I thought it would be helpful to provide the couple with some potential career moves that would allow them to live a comfortable, yet modest, lifestyle and raise their son (seventh in line to the throne, no less) as best they can.
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I found myself really questioning if I was f-ing the whole experience up. Was I missing out on opportunities because I’d chosen to do things this way? Was I working too much? It’s not like I could afford not to.
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I’d like you, reader, to bare in mind that I am giving my perspective here as a representative of those who have experienced disordered eating - feelings of guilt, shame and of greed all attributed to food, body image; to exercise.
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A few weeks ago, I turned 23 and was affronted by the mildly alarming thought that it had been exactly five years since my eighteenth birthday. At the age of eighteen, opportunity and possibility seemed limitless. My five-year plan contained as many bullet-points as an entire biography. Buy a house. Write a book. Have children. Get married. Start a business. Go in a hot air balloon. A whole lifetime squeezed into a regimentally scheduled half-decade.
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OK, so it’s almost here. That time of year when many of us start to look at what we want to change, improve or what we are determined we’re no longer going to put up with or tolerate in our lives. Our New Year’s Resolutions.
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Whether it is perceived as a transformation or a tragedy or the beginning of a new journey, or sometimes even a liberation, the fact remains that Death is so mysterious and impenetrable that it's difficult to describe it adequately.
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I was called from next door where I’d been playing with my best friend, they were crowded around the end of the piano where the phone lived, a space opened up and I was enveloped inside it as the news was told. Dad was dead, drowned.
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Ah, January. The grey, frayed no man’s land part of the year. It’s like a dejected child at the end of a party - bleary eyed, bloated and on a sugar crash. It is the Bounty of the months: slightly gristly and only enjoyed by psychopaths.
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One of the most demeaning things that a woman in a Westernised society has to do is discreetly hide a tampon or sanitary towel in the sleeve of their shirt or the pocket of their trousers when on their period during working hours.
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The only problem is that quite a few of the birth rate policies aren’t very funny. It would be nice to discuss increasing the birth rate without imagining an Atwoodian regime. This time, in the name of the nation, I’ve reinterpreted some government strategies for increasing birth rate to present some legitimate and well thought out alternatives.
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The pressure to do well is everywhere - in magazines, on the TV, in emails - and with that pressure, there is cost. A cost that a lot of people can’t afford. So this year for your last minute Christmas presents, why not join me in spending less and making more?
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The Conservative party had 6 times as many social media adverts as Labour by the later days of the campaign, but I don’t think I saw a single one. Is it really any wonder we’re confused about what happened when we didn’t even see most of it?
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The worst people that want to do the worst things are now in a position to do them in the worst way. We might have just seen the end of any meaningfully left wing, parliamentary opposition, let alone government for years.
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At 10pm on the twelfth of December I sat in front on my computer watching a BBC news live stream sobbing. This is not been the first time an exit poll has brought be to tears, I vividly remember 2015’s exit poll having similar effect, watching Iowa go Trump in 2016 and waking up earlier in the year to see that we have left the EU.
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On a serious note though, all I’ve thought about since the exit poll announcement was this – how the fucking fuck are we here AGAIN?! Who in their right mind is voting for this Dickensian fever dream that’ve we’ve woken to?
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For me, I’ve spent Christmas on a hospital ward as a teenager so I empathise with all the people who will be doing the same this year. The wonderful staff that come to work over Christmas do their best to make it manageable, but it’s indisputable that it isn’t the same as being at home with loved ones.
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I have a confession. I hate Christmas so much this year that I involuntarily flipped the birdy and muttered “fuck you” at the fairy lights. Thank god the kids were in the living room watching Youtube.
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I ended up, unexpectedly, travelling solo across Southeast Asia this year. At first I was completely terrified. As I sat in Cairns airport in Australia about to fly to the Philippines on my own, part of me thought that I should just fly home. But thank god I didn’t..
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If I had never orgasmed through penetrative sex, and none of my friends had either, and the internet was corroborating my story too, then HOW ON EARTH did every man in the world think his partner came during sex? In fact, how did EVERY woman think that she should cum during sex?!?!!
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My oldest, Leo, is autistic; I am his registered carer. I haven’t come across many parents of autistic children admitting that parenting is boring, stifling and terrifying online. Apparently, we are all blessed with special children by God because we are special parents. We are stoical in our “suffering”.
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