We need to talk about Breakfast Dates.


Lately I’ve been invited on a couple of dates… in the morning, breakfast dates. By breakfast date I am not making reference to a ‘bangover’ bagel purchased after a cheeky adult sleepover. The breakfast date refers to people asking to meet for breakfast in hipster joints all over London, on weekdays, before work. The concept does not rock my boat and I am completely baffled as to why this craze has been taking the dating scene by storm.

Granted, I look fresh AF in the morning, first thing when my brows are sculpted to perfection and my mascara hasn’t sweated of making me resemble a panda bear. For these reasons  mornings are perfect,  for meetings and conference calls, so where do dates slot into the mix? Instantly a brekkie date is going to feel corporate, somewhat like a job interview. I don’t want to be interviewed for the position of a suitor for some random I’m meeting. What happens if you make it through the first round of interviews, do you make it through to the boardroom? This is Tinder not fucking Linked In.

The second huge fail of breakfast dates is the blatant lack of Gin. How am I supposed to throw causal flirty chat about without my trusty slimline prop in hand? Unthinkable. Various bloggerss that are trying to push forward breakfast meets suggest that a lack of alcohol is a positive regarding dating, as it allows you to show the ‘real’ you, without having anything to hide behind yada yada yawn… boring. In my opinion a little dutch courage is essential to get you through a date, and to mask your crippling shyness. Personally, I am boring and incomplete without a Gin or a ‘Savvy B’ in my belly, plus it showcases my hobbies and interests. I don’t have many other ones so it’s kind of important that whoever I’m dating enjoys getting on the sauce.

Thirdly, what am I supposed to eat? If I am going out out for breakfast then I would want a breakfast burrito, at the very least I’d settle for a bacon sandwich, but these aren’t very lady like options and I don’t want to spend the rest of the day at work in a food coma, so that leaves you with cereal or croissants? Every woman has felt the pain of trying to eat a croissant without covering their entire face and lipstick in a flaky mess. Also, there isn’t any room for any amorous action, you cant have a cheeky kiss because of foul coffee breath and also because of the formal breakfast interview you’ve just sat through. Not so sexy. So basically, I can’t eat what I want, If I can’t eat what my heart desires and it’s not socially acceptable to drink Gin in the morning then what’s the point of eating before elevenses?

The internet’s most bland bloggers also suggest other GREAT reasons to AM date are that it’s cheap. To which I reply, fuck off, I’m not dating anyone who is tight. You don’t have to be loaded but you have to show willing to impress me, I’d rather think you’d spent all month saving up to take me to Pizza Express then to think you’d taken me for breakfast because that way you have extra dollar to spend down the pub on Friday night with your mate who is probably called Darren. The last plausible reason I can find that said bloggers are pushing is that the rest of the day is free, Well if you have a job, then probably no, You’ll most likely have to shoot off in a rush to catch a tube and work for the rest of the day. In which case, if the breakfast went well, you’ll not be able to get your shit together or STFU about it to your agitated work colleagues, but more likely than that, the date will of been shit, because it’s BREAKFAST, the least sexy of all the meals. In which case you’ll want to skive off and brood in the pub whist you look for a man to take you out in the evening, for a real date with Gin and if successful, a late night pash over a shared kebab like lady and the tramp. Romance.

Can we all agree that breakfast dates are not chic? In fact I find them extremely unnerving, What sort of man wants to shoot the shit over coffee then strut off to work without even trying it on? At least invite me back to yours for well, some more hypothetical coffee so that I can politely decline. But NO, you can’t because of work. I cannot see the appeal in being squeezed into someone’s schedule because their evenings are too precious a time to spend on you. if you can’t make the time to take me out and get me wasted and have a dance off then a conflict of interests is going to appear swiftly.

So basically, AM dating is not acceptable. Morning meet cutes are lame, so please everyone stop trying to make them a thing.

Hilarious Holidays: Part 2

Because my life is clearly too fun to condense all my favourite trips into one blog post, here is part deux of my holiday instalments.

