Insane in the Membrane

So far today I’ve poured orange juice into my coffee instead of milk, put my toothpaste lid on my perfume bottle, tried to charge my laptop with my phone cable, forgotten my work pass for the zillionth day in a row and said “Thank You” to a cash machine before walking away empty-handed, thereby unwittingly making a charitable donation of £30 to the next in line.

And this was all before 9am.

How? Well, I have long toyed with the notion that I am lacking the brain cell that governs common sense. I think it’s potentially inherited from my Dad – maybe I’m genetically challenged or have imitated his lack of logic for some weird reason only Freud would attempt to explain. I have the Scatterbrain gene and I’m not afraid to use it.

It costs me a lot of money and wastes a lot of time but I’ve become accustom to it in a good way. I don’get stressed easily, I see little value in material possessions which can easily be replaced and I can laugh at everything, particularly myself.

And bizarrely this is an ailment I am not in search of a cure for. I actually am quite fond of the mishaps and disasters that narrate my existence. There is never a Beige day when everything goes to plan and I can’t help be in love with the idea that I’ll forever be Perfectly Flawed.

Here are the 9 Official Signs You’re A Scatterbrain…(according to Bustle)

  1. Your internet crashes daily due to the million tabs you have open – This made me elegantly snort laugh as I currently have over 40 tabs open whilst typing this
  2. You suffer from a regular case of Analysis Paralysis 
  3. Getting ready to leave the house takes five times longer than you planned 
  4. You constantly leave your essentials behind
  5. You have a million new (unrelated) ideas every day
  6. It looks like a bomb went off inside your purse
  7. You read half of a lot of books
  8. You forget to send the attachment on emails 
  9. You’ve found salvation from making lists

See here for more information on Scatterbrainsymptoms:




Coffee Shakes & Heart Aches

Oh I hate break-ups.

I wish once you’ve decided you are breaking up with somebody you could (at least temporarily) ship them off to Planet Ex until your heart has healed and you feel moderately sane again.

I’ve had three real break ups in my life so far… The first two were heartbreaking in the way that your heart fractures when a loved one dies. It’s a big crack, it hurts a lot, but you know deep down that you just have to grieve it out of your system and time will be a healer.

Yesterday I said the real and final goodbye to number three and it is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. We are still completely in love.  We adore each other from head to toe and inside out. Neither of us want it to end, but it feels like it has to…

Parting is all we know of Heaven and all we need know of Hell

~ Emily Dickinson

This is a pain I just don’t understand. Real gut-wrenching, heart-crumbling, mind-fucking Love. A Heartache that feels like ten thousand knives to the stomach. A Heartache that wakes you up to black stormy skies in the middle of summer. A wound that feels like it will never truly heal.

I am a Leper of Love.



Meditate in my direction…

Image result for clouds at sunsetThere is no such thing as a Cloudy Sky.

There is a Sky…

and there are Clouds….

Our Minds are naturally pure in state and it’s this kind of visualisation that helps to separate the Mind from its Delusions.













Netflix and Chill

Image result for netflix and chill

Last night I ‘Netflixed and Chilled’. Not in the Urban Dictionary sense of the term…. I literally just watched Netflix and Chilled. On my own. In my bedroom. Eating banana and honey on toast. Sipping on a glass of ice cold milk. In a glass. Through a straw.

Scientific studies could prove that Reality TV destroys one braincell per minute, Soap Opera story lines have got completely out of hand (literally everybody is being murdered or getting pregnant by their Mum’s new boyfriend) and I was way too sleepy for a full-focus documentary. So I went on Netflix to see what I could find…

The Big Short. 

Image result for the big short

Initial appeal was the big cast – mainly Ryan Gosling who is usually a bit HIYA. Although I’m not sure he does it for me in this film donning a FakeBake and a Ketwig*…

Then I realised it was based on a true story – the best kind of film.

It’s been wildly accredited for it’s clear and simple description of complex banking terms – and the critics are right. I absolutely loved the Mortgage Jenga. The only bit I had to watch three times over was about 15 minutes deep when Margot Robbie is in a bathtub drinking Champagne and explaining subprime mortgages. I was far too busy perving off her flawless face to listen to what she was saying.

