Category Archives: Lifestyle

40 Things

Tomorrow, I turn 40 years old. By design, my life now is simple, stress free, and fun. I feel loved, and I feel valued. It hasn’t always been this way; I have waded through massive amounts of bullshit to get here. I thought it only appropriate, on the 40th anniversary of my arrival on this planet, to share some key things that I have learned on my way here – alongside some of my favourite things from 1978. Please enjoy.


Me, obvs. I’m clearly one of my favourite things from 1978.

1. Makeup is not about how you look, it’s about how you feel about how you look. If you feel good about your face, you feel less compelled to spend your time fixing it.

2.  There’s no emotional relationship you are not allowed walk away from when it is damaging you.

3. High heeled shoes are genuinely not worth it.

4. You are not responsible for how any other person feels. They may be upset, but that’s their truth, and it’s not down to you to manage that.

5. No one else is responsible for how you feel. Do not expect other people to behave according to what will make you feel good.

6. Tidy does not equal clean.

Watership Down

Watership Down. I even nearly cried looking through Google images to find this. Devastating.

7. Most situations and stories can be cropped to fit any chosen narrative. Check the true facts before wasting your energy on outrage.

8. We are mostly designed to tolerate a status quo, to achieve stasis and maintain. We’re designed to put up with less than ideal conditions, until the pain of staying still outweighs the discomfort of actual change. Don’t beat yourself up about not immediately Fixing All The Things, but also understand where and when you need a push to achieve what you really want.

9. You do not have to forgive someone to be able to move on and have a happy and fulfilled life. Some actions and choices do not merit forgiveness – and not forgiving someone is not the same as holding a grudge. If you are living with constant anger or grief over someone else’s actions, you need someone to help you… but if a person wants forgiveness for their actions, tell them to go and find Jesus.

10. Some relationships are beyond economical repair, and that’s OK.

11. Every day, aim to be the best You that you can be that day. Might not be as good as yesterday, might be better than tomorrow, but it’s the best you can be today and that is good.


Garfield – born weeks after me. He has slightly  higher levels of impulse control than I do.

12. Take the time to always be honest with yourself. If you cannot acknowledge your own reality, your own failings, or admit your own wants, then your interaction with the world is not truthful. It’s not fair to yourself primarily, but it’s also not fair to the people in your life.

13. Cheap toilet paper is never, ever worth the cost saving.

14. Judging people is absolutely fine. Just keep your fucking mouth closed about it.


The Kenny Everett Video Show. All in the BEST possible taste.

15. Ironing clothes is not worth the effort. Make a life decision not to do it, except in exceptional circumstances, and it will make you free. Well, free-er.

16. We have many evolutionary redundancies – male nipples, the appendix, wrist tendons for tree climbing… Pain is not one of them; physical or emotional, pay attention to it. It’s there for a reason.

17. Spend your time with people that value who you are, not the people that tolerate who you are.

Battlestar Galactica

The original Battlestar Galactica. Ahhh, Starbuck…

18. If you think everyone around you is being an asshole, take a moment to find the common denominator, and then re-review the circumstances.

19. ‘Smart Casual’ is one of the world’s most subjective terms, and can be merrily abused to whatever extent you have the nuts for.

20. Doing a good thing because it makes you feel good, rather than because you actually care, does not make you bad person. Self care is important, and if everyone wins – happy days.

21. If someone tells you that their experience is different to yours, hear them. They are not lying to you, even if it challenges what you thought to be true.

Animal House

National Lampoon’s Animal House. I should never have had access to this film as early as I did, but there we have it.

22. No one can decide for you how you are supposed to feel about something. Your values and experiences may give you an entirely different perspective to even those closest to you. That said, if you are disproportionately apathetic, or massively overreacting, you probably want to have a look at that.

23. You are not entitled to the world giving you easy money. You are not entitled to a fancy house, or a fulfilling career. You are however entitled to the love and care of people who are supposed to love and care for you. If you didn’t get that, then they did a bad fucking job, and it doesn’t just fall under “Life’s not fair, deal with it”.

24. Woodchip wallpaper is the work of the fucking devil.

Mork & Mindy

Mork & Mindy. Robin Williams ❤

26. You are wrong about something. Something you think you are right about. You will probably be sensitive or angry when someone points it out. It’s fine to be wrong, it’s fine to be upset about it, and it’s fine to feel like a bit of a dick – what’s not fine is not learning from it.

