sip my two times teaspoon strength coffee, bleary eyed and sat here on the most uncomfortable office chair in the entire world thinking about female empowerment!

It’s such a powerful word, but how I have felt empowered has changed and evolved with me over the years, changed with my maturity or ‘lack of it’ some people may say, but the one thing that hasn’t changed, no matter what age, is that I feel most empowered when I surround myself with relatability. If we can relate to people who inspire us, that’s pretty empowering right?

It’s still out there on the gram, in the mags and media, the effervescent photoshopped images of perfect pouted, peachy arsed, golden tanned, slim women, drawing in the 1000’s of ‘likes’ through beautification, feathering out their miniscule flaws, is this empowering? To me no, but to my younger easily influenced teenage self, it probably would have been because I was conditioned to think that being pretty made me popular, and being popular made me feel ‘empowered’ and that’s really sad.

Being a mother myself and raising children in a time where they are so heavily influenced by what they see on social media. I try very hard to advocate to them the importance of being true to themselves, and that is far more empowering then becoming a carbon copy of who you think you should be. Being true to yourself will take you on a journey of self-discovery, being anything other than this will take you on a journey of self-destruction, so let us be self-aware and keep these doors open for daily discussion.

Nowadays, I find that I feel more empowered seeing and wearing ‘confidence’, choosing a bikini when you’ve got a few extra rolls of ‘human insulation’ but totally rocking the bikini anyway! When I see humility, someone cleaning the toilet in the office, even though they own the fucking company. Women breastfeeding in the park and owning her right to do so should she wish, when I see working women raising kids, when I see shared laughter, the hand of friendship and kindness, when I see intelligence, when I see women reaching the goals they set themselves. Empowerment is ambiguous, but the framework remains what is relatable to you?

For me, most of all I feel empowered by strength and resilience, feeling the fear and doing it anyway is the epitome of empowerment. Fearlessly following dreams, desires without external judgement dissuading you away from your destined coordinates, fearless when you look into the mirror and not hate on what is reflected back at you, styling yourself fearlessly and freely, advocating yourself fearlessly, speaking your mind without aggression or angst but expressing your opinion, fearlessly.



Have I missed something?

I can’t be the only one that feels a bit like they are the only one obeying rules and coming from me, that’s almost unheard of as for my entire existence on this planet, I’ve never been a stickler for rules, I mean I won’t advertently break them but I like to push them boundaries… just a little bit! 🙄

However life appears to be getting back to normal, but yet, I’m still not normal, not in anyway, and aside from my slightly mental tendancies, I still haven’t really seen anyone, apart from having a few socially distanced walks with friends on the beach or park when we were given the all clear to meet with members of other families by BOJO!

My kids, ALL of my kids are still at home, I’m at home, yet many are, out… Like OUT, OUT… Full faced, trolley pushing maniacs!

When I enter a few ‘particular’ shops, they shall remain nameless. I feel like I’ve missed a memo or something! Or somewhere along this road of uncertainty I have just turned into a paranoid recluse! But…the last time I looked at the news, this virus, albeit the numbers are diminishing and the R – Rate, REMAINS REDUCED! It is still very much out there… SO…surely… To continue to keep the R rate down…. Perlease… Rear-up, reverse, & rewind your reckless, retarded, rude arse away from my socially distanced aura…

It’s like dicing with death in some shops, I’m like a super charged ninja, playing cat and mouse with all the ‘R – for Rated Ridiculous’ and equally oblivious rule breaking bastards, toying and tormenting me as they repeatedly play out a cat and mouse pursuit on me, to either cough on me, near me, or past me whilst flitting aisle to aisle and supermarket sweeping all the flour and fucking eggs..

I feel like I’m the only rule abiding wanker out there at the moment, did I miss something in the news. Is this all over? Have we conquered covid?

Do I not need hand sanitiser in my bag for a quick squirt when out and about to sanitise in an instant?

Do I not need masks, and a safe distance kept between thee and I?

I have lost all track of time, I mean is it April the 1st? Is the joke on me?



Its day 63 of lockdown, albeit we are now in the relaxed stages of lockdown, but it’s still lockdown. I envisage this new life of limitations for while more before the bigger battle is won. 

We are currently at the stage of …. ‘Go to work if you can, if you can’t, then don’t. Stay Alert at ALL times. Keep social distancing measures in place and we will send all your little 4 and 5 years old’s to school in June. Which seems ludicrous when they cough exaggeratedly, with their mouths open and pick at each other like chimps!