There are two big Heroes in the film for me and they’re both Weirdos in their own right. Number one is Michael Burry played by Christian Bale. A shoeless drummer with a glass eye, a penchant for heavy metal and probably one of the most fascinatingly intelligent and interesting brains I’ve ever heard of. The second is Mark Baum, played by Steve Carrell. A portrayal a zillion miles away from his “Nipple Fuck”-screaming role in 40 year old virgin. A man who’s optimistic about being pessimistic with a head like scarecrow, who couldn’t love that.

The story itself, however, is less than loveable.

I graduated smack bang in the middle of the recession but aside from an eight week period of joblessness, I came out of it completely unscathed. And I don’t think I ever realised the scale or severity of what happened….

5 trillion dollars of consumer wealth disappeared, 8 million people lost their jobs and 6 million people became homeless. And that was just in America…

The Truth is like Poetry.
And most people fucking hate Poetry.








I Wear Lace Therefore I Am

Image result for red light district amsterdamI don’t care if you sex strangers to make a living, but I have serious issues with the fact you’re not wearing matching underwear.

My first impression of the Red Light District in Amsterdam, etched on my lace-loving mind for all eternity. One woman in particular stands out. She was toned with meat in the right places, wild blonde curls dangled loosely around her determined face as she stood there shuffling her hips semi-seductively beckoning clientele. I didn’t think too much about her story, where she had come from, why she had chosen this career path or if she was happy.  I just thought,

“What the hell was going through your head this morning when you put on an old neon yellow strappy bra contraption and a pair of grey granny knickers??”

I first fell in Love with lingerie whilst spending a year in Aix-en-Provence in the South of France. The French eat garlic and bloat themselves to death on baguettes but still manage to be one of the sexiest races on the planet. How? They love lace. They adorn their bodies with semi-precious fabrics like a tattoo made of Lust. They don’t walk, they Walz. They hold cigarettes like jewels. They sip Café au Lait like it’s Champagne. They’re just sexy as fuck, and they introduced me to the world of lingerie at the tender age of twenty-one.

At that time in my life I was reading two very influential pieces of literature; Discourse de la Methode by René Descartes (Cogito Ergo Sum/I Think Therefore I Am) and my monthly subscription of Elle Magazine. There was an article in Elle saying that no matter what you’re wearing on the outside, embellishing your body with beauty-full lingerie underneath can make you feel like a Supermodel. So just as René would, I experimented.

Image result for lace lingerie redI bought myself the most ugliest underwear known to Womankind to see how it would make me feel. Spanx are an invention of the Devil. Nobody should be subject to such eye-blinding lycra, not even a mirror in a darkened room. No matter how I beauty-fied myself on the outside, I felt hideous, repulsive and unwanted.

But on the days I wore a nice set, I had a new aura about me that you could almost see. It wouldn’t matter if I was wearing a binbag on top, I knew what I had on underneath and it somehow made me feel powerful. Particularly red lace, whenever I wore it I felt like Beyoncé on steroids. I could literally Run The World ten times over.

I wear Lace therefore I am. 

Who’s The Daddy?

“My Fiancés sperm has fertilised one of my eggs so please throw me a booze-free party with loads of weird games and buy me truckloads of expensive baby shit”

Image result for gross baby shower cake

I am the Antichrist of anything remotely maternal, I can’t even watch the adverts for ‘One Born Every Minute’ without having nightmares and I introduce myself to toddlers with a handshake and a “nice to meet you”.  Seriously, why on earth would anybody chose me to arrange their Baby Shower?

I know I should feel honoured, it really is magical and I really am so over the moon for her. I just really don’t understand why you have to go to the trouble of throwing a party for somebody to say Congratulations on having all the Sex and for the tiny little human growing inside of you. I have lots of sex, I just don’t want to ruin the world by pro-creating just yet, so does that mean I deserve a party too?

Luckily my co-host is equally anti-mushy-baby-behaviour so we’re looking to make it a fun for everyone. Of course we’ll whip out the Baby Shower classics like “Dirty Diapers”, I mean everybody’s idea of a good time is sniffing melted chocolate bars in nappies and guessing what it is.

But to add a twist to the day, there will be alcohol served, and lots of it, and we shall drink on behalf of all those who cannot. We’ll spin everyone around with blindfolds on with no care for health and saftey, and play a little game of Pin the Umbilical Cord on the Foetus. To mix it up a little more we can play  “Who’s the Daddy?” and line up photographs of various ex-boyfriends, colleagues, male friends and the milkman for people to guess who the baby belongs to.  Oh and no party would be complete without party bags for all the guests full to the brim with condoms and sex education leaflets to make sure there are no more Baby Showers on the horizon for a long time….