Barcelona – The time me and an old house mate hopped onto a plane to Barcelona for a long weekend, checked into our hostel and didn’t return for about 72 hours. The events that followed are a bit of a blur but we met some awesome people, watched the sun rise from a strangers balcony, and slept in the park, like homeless people. All I know is that there was a lot of male nudity and dancing along to ‘Freakin’ It – Will Smith’. We also adopted a French Dude called Pierre, we lost him, I hope he got home safe. A snippet of evidence can be found below.

Corfu – The last family holiday me and my sister were ever invited on. The holiday that started my downhill spiral on life. Age 14, blind drunk, kissing a dude that looked like Martin Fowler… in front of my family. I swear to god my sister made me do it. Passing out eating cheetos whilst my sister incorrectly sung along to Paolo Nutini ‘lay down inside me’ (she genuinely thought they were the lyrics, she wasn’t trying to be funny).  Waking up with a gob full of disintegrated cheesy puffs, surfacing to face my family mid-afternoon and having my Dad sing the Eastenders theme tune at me for the entirety of the holiday.

The night after, drunken Lexy and her sister strolled into town to the nearest discotheque  where I decided to fall in love with the Albanian boy who worked at our hotel. After sinking a large amount of tequila for a child I proceeded to kiss him a lot, this time only in front of my sister. He proceeded to text me weekly for the next two years until I finally lost my pink Motorola Razor along with his number. Such a tragedy, with Romeo & Juliet undertones. Lexy & Nikos 4EVA. No?

Kos – There was the time me and some girlfriends went away to Kos for the week, we fully intended to get as much sun and alcohol down us as possible but I don’t think we could have anticipated the sheer amount of carnage that ensued. After a truck load of Gyros and questionable holiday romances me and a friend thought it would be funny to get henna ‘tramp stamps’ that read ‘Wolverine’ and ‘Old Spice’. Mine didn’t wash off for at least a year, while my friends washed off immediately in the pool. I was branded. Lesson learnt: Don’t fuck about with henna. Try living a normal life with ‘Wolverine’ etched onto your lower back. You’d be surprised how often it can crop up in conversation. Highlights included a underarm wax, a broken sun lounger and a chap that wrote and performed a rap for me by the poolside. I still rate that.

Jamaica – My cousin is a Virgin Air Hostess, she also happens to be my best friend which comes in handy when you feel like sneaking off to Jamaica to play with dolphins, drink red stripe, eat Jerk Chicken and listen to Eternal for A WEEKEND. Anyway, I really offended a bunch of women I was sat next to on the plane on the way there when they asked me to guess their ages, to which I guessed wayyyy to high.  This was before we took off so all I could do was drink an excessive amount of free Gin, watch Frozen (which was class by the way) and then pretend to fall asleep for the remaining 7.5 hours I had left of the flight

Croatia – The best five days of festival fun of my life to date. I spent most of the trip in a confused state, wearing a poncho with that feeling that you really picked the wrong day to go to Thorpe Park. We stayed in a little old Croatian lady’s B&B and she was so sweet that I almost felt bad for the things we put her through and the amount of her rules we broke.

The festival itself was pretty small, so small that by the time we left to go home we were in several high school esque cliques. There were the German Dentists, The Drug Dealers, The guys who worked the Photo Hut, The people who hung around the Henna Tattoo man (you think I would have learnt my lesson, but no.) And the people who were at the 80’s  pop and 00’s R&B and Hip Hop tent every night religiously until 6am. It was heaven on earth. My spirit’s reflection. Ha

Highlights Include:

  • Drinking amazing grapefruit flavour beer all week, feeling absolutely fine then on the last day realising it was only 2.5%.
  • Meeting a man who was ‘ketted’ off his face and carrying a kitten around in a sling, he was certain he was going to take it home on the plane and wanted to call it Tabitha. Also, the other dude who took too much ketamine and walked around barefoot, wearing a cape and holding a broom for the week solid, I never saw him with anyone except the broom.
  • SEEING CHIC & NILE ROGERS and feeling disco AF.
  • Maggie, the semi-retired judge who appeared to be at the festival alone, she was also wearing wristbands for Hideout, Dimensions and Outlook, sooo, hats off to her really. Every time we saw her she had taken so much MDMA that she looked like she was about to jump out of her own face. Oh Maggie.
  • Wearing a disposable poncho with a bikini underneath for a week solid and looking like some sort of exotic Klu Klux Klan member.
  • Making friends with the only group of black people and openly naming then ‘So solid crew’ because racism (they loved us, it was OK).


I need to book a mini break immediately and this sunshine is not helping the situation. But on the flip side I should probably try and organise some sort of savings to enable me to move out of my parents house before I hit the menopause. Life.


As part of my ’12 months of self control’ project I decided that my challenge for March would be to do with productiveness. I was going to try and wake up at 6:30am on week days to try and do things before work. There was so much I was going to do, pedicures, research, dog walks, exercise, I’d planned so, so, so much yoga. It was going to be great I was going to be so proactive without the mundane feeling of get up, go to work, come home, eat, sleep, get up, repeat. For all the spatial learners out there this was what my mornings would look like;


Cut to the chase, I failed so hard that it hurts. I considered lying about it in my blog because it was that bad.

Day one: Managed to wake myself up at 6:45 by means of force. I grabbed my laptop and watched Gossip Girl  on Netflix for two hours straight. ‘It’s a start’ I told myself. ‘Tomorrow I’ll do better’.

Day two: Work up half hour before work started.

Day three: Got up at 6:30 because I had college and I had to.

Day four- 31: NOPE.

I learnt that I am incapable of waking up unless I absolutely have to/ I’m really excited because I’m going to the airport and  I know I’m getting a Sausage & Egg McMuffin and a holiday out of it. Apart from that I could quite happily spend 80% of my life sleeping, 10% eating and another 10% drinking Gin. I’m like a fucking Snorlax – the worst Pokémon. Snorlex. Ha.

Teenage love affair.

BREAKING NEWS, Zayn Malik of One Direction has left. If you’ve been a hermit in a cave for the past year, then you heard it here first. Teenage hysteria has hit the globe, hotlines have cropped up and millions of hapless pubescent girls don’t know what to do with their inconsolable emotions. It’s all pretty pathetic.

But then I started thinking about when I was a teenager, and who I idolised at that time, how emotionally attached you become to celebrities and what a big part of your life they are at a time where your body is producing oestrogen at an alarming rate and messing with you physically and mentally.

Then it struck me, when I was a teenager, my version of 1D was… Lostprophets. Oh dear. And I didn’t just like them, I was obsessed and infatuated with their front man, Ian Watkins. For those of you who don’t know why this is  HUGE problem, ‘google’ his name and see what comes up. I won’t go into detail, but about two years ago he was found guilty of being pretty much one of the most destructive and evil child abusers of all time and history. Upon this realisation I felt ever so slightly putrid. I spoke to my friend at work about it and she was in a pretty similar quandary about the whole thing. Judging by who my circle of friends were as a teenager, I’m assuming this is a pretty common feeling for all girls who were emo/scene/goth/grunger esque as teenagers and in love with Ian Watkins.

My bedroom wall was somewhat a shrine to the man, I had cut outs of him stuck to my school planner and their lyrics written on all my schoolbooks. I know I was a teenage girl at the time, and his disgusting private life was not then known of, but I still feel gross that I devoted a good few of my teenage years obsessing over a man who turned out to be a paedophile. What a bad judge of character Lost Prophets fans were. Especially this kid;

Could+be+worse+_365e58be503dcf08bb9d5e6c4bc34a66A lot of Lost Prophets  songs still cover me with a wave of nostalgia for my teenage years, albeit most of them were just under age drinking in various skate parks and Brighton beach or sitting in my friends office listening to music and updating our vampire-freaks accounts. Everytime a LP song comes on, which is actually more often than you would assume It takes me dancing, singing my heart out and a whole lot of nostalgia before I realise what has just happened. Then comes the guilt and the OH MY GOD I JUST SUNG TO A WHOLE SONG BY A PAEDOPHILE BEFORE I REALISED WHAT I WAS DOING WHAT IF THE NEIGHBOURS HEARD AND THINK I’M A SYMPATHISER. But, Last summer is so catchy. Shit. Such a contradiction of feelings all in a few seconds.