26. If you are a man, everything you do is – by default – manly. If you are a lady, everything you do is – by default – ladylike. Correct people on their adjectives and don’t let them define your shit.

27. Recycle for fuck’s sake. You made the rubbish, it’s your responsibility, and that doesn’t stop when someone else puts it in the back of a truck and takes it out of sight.

28. If you cannot complete your work within your contracted hours, you have either been given too much to do, or you are in the wrong job. Do not give a corporation extra hours for free. You won’t be thanked.

Sesame Street

Sesame Street. Still love it, to this day.

29. Spend time with children. They will either allow you access to a world of simplicity you had forgotten about – or they will reinforce why you were right not to have them. Maybe both.

30. Say ‘no’ if you want to. You do not need to justify yourself, nor offer an explanation. It is not a debate, or a negotiation.

31. Be clear about your expectations to your family and friends. No one is able to read your mind, and because you are a different human person, what is obvious to you is not likely to be obvious to them. Failing to explain what you want and need is a straight line to disappointment – and it’s your own fault.

32. Fear will cripple you if you let it. Assess, understand risks, mitigate where possible, but walk forward in awareness with your head up.

The White Dragon

The White Dragon by Anne McCaffrey. One of my all-time favourite authors.

33. Do not borrow trouble from tomorrow. Future You can handle that shit when time comes – if there is nothing you can do about it now, leave it the fuck alone.

34. If you are unable to stop worrying or being fearful on your own, you need someone else to help you out of whatever physical, emotional or mental situation you are in. Go and ask.

35. No matter how well-reasoned, balanced, inclusive, well-researched, fair and progressive your opinion is, someone will always fundamentally disagree with you. It may make no logical sense, but people give a shit about different things, and those things are often selfish and destructive. And since everyone is allowed an opinion, you just have to suck it up.

36. If you don’t engage with other people’s drama, it won’t engage with you. Walk away, without remark, be at peace.

Every Which Way But Loose

Every Which Way But Loose. Not sure that any part of this would be appropriate for 2018, but might just have to watch it again to check.

37. Spend deliberate time immersed the things that bring you joy. 5 minutes of laughing at a squirrel dicking around can counter a surprising amount of bullshit.

38. Anyone who belittles you or your experience is a bully. They are attempting to create a power discrepancy between you, to either repress you by standing on your head, or make themselves look taller by standing on your shoulders. Fuck them. You do not deserve that.

39. Some people want your advice and opinions to help them fix a problem. Some people just want your complicity while they are angry about something. Understand the difference, and be careful who you gift your time and energy to.

40. You are one person, from one place, with one life. There are 7,600,000,000 other lives out in the world – any time you spend understanding some of them better will make your own experience more rounded and rewarding.

For a brief, lovely moment, I had my babies back

Last night, I had a dream that I was in a forest somewhere. Not a dark, wildernessy type forest, mind. Deciduous trees, vibrant green colours, a leafy glade if you will. The kind of place you go for a walk on a Sunday when you and your partner have guilt-tripped yourselves into doing some exercise, but don’t want to commit to anything you will regret later.

I was on one side of grassy clearing, and on the other side was a medium sized fire pit. In the middle of it was a big stack of wood, arranged into pyramid shape, burning nicely. There was a young man sat on a log by the fire; I was there with him, but I couldn’t say now who he was supposed to be. He was very blond… I think my brain had made him up by splicing together 3 or 4 different people from reality, as it does more frequently with places.

Also there with me were my two cats. That’s worthy of note because a) we were in the middle of a fucking forest and b) they both passed away between 3 and 8 years ago respectively, and I have never dreamed of either of them before.

Harvey and Dylan

Life was just so hard for these guys

They were just wandering around in the clearing, doing their own cat stuff. You know; sniffing things in that deeply feline way that that makes their whole upper lip area flex, eating grass which I know damn well was going to get thrown up in the middle of night for me to tread in, trying to catch out the ghosts that were ruffling their fur every time the wind gusted…

Suddenly, they both moved off in that paws-blurred, ears-back, slinky trot that cats do when they really want to get away from something, but don’t want to draw attention to the fact that they are shitting themselves. Upon investigation it turned out that a grizzly bear had appeared a way off down the path and the cats had, quite rightly, cheesed it.