And finally, as the guests depart, we’ll sing them off the premises with a little bit of this…

The Chimp Paradox

Just like men, there are very few books that keep me interested from the first word all the way through to the last chapter.

Image result for the chimp paradox

The Chimp Paradox became an instant addiction. I was so obsessed with turning the next page that I put my life on the line and took up dangerous sports (walking and reading simultaneously).

Recommended to me by a bit of a real-life career Idol at work, The Chimp Paradox helps you to dissect your brain very simply into Logic, Emotion and Memory. 


The Logic part of the brain is referred to as the Human, this is you. By nature, Humans are logical and analytical, taking facts and truths to calculate conclusions. Emotion is the Chimp. Erratic, emotional, illogical, the Chimp will react first, think later. And finally, Memory is the Computer.  This is a sort of reference library of information stored by both the Human and the Chimp which can help us think and act on autopilot.

The book takes you through each part of the brain in detail, with simple explanations and asks you to analyse how each of these functions react to any given situation. It then teaches you how you can take control of these reactions.

Just a couple of chapters in, you will be referring to yourself in the third person as “The Human”,  talking to your Chimp and trying to reboot your Computer. You will understand the complex systems of the brain in the most simplest terms, recognise how your own mind is working and be able to take control of your emotions and thoughts.

In the space of just seven days, this book gave me a clearness of mind that was very much missing. It’s like the skies have been instagrammed and my world had been illuminated with a lovely hue of Hope.

So if you’d like to take control, you feel a little lost or just a little curious ….. read this book. The world would be a better Jungle if we could all manage our Chimps!




Image result for happiness

“Happiness is the greatest gift that I possess” ~ Ken Dodd 

It’s really only when you’ve experienced a real life thunderstorm that you truly appreciate a blue sky.

My skies had been blackened for a while, so now the clouds have finally parted and the Sun has begun to shine through, I can’t help but feel the warmth of every single ray of Happiness. And I absolutely adore it.

In a recent Buddhist teaching by Gen Dao @ KMC Liverpool, she said that all of us Human Beings have one thing in common…

we all want to be Happy.

This one very simple little sentence has literally revolutionised the way I think, the way I feel and actually, the way I live. It’s given real meaning to a word I had previously only admired from a distance; Compassion.

Think about it.

Think of somebody you know. Focus on them, their face, their eyes, their smile, their facial expressions. Think of their body language, their energy. Think of the person you perceive them to be. Think of the person they perceive themselves to be. Now think of all the difficult things they have suffered with, or maybe are still suffering with, think of their worries, think of what makes them feel sadness.

Now come back to that simple little sentence…. we all want to be Happy. 

I Hear Voices

“According to Afghan matchmakers, the voice is more than half of Love” ~Shantaram

I want to explore the truth in this pretty bold statement. The voice definitely plays a role in romantic attraction, but is it really half of Love?

From my own experience, two scenarios instantly jump out at me. I’ll start with the hideous one. And like all true modern stories of love, it started with a Tinder swipe.

I swiped right for his Caleb from KOL hair, his bicycle and his bobble hat. We were pen pals for about two weeks exchanging songs and salespitches over WhatsApp before the initial meet.

He had come straight from work and was still wearing his lanyard, his hair needed a good wash, he was nowhere near as tall or athletic as he’d made out and the HelloHug/CheekKiss greeting thing was awkward as hell. But aesthetics aside, it was the high-pitched squeaky voice that really broke the deal for me, and I knew within the first syllable this wasn’t going to go any further.

My second example is quite the opposite and the voice in question belongs to an Object of Infatuation.

It’s a Southern voice which feels borderline exotic now that I’m living back in Liverpool. It’s delivered at least 10 decibels over the human voice average of 60. It’s bold and confident and commands attention. The appeal is multiplied tenfold by the intelligence that backs it up but even if it was expelling utterances of gibberish, any audience would nod in agreement. It’s deep and manly  with an air of protection but softens and lightens when expressing emotion. It’s a little bit intriguing…

Am I In Love with a voice? Maybe. But is the voice half of love? Neither of the above scenarios could possibly answer that.

I’d say I’ve been In Love three times in my life and In Lust, perhaps only two or three times more. In Love and Lust alike, the sensations that create our magnetic pull towards another Human can be so tightly intertwined that it’s difficult to tell what they’re made of.

Next time I’m In Love I’ll let you know….