For anyone else suffering with Post traumatic Lost Prophets disorder here is a list of alternative, shame-free, equally nostalgia inducing songs to listen too, by way of replacement so that you never have to listen to Ian Watkins creepy lyrics and feel dirty ever again.

1. One-Eighty By Summer – Taking Back Sunday

2. A Boy Brushed In Red, Living In Black And White – Underoath

3. Beating Heart Baby – Head Automatica

4. Note To Self – From First To Last

5. Juneau – Funeral For A Friend

6. Buried A Lie – Sensed Fail

7. Ohio Is For Lovers – Hawthorne Heights

8. Hand Of Blood – Bullet For My Valentine

9. Thank You For The Venom – My Chemical Romance

10. Take It Away – The Used

Hopefully none of the members of the above bands aren’t convicted paedophiles. Moral of the story – think long and hard about getting a tattoo before you commit, and teenage girls, remember, it’s not love, it’s your evil hormones playing tricks on you.

Celebrating Singledom

Being single is often associated with negativity. Most single people appear to be a bit pissed at their situation in their pursuit for love. People who are in relationships appear to look at their single friends with undertones of sympathy. This classic portrayal is actually far from the truth, There are plenty of single people out their living their life like it’s golden (Jill Scott reference. Nice work Lex). There are also plenty of people in relationships who long for a taste of singledom. I don’t know if it’s my age or the crossroads I’m at in my life, but for the moment, I don’t look at people in relationships and think ‘I want that’. I’m too busy drinking Gin and listening to Waka Flocka Flame in my bedroom whilst planning trips around the world.

What I’m trying to get at is that being single is a precious Jewel. People who don’t enjoy it for what it is are really missing a trick. I mean, you never know when you’re about to get sucked into the vortex that is a relationship. I’m not slating relationships, they’re great, but they aren’t the be all and end all to happiness.

Dear single, miserable people, here’s a couple of little things to embrace while you’re still single, or in a relationship and considering joining the dark side.

Space – Relationships are lovely, especially when you’re in the honeymoon phase and you’re not interested in anything except being glued to that person at all times. However, when that starts to wear off and you think to yourself ‘you know what, tonight I’d like to just stay in, paint my nails and order 21 hot wings from Dominos to myself ‘. Us singles can enjoy that space whenever we like. Without having to make up an excuse for why you just want to be on your own for once.

Not sharing food – No, I want to eat the whole bag of Doritos to myself, at my own pace, get your own. This could just be me, but I fucking hate sharing food, especially when I’m watching a film. Tapas on a first date? Here’s a shovel, go dig your grave.

Freedom – It’s quite refreshing to think that I don’t know what I’m doing next Saturday night, I might wake up with a kebab on the pillow next to me, I might not wake up in my own bed at all. I might take off and visit a friend for the weekend. The point is that we don’t have to inform anyone that we’re doing these things nor have to justify our questionable life choices to anyone. The world’s our oyster.

Dating – Just to clarify, ‘Date night’ with your significant other is completely different to dating when you’re single. For me, dating is something to do to pass time so I have stories to tell my friends. It’s also great for boosting your confidence, and stops you from cowering in your single cave watching Netflix for hours and crying about why you’ve not met anyone. Some dates are good, some dates are bad, some are hilarious. All of them are character building.