As so often with the world of dreams, things got a little weird after that. I think I ended out squaring up to the bear, with a burning branch in each hand, because there was no way that either Blondie or I could have run away fast enough to get to safety. I don’t remember how it ended, but I am going to assume that it was not triumphantly – for me at any rate.

Wildlife confrontation aside, and regardless of however briefly, it was really nice to be back with my cats again. Just chilling, having a nice time.

I miss them.

I guess I understand now why some people like to believe there is a heaven.

Dylan interested

“I see you are playing World of Warcraft. Allow me to offer you some derisive remarks on how out of date your kit is. N00b.”

On death. Or life. Or both, actually.

One day I am going to die. My heart will stop beating, and my blood will stop being pushed around my body. This self-sustaining organic system that I walk around wearing will fail. After everything I have forced upon my body over the years, at some point it will no longer be able to keep functioning. It will fail, and it will stop. I will stop.

When that happens, it may come as a surprise. It may be as the result of some massive trauma; I may simply run out of blood because it’s leaked everywhere, or certain key bits of me may be compromised beyond repair.

Or… I may be aware that there is something deeply wrong with me, and my death may be the end of a medical battle. I may have known for some time that somewhere inside me, something was destroying me from within.

Whichever route gets me there, I will eventually stop. I may stop quietly in my sleep… however, knowing myself, I doubt that very much; I wake up if a moth so much as farts on the way past my bedroom window. I am fairly sure that right at the end, I will be awake and aware. Even if it is just in some primal way, I will know when the end of me arrives, and I will be scared.

In the final moments though, I don’t think I will be scared for very long. I don’t know what brain chemistry does to perception at the point of death, mind you – it might stretch time weirdly, like it does in a car accident. Although I reckon if that happens, some kind of “-amine” will be released in conjunction and it will get all trippy and 60’s-music-video on my ass.

All things considered, I’m not actually scared of dying. It’s the life bit right before that which concerns me.

(For context, I’ve just listened to Blackstar, the last David Bowie album. I’ve had it for the best part of 4 months, but have bottled listening to it until now.)

2016 has brought death and loss sharply into focus, for me and for a lot of other people around the world. I am aware that people die every day and that they are all important to someone. However this year has heralded the end of many people who had global renown, and whose impact was was felt by many more people than just those who were in their immediate lives. It can’t help but sharpen your thinking about certain things when you lose so many people in such a short period of time.

It’s generous to think that I will keep living an enthusiastic and independent life well into my 80’s or 90’s, but the reality is – that might not be the case. Tonight might be my last night *cue dramatic music*

I do not believe that anything happens to us spiritually once we’re dead. We stop, and we degrade. I do not believe that we have souls that are released from a physical shell, I do not believe that there is a world beyond this one, or a higher plane, or a heaven. When we’re done, we’re done. We may get to leave a legacy behind us that impacts other people (for good or for evil), but most of us will only exist in memory.

So the real question then becomes this; if I stopped living tonight, what’s my legacy, my memory?

Does my sister know that I loved her beyond anything else? Is my houseful of shit simple to sort out when I’m not here? Was I living the life I wanted to live? Did I inspire joy and amusement in those around me? Would the people left alive behind me be able to say in confidence that I had a good fucking time while I was here?

I believe that the answer to all of the above is yes. Don’t get me wrong, I have lived through a load of awful situations in the past – and I haven’t been on the Harry Potter studio tour yet… But! Right now, at this very moment, I am living a life of enjoyment, happiness and balance. It took me a long time to get here, and it was hard-fought, but this is a state that I fully intend on staying in until I stop living.

I would encourage all of you to start cutting out the parts of your lives that cause you pain, anger, or sadness. Find ways to let go of the one-way transactions in your life, where you give and get nothing in return; the thankless jobs, the selfish individuals. The things and people that drag you down to less than you should be. If you need it, get help to be the best version of you that you can be.

Let’s be honest, you never do know when you will come to an end, and life is too short to be doing anything other than that which makes you smile while you are alive – and that which makes YOUR PEOPLE smile after you are gone.

On that note, I can confirm that after much experimentation and deliberation, Kale farts are seriously the worst farts ever.

You’re welcome.

“…oh, I wish you’d wear a dress!”