I was getting nowhere playing schools, if I was a real teacher, I would have been sacked on the spot this week, frog marched off the premises for calling my kid a ‘total dick’ and throwing a pencil across the room!

I could feel my mood take a downward turn, I am unfamiliar with this feeling because I am one of those annoyingly eternally positive people, so I imagine that it is quite maddening for some people to watch me harp on about how great things are! Even in the shittiest of shit storms, I can ‘usually’ manage to find a ‘glittered turd’ within the layers of never-ending crap! 

Everything was grating on me, my sleep pattern was shit, I was completely disorganised and every sound was like nails being dragged down a chalkboard, every conversation ended with me shouting and if I am honest, I just wanted to shut myself away, not talk to anyone, just be alone in my bed and read my book with no one pawing me, touching me, calling me, demanding any part of me in any way.  I was jealous of my husband because he gets to leave the house that I love, but yet all of a sudden, I felt a prisoner in. All equilibrium and balance had been lost, I had become slave to my children, slave to my home, slave to my life, slave to these self-pitying thoughts. I LOVE my home, I LOVE my kids, I LOVE my husband but its OK, to not be OK with everything you normally ‘LOVE’ because things have got on top of you and its now making your piss fizz!

A good piece of advice which is always good to remember is that ‘everything is temporary’ apart from a tattoo, think that shit through carefully, you don’t want to be stuck with a badly designed ‘orchid’ which everyone mistakes for a snatch, or ‘lick here’ with directional arrow, just in case the ‘said’ person needs instructions!!

I knew the balance would be restored, I just needed to get out, breath in vitamin sea and regain some clarity. As stressed as I felt I took advantage of being a dog owner, packed them, the kids, and a pitiful picnic of sandwiches and wrinkled apples along with the remaining 5 packets of unwanted ‘cheese and onion’ crisps that no one willingly eats first in our house, they are left at the bottom of the basket waiting to be argued over as they compete with the incoming ‘Roysters’ on a Friday.

Parking up along the double yellows, alongside the ‘mini mart’ adjacent to the holiday park which is normally crammed full with holiday makers this time of year, accents from far and wide and ‘twat tans’ you can spot a mile off, but today, it remains closed and an eerie silence in replace of the hubbub of the Cornish summertime. It’s a dream like and bizarre reality we are in, this land of limbo as we enter the ‘next stage’ of this covid-19 pandemic, I  don’t know if it’s just me but I feel like I might need socialising lessons when we all become familiar again, in case I behave like an excited puppy! By excited puppy, I mean the inability to allow another person their personal space, not by dry humping their legs and pissing on the floor with excitement, however the latter isn’t entirely unheard of!

I stayed alert, no lie, it was fucking exhausting doing a great impression of a caffeinated meerkat, peering over gorse bushes like some weirdo pervert!

The kids and I walked together, reacting to movement in an irrational manner, two shagging bunnies got the shock of their life as my eldest disturbs them thinking they were fighting and then felt an air of embarrassment for interrupting them mid hump, the youngest laughing in hysterics, shouting at the top of her voice. ‘Dem rabbits were sexing weren’t they mummy’ never the less the hum of my children’s chatter already felt so much calmer, we all began to relax into our new environment as we carried on along the coastal path, up and down the sand dunes.

I can see the sea, I can feel the breeze on my face, I close my eyes and stop for a second and inhale and exhale as deeply as I can, there it is, that feeling of being alive, the gratitude, the clarity I begin to feel as the reconfiguration of my internal spirit level resets itself and the ‘balance’ is slowly aligning.

I sit, with a book in my hand that I had every intention on reading but instead I just watch my kids eat their sandy sandwiches and munch on the ‘cheese and onion’ crisps  like they were the best flavour in the world, taking it in turns to sand surf down the dunes, sharing, helping each other, showing each other kindness instead of baring teeth and spitting abuse at each other like new born vampires!

I guess the truth is, they lost their equilibrium too. As much as things get on top of us adults, it gets on top of them too. Sometimes you just got to throw caution to the wind and realign, rejiggle the wiggle, and remember ‘everything is temporary’ even a bad mood. Even ‘Covid-19’ is temporary….

But just remember to STAY ALERT.. lol 😉 and STAY SAFE …. and don’t call your kid a total dick, even if they are behaving like one because it makes you feel like a proper shit mum.