Independence – This doesn’t apply to me, because I still live with my parents, don’t earn enough to pay them rent and could not support myself if the apron strings were cut. But there are loads of single people, killing it with their careers and loving the bachelor/bachelorette lifestyle that has become possible for them. Respect.

Bed Space –  My Dad recently went on a trip to Dubai and I have never seen Goose get so excited about how she was going to ‘lay like a starfish’ in bed. I’ve never really thought about it like that but I’m going to make a conscious effort to lap that shit up and lie diagonally in bed as much as is possible now.

Time – Having more time to spend with friends and family. When you’re in a relationship, you look back at times where you visited your Parents on your own, days you spent feeding the ducks with your Niece and the occasional magazine and wine party that extends into a raucous sleepover with your Sister. This time is precious, when you’re in a relationship, you have less time to do these things on your own. So remember to appreciate those precious moments.

Flirting – Sure, you can flirt when you’re in a relationship. But you can FLIRT when you’re single, this extends beyond letting a man buy you a drink in a bar before you flash him your wedding ring, go outside to call your husband and cry about your infidelities. Those pangs of guilt don’t happen when you’re single. You are free to flirt, text and talk to whoever you want after you’ve left said bar.

Being single isn’t always great, but don’t write it off before you’ve given it a go. These times are for investing in yourself and building your character until something more worthy than a few dinner dates and one night stands crops up. If you’re single and have read this, I hope I’ve inspired you to realise a little bit of your potential and given you some incentive to celebrate singledom.


Hilarious Holidays Part:1

It’s a Monday and I’ve got that horrible feeling that everyone gets where they dream of being on a beach, sipping an ice cold beer, iPod blasting Bob Marley, not giving a shit if you have sunstroke later. I’ve never been ‘travelling’, living out of a bag reaches it’s peak at about three weeks for me. However, I have been on some utterly hilarious and life changing trips and holidays. To name a few;

Salou:  We booked this holiday to make up for the fact that none of us were on university sports teams and therefore never got to experience it’s majesty on ‘tour’ like every other single uni student did. It lived up to everything we had hoped for, grotty bars, punch-bag machines, cheesy music and lots of don simon. Our hotel was the worst place I have ever stayed in my whole life to the point that it was just hilarious. Highlights include, getting stuck on our balcony most nights which wasn’t that bad because of alcohol, cards against humanity and the name game (When playing the name game with my friends, 9 times out of 10 the answer is Gary Lucy as a result of this holiday).  The day we spent on a catamaran where they exclusively played Pitbull. The night I lost my bag, 50 euros, my blackberry, 20 Marlborough lights and my dignity having decided to go for a midnight swim. We did however gain a paralytic Spanish boy we found on the beach, so fair trade really.  And lastly, spending a particularly hungover day in Barcelona Zoo, and subsequently getting really emotional over a grizzly bear only to end up eating in a  restaurant that was so bad none of us could even muster words so just sat in shocked silence unsure whether tears, laughter or vomit were the correct course of action.

Magaluf: Me and a group of school friends decided to embark on a right of passage girls holiday to Magaluf. We turned up, bought a shit ton of desparados and peach schnapps and immediately hit the strip where we were greeted by pretty much the entirety of our 6th form. Excellent. One night I was having a lairy argument with a boy on the strip, in which I ended up calling him a Nazi for reasons I cannot recall, to which he replied “go back to ginger camp” (at the time my hair was a weird shade of yellow/orange due to a home bleaching incident) but what a choice of words, point proven, right? Copious amounts of sugary shots were purchased, the plain Jane of the group threw most of hers on the floor then tried to lie about being drunk. Rude. Subsequently she no longer frequents my friendship group. On a bar crawl I witnessed with my own eyes a girl give a full on blow job to a boy with a flaccid penis and possibly chlamydia in public, just to win more shots. A lot of other dark shit went down that night that I think I’ve managed to block out of my memory. Geordie Shore, eat your heart out. My best highlights were the midget that played the bongos in Revolutions and the man I found  and became obsessed with one night in BCM, he looked exactly the same as Rufus Hound but couldn’t speak English. Also, the street sellers that didn’t seem to sell much except for drugs and giant novelty sunglasses who across the board’s only English seemed to consist of ‘Hello, chicken nugget, lady gaga’ on repeat.