This past Wednesday, I went on a night out with my work colleagues. We don’t all get to see each other very often, since most people work in different parts of the country, and fairly typically it ended out as a drunken, raucous gathering of 30-odd bloody lovely people having a bloody lovely evening.

However – both in the corporate environment that I work in, and the town centre on a Wednesday night – I don’t really blend in very well.

What happened throughout that evening (and has been happening since I was in charge of picking my own clothes if I’m honest), is that I had series of conversations with different people all about why I don’t dress up more – because I’d look really nice in XYZ outfit, because I have such a nice figure, etc. etc.

And I totally get it; I am a scruffy mess and that is not what the majority of people aim for. Any clothes that I put on immediately look like I have slept in them. You know what? I kinda like that.

I have a gleeful pride in how little time it takes me to get ready to leave the house, how small my wardrobe is, how few pairs of shoes I own, and how long it’s been since I last ironed anything. I think it would be fair to say that a significant part of that is a joyous rejection of gender-based expectations of how I am going to present myself – which in turn has it’s roots in the fact that I really struggle to care.

The last time I was interested in a fashionable item of clothing, it was a layered denim and black lace skirt. It was 1987. I was 9 and I was in love with Jon Bon Jovi, incidentally. On top of not really seeing anything which I am supposed to like that has appealed for the best part of 30 years, my natural inclination in everything is to expend as little energy as possible – which includes my appearance. When I was maybe 14, possibly 13, I had my hair cut short. It used to take me ages to manhandle it into shape in the mornings – because I didn’t understand that my hair was in fact curly. As soon as I realised that was the problem, I just let it run free and do whatever the hell it was inclined to do. That was the last time I made any concerted effort in my appearance, and I have never looked back.

Happy happy joy joy

Zero fucks given.

There was a period of time after I left my horrible mistake of a marriage where I rushed back to the loving embrace of my metal roots, to get back in touch with who I was. I adopted a goth uniform of sorts, which was pretty much all I wore for about 3 years; black skirt, stripey socks, black mesh long-sleeved shirt with a slogan t-shirt over the top, black New Rock boots.

Download 2004

“…Look Busy.”

It was simple, lightweight, easy to pack, and quick to put on. I wore that until I bought my first pair of Criminal Damage baggy black jeans (or, my goat-smuggling trousers, as dubbed by my best mate) and then that became my new uniform. That tends to be my pattern; find something I like, then wear it for years until it falls apart or I find something of superior awesomeness. Rinse and repeat.

During the last relationship-I-should-never-have-been-in, I was constantly getting disparaged and sneered at for not dressing up nicely like the Eastern European women you see pushing strollers through town, or making a proper effort like the trendy women that you see strutting around Camden and Brick Lane. “Go fuck yourself, I’m outta here.” should have been what I said. I didn’t say that. I ended out wearing different clothes – skinny jeans, branded tops, women’s boots – to try and regain some modicum of respect, regard and interest from my partner. Because THAT always works, huh people? All that happened was that I further lost myself and got even more crushed under his boot heels by trying to conform to someone else’s idea of what I should be like.

I am never, ever doing that again. I don’t like skinny jeans, or having my hair in a bun, or dresses, or painful women’s shoes, or whatever bullshit some nutjob clothes designer has decided is suddenly the thing to wear this season. Sorry pal, I’m not playing.

There are a few things that I have always gravitated towards; black, red, black AND red, black and red STRIPES…

Red and Black Stripes

8 1/2 year old me. A leopard never changes it’s spots… or stripes…

…otherwise muted colours, big shoes, baggy jeans. My ‘style’, if you can call it that, is comfortable, low maintenance, and cheap. I would like to say that it’s practical because of my over-fondness of massive pockets, but if you’d ever seen me hopping about in the rain to avoid absorbing my own body-weight in puddle water into my trousers, you’d understand why I avoid that claim.

One thing my style is NOT, however, is flattering. I have become less and less interested in putting myself on display as the years have gone past. I feel no obligation to wear anything that shows off my lady-parts, or even wear ‘women’s’ clothes at all. Like everything in my life these days, I know how to play the game, I just choose not to. As I go about my business, thousands of people might look at me and turn their nose up, or not even register me at all…


They are not the people that I am interested in. I am interested in the folks that see the scruffy, baggy jeans that haven’t been ‘on trend’ for a decade or two, who see the unkempt hair that I obviously haven’t done anything with since I got out of bed, and don’t care. I am interested in the people who look at my t-shirt and think, “She likes Brand New! Awesome!”