…. hey troll, hey journo, hey paparazzi ….

It’s not OK…

Hey Troll; if you’ve ever commented on someone’s looks, outfit, life, or pitfalls whilst hiding behind your computer typing out your hatred. Laying out your jealous poison word by word, then pressing post and watching it slowly kill your victim of choice. That’s what your doing, you are indirectly killing people with your words. You might not hold the knife but you sharpened it. You might not point the gun but you loaded it, you might not of tied the noose but you tightened it and kicked away the fucking step!

Remember this will always say more about you then anything you could ever type. It speaks hate, it speaks evil, their is no kindness in you, your void of compassion, you are empty and full of jealousy. This jealousy consumes you, this hatred, this evil, and complete lack of empathy makes you the invisible monster and the continual nightmares of the weak and vulnerable.

Dear journalist you could write words of joy and happiness, the pen is in your hand but you choose to write the untruths, you choose to take the coals that fuel the fire and throw on your fucking flammable poison, watching it explode and destroy the lives of the innocent.

People fear terrorism but you are the terrorist of fake news, taking tiny snippets from a far bigger picture and then writing out the pain and struggles in black and white for the world to read when they are barely staying afloat, wading through a torrent of emotional baggage, drowning in a sea of verbal pollution along with scrutiny and judgment from a million strangers because of what you wrote.

Neither of you are better than the other, you wait for someone to fall to so you can cast your words and it’s like throwing shards of shattered glass at an already broken heart.

The heart will continue to beat while bleeding but you don’t feel or see the pain you cause… You just don’t feel anything. Your Void. Your Vacant. Your Nothing.

Hey paparazzi, your camera lens only sees what you fucking point it at, so while your hiding in a fucking bush to catch someone’s reality to sell it for a few quid, for it then to be turned in to ‘trending’ scandal. For the record last time I looked, when you wait outside someone’s house for hours and hours, hounding and scaring people this makes you a fucking stalker!!! Stalking is a crime so that makes you a fucking criminal.

I’m a no-one, I’m just a mum, just a wife at home reading the news everyday, watching tragedy unfold and nothing being done to prevent it, I know with the power of social media at its best this will reach one of you, a troll, a journalist, or a paparazzi that at one time, maybe said, printed, typed or photographed someone to cause pain, or make controversial reading so I’m writing this to tell you that it’s categorically not ok to pick away at someone relentlessly until they feel that they have no other choice than to kill themselves. In any walk of life, any job, any role, any school, any fucking time it is not fucking OK to ever ridicule, humiliate, name call, destroy, or cause physical or mental harm to any one ever. If you can’t be nice or kind then SAY FUCK ALL. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SAY NOTHING.

We are human beings, and we are at our very best when we support each other, nothing will beat a united force of amazing, strong, intelligent, humans raising people up, building love and protecting our vulnerable, if we all unite and come together to ‘out’ those that need ‘outing’, closing people down who need ‘shutting down’, we’re talking about fighting the big fight against moral injustice.

We aren’t made to like or get on with everyone but that doesn’t mean it’s ok to cause another person so much pain they feel so alone that their only option to stop the pain is to do the unthinkable. They pay the ultimate price with their life, their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and friends continue to pay as they learn to survive and live in the world that contributed to steal the lives of falling and wounded. Laws need to be made. Don’t let these poor victims become statistics.

Another attribute of the human race is the ability to offer second chances. Take it, and make a change because the likes of Mike Thalassitis , Sophie Gradon and Caroline Flack won’t get a second chance at LIFE! We have all done wrong at some point in our lives, it’s not too late to change, it’s never to late to stop being a cunt.

It’s not always hearts and flowers….

It’s Valentines weekend and every bistro and pub in town is decked out with heart shaped table confetti and couples looking longingly into the others eyes, the bloke living in hope that TONIGHT is the night that one too many gin sherberts leads to adventures where no man has been before.

So; it’s with a big dick, little dick, and a cardboard box of chocolates that I wish a very Happy Valentine’s Weekend to all and everyone of you, everyday and forever. After all it shouldn’t just be about one day! Love and appreciation should be displayed everyday to our ‘ovverr arfs’, I mean it’s time to re-evaluate things if you only get made to feel special ONE day a year!