Poland: Ahh, Poland, the time I was supposed to be chaperoning a group of year 10 students on a school trip to Poland. I spent the whole four days inappropriately drunk. Auschwitz with a hangover and 60 very emotional teenagers is not a good combination. There was the time I nearly got in a street fight with locals because I became very attached to my beer glass and decided I was going to take it home. Luckily the dude I was with broke it up, he was a HUGE dude from Texas and I managed to get away, unscathed, I still have that beer glass, I smuggled it home in my Ugg boot like some sort of exotic contraband. Also, after another heavy night on the Żywiec I went back to my hotel room, changed down into my underwear and had a deep chat about life with my room mate. Who happened to be a friend who was in all of my A level classes. He was such a nice boy and I really think I scarred him for life. It was on that trip that I decided teaching probably wasn’t for me.

Marbella: This particular trip was for a friends hen do. One night we were in a really expensive club and our night was looking a bit bleak because we were all skint AF. With a sudden change of fate a really, really loaded bloke requested our company in a private area, some of the TOWIE cast were in there and were asked to leave for us. Which made us feel quite smug. The night changed completely from thereon, we drank magnum upon magnum of Dom Perignon and had an amazing time dancing on the tables and chairs chanting “ANDREW ANDREW ANDREW”. When we all left, he tried to make us go to a ‘party’ with him, I’m so glad we didn’t go, because looking back, he had sex trafficker written all over him. Another highlight was when the bride cried after we braided her hair in such a way that it resembled a snake charmers basket, it tipped her over the edge, the perfect ending to a hen weekend if you ask me.

Mother’s Day

What with it being Mothering Sunday I thought I’d do a short post dedicated to Mother appreciation.

Here’s 7 things to be thankful to Mum’s for.

1. Advice – From choosing on-point outfits for school discos at MK One and Etam in the 90’s to telling us straight if we look like a street walker before leaving the house in our 20’s.

2. Lodgings – The mothers who let their adult children still live with them, even though we really should have flown the nest buy now. Thank you for letting us eat all your food and spending most evenings quashing any chance of you romancing our  Fathers. We’re sorry for leaving too many cups in our rooms. We really are, but the struggle doesn’t end until we have our own children and move out.

3. Roast dinners  – The greasy brilliance of a roast when you’re hungover takes up a huge space in my heart. Every child knows that their mums is the best.

4. Love – For me it’s the little things that Goose (otherwise known as Lynn/Mum) does, for example she brings me a cup of tea most mornings. That gives me 5 mins extra in bed, do you know how much I love my sleep? She does.

5. Support –  My mum has supported me through my countless fuck ups, failures and general stunted adulthood and she has never once complained. This included my phase of drunk calling her and singing Earth, Wind and Fire – September at the top of my lungs when I first started going out at age 18. When I say phase, this lasted approximately three years.

6. Inspiration –  Our mums are or our main female role models, from them we learn what it is we want to become. Unfortunately for me, Goose seems to have got it all right, leaving me with the hard task of attempting to become her doppelgänger. Tough boots to fill.

7. Teaching –  Mothers are one of our key teachers, mainly in life lessons, matters of the heart and general behaviour. I learnt how to behave from my mother at a very young age when she came home from a night out with friends wielding a traffic cone that she’d stolen en route. Try as I might, I still haven’t topped that. Idol.

This post goes out to Goose. Thanks for always letting me eat chocolate for breakfast, the abuse I’ve faced from male friends because she’s a MILF, for treating me and my sister equally, even though I’m more likeable and just all round better than her, but most importantly for handing down her bitchin’ sense of style to me. A prime example of this can be seen when she put us in matching outfits followed by a fashion shoot inside a VOLCANO. Chic.