It’s taken me many, many years to properly get on board with the idea that I am fucking brilliant, precisely the way I am. I am aware that it means I will probably spend the rest of my life batting back questions about my choices, but that’s totally cool. Let’s be honest – who doesn’t?

[Brand New really are excellent, by the way.]

Happy Sunday…

…to those who never have to deal with snoring, and get the whole bed to themselves.
…to those who only have their own glorious mess to contend with.
…to those who get to spend their entire disposable income on themselves.
…to those who never have to carry the cold stone of sickening worry in their belly.
…to those who know that the last piece of dessert will always be in the fridge where they left it.
…to those who get to go wherever they want without having to consult with anyone else.
…to those who can leave their washing on the bedroom floor.
…to those who never have to argue about who’s going to take the last beer.
…to those who are never waiting around for someone else to get ready.
…to those who never come home to any unnecessary conflict or petty gripes.
…to those who don’t have to spend a fortune on Christmas presents for someone else’s family.
…to those who never have to sacrifice space in their home to another person’s interests.
…to those who don’t have to apologise for coming home drunk.
…to those who don’t have to negotiate their way through the minefield of someone else’s headfucks.
…to those who can spend the whole weekend at home in their pants without criticism.
…to those who are enjoying a respite from drama.
…to those who never have to clean someone else’s piss off of the toilet.

For everyone who joins me in being actively grateful for being alone, I wish you a marvellous Sunday.

Valentine’s Day has always rankled a little, even when I have been in relationships. I resent the idea that at some point, a group of corporations has dictated a day when we are guilt-tripped into spending money to demonstrate the extent to which we care about someone – and as a society we’ve just gone along with it.

So as a nice, solid, two-fingered salute to a capitalist drive to exploit love, let us celebrate with gleeful joy the vibrancy of this exquisitely sweary ode to pure hatred by Frank Carter & the Rattlesnakes;

You’re welcome.

If you EVER hear me complaining…

Every now and then, I get a really poignant reminder of how excellent and simple my life really is.

A few minutes ago, I was sat on the bus, on the way home after a couple of quiet pints in the pub watching the football. I was considering going back to bed for a few hours when I got home, before maybe listening to some music, or playing a PC game, or even just chilling out and catching up with some Youtube subscriptions that I am behind on.

Just then a woman – a little bit younger than me – got on with four small children, one of which was in a wheelchair, wearing a soft helmet, and methodically chewing his way through a section of carpet underlay. The other three, whilst being reasonably well behaved from what I understand about kids, spent the entire journey winding eachother up and testing their mother.

I haven’t always had things easy; I am not privileged and I have experienced my own fair share of trials. I have also fucked a lot of things up in my life, but I am deeply, DEEPLY grateful for the choices that I have made and where they have brought me to now.

Self-Defined Morality

You are walking down the street and you see a dog run across the road and get hit by a car. The car doesn’t stop, and there is no-one else around. You have a choice to make; maybe you don’t feel obliged to do anything since it’s not your dog, so you walk the other way and don’t get involved. You could be really scared and decide not to stop, but you call an animal protection society to come and help while you’re on your way to wherever you are going. Or, you could run over and help the dog. You could do any one of these things – and no-one would ever know either way. It’s entirely up to you how you respond.

Let’s say that you choose to go over and help the dog. There’s an infinite number of possibilities of what you are going to find when you get there. The dog could already be dead… He could be hurt so badly that there is no way to save him… She might just be stunned and you can get her to the vets, and she’ll be fine… You could end out covered in blood and crying your heart out because you really tried and there was nothing you could do… These are all the things that you could face as you wade in to try and do your best to help, to do the right thing, whatever that might be. Regardless of the horrible possibilities in front of you, you do it anyway.

Now let’s say that back while you’re assessing the situation, you remember that your parents are hugely into animal welfare, and will be so proud of you for helping, that they’ll probably take you out for a lovely free meal at an expensive restaurant when they find out what you did. You decide to go and help out the dog, because whatever the outcome, you know you will get a truly awesome dinner experience, just for doing a good thing.

The net result is the same; the dog gets care from a stranger, which it might not necessarily have had otherwise. It might have even been the dog’s last moments, and you were there to stroke its head and try to impart some comfort… You might be upset, but you can take some personal positives from having been there and done your part.