….and to all the amazing single ladies – celebrate – and don’t let all the hearts, flowers and gigantic fluffy teddy’s fool you into feeling blue, let’s remember your probably single because you’ve not found your ‘lobster’ yet, you know that you deserve better than you’ve had, and your not settling for Winston on tinder swiping right to every woman with their own teeth and DM-ing THAT dick pic like that’s gonna turn you on!!!

Recharge those batteries and rage up that rabbit, give yourself the rampant loving you deserve. You don’t need a Winston (apologies to any winstons) to continue to try and miss the g-spot, when you know exactly where that beauty is!

Social media feeds are full #iloveyou #lookatmyflowers #myblokeisbetterthanyourbloke – it’s all fucking filtered!

A reality check – my marriage is perfectly-imperfect, and that’s how we like it, some people might say we are too ‘comfortable’ as one second I prance around naked and often quite hairy, singing Fleetwood Mac out of tune and the next minute we are having a serious conversation and putting the world to right whilst having a shit with the door open!

Rarely do we get ever get much time alone, and if we did, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be a ‘red room’ moment, but more of a foreplay medley of melted cheese, and pulling off an orgasm in 10 minutes with a duvet over my head, finishing the evening with eight hours of unbroken sleep!

For the record we aren’t too comfortable. We just understand that ‘love’ isn’t always hearts and flowers but I do appreciate every inch of my husband as he does me, albeit, sometimes during the monotonous daily grind it doesn’t always feel that way and in-spite and despite of all of the moaning and everyday grumbles that happen within a relationship my life is better because of him.

Yours truly.

Just a girl called Kelly.




Forty ….. Say What??

I’m fucking Forty! Like how did that happen, I was 30 just last week.

So far, I can vouch my vagina hasn’t dried up over night! I think the ‘hubster’ was a little concerned to be honest, he’s never slept with forty-year-old before so his maiden voyage on a forty-year-old flange-ship was indeed slippery when wet!

I don’t know if everyone feel’s this way but leaving the fine and respectable age of 39 behind was a proper sad day. I am not ashamed to admit, I may have shed a tear. It felt like the end of the second part of the trilogy of my life. The beginning of the end, OR is it the beginning of the best years of my life… I hold the pen so I guess its up to me how I write the story.

So much monumental shit happens before you turn forty, for me. I’ve moved through the counties like a modern-day gypsy, I have lived carelessly and chaotically kissing many frogs along the way. I have made friends and broke friends, kept friends, lost friends, buried friends. I have loved and hated with a passion. I have found and married the ‘hubster’. We broke up and made up, and he is the father to our children. He passed up the option for a ‘trade in’ so he’s pretty much stuck with me now!  I have experienced the grief that comes with child loss, the heartbreak, the indescribable pain that lives within you forever in this prison of grief, occasionally it gets parole and resurfaces to remind you it’s still there and it really is still as painful. On the upside, I have rejoiced the tears of happiness over the birth of my children, taking me on a journey from careless, selfish, prodigal wanderer into a ‘mother’. This is by far the biggest and most significant life changing moment of my entire life to date. I know how blessed I am to have been able to have children. I’ve bought houses and sold houses, had jobs, lost jobs, run businesses, dissolved businesses. I have evolved! I’ve had a thigh gap and lost it, I had boobs that used to pass a pencil test and now I can store an entire pencil case under them. I have grown in more ways than in just width.

So here I am at forty! Wondering what lies ahead. I know it won’t entail, wasting time on people that don’t matter, when I say don’t matter, the people that don’t inspire, support or enhance my life in any way. 

I am on my own journey, in my own lane, dragging the ‘husbster’ and kids along behind me, what you’re up to in your lane, well; it’s none of my business, we travel at different speeds, blossom at different times, grow when watered with love and surrounded by ‘your type’ of people. A life of comparison will never give you contentment, it distracts you from what’s important. It sparks negativity and raises questions of doubt leading to a lack of self-belief, and we all just need to believe in ourselves a bit more, and believe we are capable of living our best life.

I do feel like I lost myself for a while, raising kids is amazing(ly hard), and for 13 years I have submerged myself into raising my kids. It’s not a negative thing and its not a regret of mine, but upon reflection I realise I have dedicated my ‘whole self’ in entirety, not keeping anything that kept me, ME.

Take note, you won’t win any lifetime achievement awards for raising kids, and I do believe you need to be a little bit selfish and refill that self love pot from time to time, it’s important to be able distinguish between the mother within you and the person you are, to be the best that you can be.

