Parenting, Politics and Life

I went to Slam Dunk Festival this weekend. Once upon a time, festivals were lawless temporary cities populated entirely by sunburnt teenagers drinking warm cider from a shoe while somebody vomited into a tent nearby. But oh, times they have a-changed. My friend drove up in her camper van the night before and secured what can only be described as

Or how I accidentally created a website that bought me a house, with only ten years of blood, sweat, tears and swearing at plugins. Back in 2015, after my second baby was born, I started writing online mainly because I was tired, stuck at home, slightly lonely, and desperately needed something that belonged to me outside of nappies and CBeebies.

I am now 42 and a half years of age. I know I don’t look a day over 40, but it’s true. Now, I was quite content with slipping into middle age even in my mid-30s, but when it comes to my health, I don’t feel quite so relaxed about it. I would have liked to have aged gradually, but

At some point earlier this year, I quietly stopped writing my monthly updates. Not in a dramatic, flouncey this is my final post kind of way. Just a slow, unceremonious… stopping. After two years of diligently documenting my life once a month, I ran out of both enthusiasm and the faint belief that anyone was reading them; I suspect the

Last week, my boyfriend and I (along with everyone else on the internet) watched the new Netflix documentary Louis Theroux: The Manosphere. If you haven’t come across it yet, it’s exactly what it sounds like: Louis Theroux wandering calmly into the internet’s weirdest male self-help ecosystem and, between long pauses of awkward silence, politely asking questions while everyone slowly reveals