You did a good thing.

…but don’t ever try and suggest you are better than the person helped anyway, without the promise of a lovely dinner.

Catholic Faith

Alcohol turns me into my own dumbass flatmate

  • Drunken Amazon Obsession


MUST HAVE ALL THE THINGS. Life is a constant round of surprise gifts from Drunk Me. Consequently, my home is now a shrine to bubble wrap, padded envelopes and other packaging that won’t reasonably go in the recycling.

  • Poor Alcohol Management


Who does this? That’s not even a whole glass. Fuck am I meant to do with that?

  • Being sociable


Drunk Me gets all enthusiastic about Going Out and Doing Things and makes promises for us both. Sober Me has to deal with the fallout.

  • Trail of destruction




Seriously, like I need any help making a mess.

  • Pizza


Drunk Me likes pizza way more than is reasonable or healthy. I found this under some clothes in my bedroom. Being able to order pizza without getting out of bed or talking to anyone is a bad idea.

Go home, Me, you’re drunk.

Oh, wait…

And lo, the scales fell from my eyes.

“Money is the root of all evil.”

That is a phrase I have heard bandied about my entire life, but I am only now truly beginning to appreciate the actual depth of it. What has truly hit me hard recently are the things that I am still learning about the extent of the way animals are allowed to be treated within the food industry, purely for the purposes of turning a profit.

Vegetarianism on ethical grounds has been around so long now that everybody knows about it, and the basic moral question being asked; “Am I comfortable with the idea that something else was killed so that I could eat it?” We’re all grown-ups here, we all know what eating meat entails, but it’s such a normal part of life these days that most of us see that death as an acceptable side effect of being able to have bacon, and steak, and Sunday roast dinners. Besides, it really is more of a hypothetical question, when someone else has actually done the dirty work, and all we have to do is wander into a shop and pay for it.

There are, and always have been, people who have found at some point in their life that the answer to that question is actually no, and I became one of those people earlier this year. I wrote a blog explaining my reasoning here – for me, it had become a very simple choice between dead animals, and living animals.

What I was not prepared for was the horror story that has been unfolding in front of me ever since then.

Due to the fact that a) I am exceptionally lazy and b) I have frequently been very poor in the past, I haven’t really drunk milk since I was at college. I still cooked with it occasionally, because Yorkshire Puddings are the food of the Gods, but given the scarcity with which I used it, I began to think about cutting it out entirely. Reducing reliance on animals seemed like a good way forward, so I started looking more and more into Veganism… and that is when the layers of the seemingly harmless food industry onion really began to start peeling away, to reveal a far more unpleasant core than I was expecting.


We’ve been brought up with this idyllic country farm image, where Daisy the cow grazes in the fields in the glorious sunshine, and comes wandering in to be milked when the farmer calls. A peaceful, calm partnership in the dairy industry. Well, of course that’s what we’ve been presented with, because the truth of what actually drives milk production is fucking horrible.

Logically, I could have pieced the truth together myself if I’d thought about it, but it’s one of those things that you just accept without question because that’s the way it’s always been. Female mammals produce milk in order to feed their young, we all know that. In order to produce milk therefore, the female has to be pregnant, we all know that. What hadn’t really clicked with me is that to keep a cow constantly producing milk means subjecting the cow to repeated pregnancies, which in turn means regularly impregnating her, whether she likes it or not. Starts to get a little bit icky there for me, when you expand that as a concept.

Of course, as a logical outcome of being pregnant, the cow has a baby, we all know that. But hang on a minute, if the baby is drinking the milk, how are we supposed to get any?! Well, her baby gets taken away from her, normally within hours. The mother has the milk sucked out of her while she mourns for her absent calf. As for the babies – if they don’t get killed straight away – they don’t get to drink the milk their own mothers produce for them. No no, that’s for humans of course; the baby cows get to drink a substitute…

What the actual fuck? When did we buy into this? We know what repeatedly losing babies does to a woman, who was the first person to decide that it was OK to do that to cows? And that’s ignoring the fact that cow’s milk isn’t meant for us in the first place.

After milk, I started looking into the Vegan arguments about eggs. Not eating meat was easy for me, but eggs were a different matter – similar to milk, they were pretty key to the things I cooked. So again, I started looking into it, because chickens produce eggs without our intervention, so were does the harm come in?