Forty, has found me reflecting and finding balance, forgiveness and resolve. I have also found that on my nights out the excitement takes over and in my mind I’m actually still 18 and I’m knocking back the drinks like I used to knock back the 20/20 down the ‘alley’ in a sleepy town called Chard! Only now it is actually ‘2020’ and I’ve grown up a ‘little bit’ exchanging maddog for Jagerbombs and now when I throw up I also piss myself, a new degree of multitasking!

Hangovers used to be cured with a lie in until 3pm, getting up to eat and repeat. My new ‘forty’ hangovers last THREE FUCKING DAYS, day one, I am vomiting and pissing myself, day two, I have a relentless headache and have a mouth as dry as nuns foof! So you’ll find me lapping up the water directly from a tap like thirsty dog on a hot day. The final hurdle is day three and I am inhaling literally anything that is edible that wont make me gag…..puke… or piss myself.

At forty I am clearly not wiser for being older, because I will do all of the above over and over, again and again.

So in brief …

  • Surround yourself with good people, your type of people and stay away from arseholes. They are always there but they are always avoidable.
  • Don’t compare yourself to others. You do you, and only you!
  • Be a little bit selfish sometimes. It’s OK, treat it like ‘day release’ for the exhausted mother.
  • Don’t do shots. EVER. They are BAD. They do NOT make you funnier, smarter or dance like Beyoncé…. Have you seen my move; affectionately named ‘The Smokin Turtle’? WTF!!
  • Invest in ‘Tena Lady’ and permanent hair removal. Some things are worth the price tag!
  • Primarily and most importantly do continue to live your best fucking life, it’s a gift not everyone gets.
  • Hopefully a little wiser with few less fucks to give.
  • Wear that badge with pride.

Here is to being forty and fabulous darlings… mwah!

Yours Truly

Just… that forty year old!

Seven years of reflection…

Dearest Elliot,

Seven years old you would be.

Troublesome, cheeky, mischievous and full of Harris character, for some reason this year you are present in my thoughts even more prominently today, the 5th December! This day is no particular day to anyone else who knew you, knew of you, held you or loved you, because to everyone else your real birthday was the day you were born, the 6th December at 5.12pm.

  • However on the 5th, to me and you this was the day we said our goodbyes! I’m reflecting; I’m thinking of you as I always do, but even more so on these up and coming days where our memories were made.
  • I’m reflecting; on our journey together, I’m remembering who I once was, before and after you! The neglectful, bitter and self torturous person I became for long while after losing you, and who I am now! The dark, dark places and the destructive thoughts I visited, and where I am now.
  • I’m proud of me for surviving, for keeping on keeping on when I really didn’t want to. I’m proud of you for teaching me that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be. I’m proud of you for showing me that when you allow yourself to love with all of your heart, you have to accept that you will also hurt with all your heart because loving makes you vulnerable to loss, but loving also fills you with more happiness and contentment than you’d ever feel without it.
  • I am also scared; I am entirely powerless over time, powerless of how quickly it passes and how each minute, week, month, year that passes is another space in time that takes me further away from you. Which in itself sounds utterly ridiculous when your not even here.
  • That’s the thing about grief, time allows acceptance, but time also dilutes the intolerable pain to a bearable but yet still palpable level, and in some way you want to hold on to that tormenting pain and hurt, because feeling something, is sometimes better than feeling nothing.
  • I’m not some sort of ‘woe is me’, masochistic sadist! I’m happy about where I am, and who I am, and have become, but let’s not forget that I am and will always be a bereaved mummy who aches internally because she misses her three sons. I would do anything to bring you all back! The pain makes me feel that little bit closer to you, and I’m scared that the more time that passes the further away from you all I will feel.
  • I sometimes wish I could ask you how you feel about this space in time between us, but what a ridiculous question to ask a seven year old! What a ridiculous question to ask your children.
  • I mean, in this parallel world we live, between life and death do you feel the pain I feel, do you miss me, like I do you?
  • I hope you don’t, I hope with my aching heart that you don’t ever have any concept of any of this, and that life in spirit is peaceful, comforting and full of nothing but happiness…. and of course plenty of chocolate without tooth decay, sweeties without sickness, fizzy pop without hiccups, noisy toys without the need of batteries, happiness without sadness, days without nights, nights without darkness, and a happy 7th birthday with the most enormous cake!
  • Happy birthday my sweet boy Elliot.
  • Forever in my heart.
  • Forever my little soldier.
  • Forever missed.
  • Mummy x