Baby Chicks

Hens in battery farms and cages are bad, we all know that. Free range chickens, that’s a much better deal! Chickens can run around outside and have fun in the sun! Well actually, maybe not. Free-range just technically means ‘not in a cage’; they can still be stuffed in a barn with thousands of other chickens. They can still have their beaks cut off so they can’t peck their neighbours. And then there’s the fact that regardless of whether you choose free range eggs from an ethically managed brood, or settle for cheap eggs from caged hens, there are inevitably male chicks that are hatched during the breeding process. They are by their nature surplus to requirements since they don’t produce eggs, so they are separated off and killed. They are either minced up alive, or they are gassed.

...brilliant. No Child Born To Die and all that.

At every turn in the food industry, there is some hidden truth about the treatment of animals that is deeply, deeply unpleasant. But Veganism isn’t just about food, it’s about not using products or clothing that has been linked to animals either. Leather’s easy enough to understand; it’s skin that has been taken off of an animal that has probably been killed for food  – we all know that. But what’s wrong with wool? That grows out of sheep regardless, and if we didn’t give them haircuts, they’d end out like that nutter New Zealand sheep that was on the news! Right?


I was interested in the wool piece, because I do quite a bit of knitting. Turns out, that most wool comes from Merino sheep, which have been deliberately bred to a) produce more wool than they naturally would and b) have excess folds of skin, producing more wool per square sheepage. Trouble is, more skin folds = more chance of getting flies doing nasty things in there. So they have developed a practise called mulesing.  Mulesing is the removal of strips of skin – without anaesthetic – from the buttocks of sheep, leaving bare raw flesh exposed so that it turns into scar tissue and stops flystrike. Try Google image searching it. On top of that, the wool is sheared off whenever’s convenient for us, and not when would be critical from a temperature perspective for the sheep, plus there are all of the injuries suffered during the shearing process itself.

For fuck’s sake, seriously? Is nothing sacred? I even found out recently that some beer and wine producers use animal products as finings – gelatin and isinglass (fish swim bladders). IT’S BEER. How the fuck are we even shoe-horning the use of animal products into BEER?

As for using animal skins, we have largely accepted that the fur trade is a Bad Thing. You know, they hunt tigers, and club cute baby seals to death and everything. We all know that. However, there’s a 2005 film called Earthlings – which I don’t think I will ever be brave enough to watch – which uses hidden camera footage to show the real activities that happen within industries that use animals for profit. I am quite reliably informed that there is a piece of the film that shows foxes – kept for their fur – being electrocuted IN THE ARSE to preserve the quality of their coat.

What the fuck?? Take an already cruel practise, and then turn the barbarism up to 11?

We have taken what was once a reliance on animals for food and clothing, and turned it into industry. It’s been monetised, consumers demand ‘value for money’, and therefore animals are being wrung for every penny that can be squeezed out of them. It’s out and out exploitation, and animals are treated like commodities, things to use for our own ends in any way that is convenient and cost effective for us. Above and beyond this, when ANY beings are reduced to THINGS in peoples’ minds, that can often come with an inherent cruelty, and bullying behaviour.

Even just taking these few examples, if you substitute humans into the scenario in place of the animals, it would be the plot of an awful and gruesome horror movie. The milk one would be especially twisted… We are talking about Nazi-level evilness, or medieval torture. It would be completely unacceptable – but it’s allowed to happen, because it’s not happening to people, it’s happening to animals.

I am sure there are people who are not concerned about the mistreatment of animals, who perhaps are desensitised. I however am not cool with any of it. I don’t draw distinctions between species’.  As far as I am concerned, if it’s not acceptable for one group of living beings on this planet, it’s not acceptable for any.

There’s another element to all of this, beyond the actual animal cruelty. There’s a message about capitalism here, about the focus on making profits, about draining our resources to their limits for financial gains, and about blindly buying and consuming.

I am truly and profoundly sad that it took me this long to get here, and to actually open my eyes.

Hello, I am a grown woman, of sound mind, and I don’t want children.

I’ve generally taken a “Never Say Never” approach to children, because I am aware that there are hormones and psychology involved in this shit, and therefore there was always a possibility that I would reach a point in my life where I would change my mind.

Well, I’ve just turned 37, and I have not changed my mind. I have never wanted children in the past, and I still don’t now. I have an absence of desire for babies. I understand that to ensure survival of the species, animals have a drive to reproduce. Well, humans are not just animals anymore, and I do not have that drive. Most people seem to feel that there is a child-shaped hole in their lives at some stage, and look forward to having a mini version of themselves running around; I genuinely cannot think of anything I want less for my life.

Since we in general are no longer in the position of running our own little farmsteads and having to raise a swathe of children as a) unpaid labour and b) someone obliged to look after us when we’re old, we no longer need to have families. These days, there are hundreds of reasons not to have children, and only one reason why you should – Because You Want To.

And you know, that’s cool, if you do want to. It’s… like… science. I just really don’t. There are a plethora of reasons for that – many of which are aptly demonstrated by this instagram account – but the biggest ones are probably;

  1. I don’t like children. They are loud, demanding, unreasonable, emotional, unpredictable idiots. Incidentally, I dislike those same characteristics in adults too.
  2. I REALLY don’t like babies. Not only are they completely incompetent in a way that the young of most other species aren’t, but they do that funny thing with their mouths that turns my stomach. They move in weird ways, and when they cry, it makes me ANGRY. I know there is a biological imperative that makes us respond to children’s cries, but it physically makes me feel aggressive. Red mist stuff. I genuinely do not trust myself around crying infants.
  3. I find the idea of pregnancy and breastfeeding physically revolting. I feel about gestation, childbirth and nursing the same way other people feel about maggots and gone-off milk. I am actively repulsed. Your body is taken over by a foreign entity that grows and grows until it smashes its way out, in many cases leaving you physically scarred for life, and then sucks its nourishment out of that same body. I mean, come on; that’s just grim.
  4. I like my life how it is. It is quiet, and peaceful. I spend most of my free time alone, and I earn enough money to do what I want, when I want. I choose my activity according to what will make me happy. I plan on keeping things that way.

Now all of that said, I do love reading blogs and watching vlogs about families who are doing their best to do things right by their kids. I like to see children that are happy, but I approach it more like a research project, a curiosity, and certainly something that happens at a distance.

Interestingly, kids seem to like being around me (…probably because I act like a child a lot of the time…) and I have in fact experienced isolated moments of enjoying the company of children. Watching my friend’s 3 year old son rocking out quietly to Bat Out Of Hell in the kitchen was hilarious and cute. However, I have also heard the stories about the same child melting down over ridiculous things, and for me there is not enough ‘cute’ to outweigh the ‘demon-spawn’.

Also, in order to be supportive and encouraging of a child’s growing mind and sense of identity, there’s loads of Not Being Honest that comes into play. And I’m not very good at that. I may be largely ignorant when it comes to dealing with kids, but even I know that “I heard you the first time – I just don’t care” is an inappropriate response. I am filled with inappropriate responses and no real desire not to use them.

When I was a child myself, I always just assumed that I would end out being a single parent – like the family environment I was raised in. It was only when I passed the age that my mother was when she had me – 20 1/2 years old – that it was like my ears popped, and I suddenly understood that it wasn’t fate, it was actually my choice (…I like to think that I am a smart person, but there is honestly no accounting for the conclusions you come to when you are younger.)

I started taking contraception seriously at college because hello, COLLEGE. The Pill was never a realistic option for me because I have the worst short-term memory, so I ended out having 3-monthly Depo Provera injections. It felt GOOD, knowing that there was something permanently in my body that would stop babies happening.

When I was 23, I got married. Seriously bad decision making, and worthy of a dedicated blog for another time. My then-husband started talking about having children and I freaked the absolute fuck out. I was horrified that there was an expectation that I would have his babies. We had never talked about children; me, because it never occurs to me as A Thing, and him I guess because most people just assume everyone wants kids. I went to the doctor for my Depo shot just after that, and they told me that they had run out. Instead, they offered me an implant, which lasted either 1 or 3 years. I went for the 3 years, and told my husband I had gone with the 1 year one. Yay for honesty in relationships…

Anyway, I have never looked back. I am on my 4th 3-year implant and I would never dream of not having it. I honestly think that I would be scared if I had to have it removed, it has become such a safety blanket.

This is me. This is who I am. There is nothing wrong with me, and there is nothing wrong with any other man or woman who – for whatever reason – makes what is actually the only logical choice about having children, when you think about it.

For my money, it’s the people who do want kids that are the weirdos.