My Grandad; Snippets from Charlie

On the 8th April in an assessment unit, I watched as my Grandad slipped away peacefully. His journey over the last few years wasn’t as peaceful; but I am grateful to have been a big part of it. I will never regret any time spent with him. Ever.

It was 6/7 years ago when he was diagnosed with cardiovascular dementia and for at least 3 of those years it was steady away. He was still my grandad. Peter Storr.


As a child I spent time with him, alone or with my cousin and brother and I know I can speak for the three of us when I say WE have the best memories with him.

One time we had all spent the night at grandma and grandad’s house. I dont remember there being much trouble overnight although we were young and I’m sure we were a lot to handle as a threesome. My grandad had brought us some silly string. The brightly coloured wet stuff that you sprayed from cans. He gave us all a can at breakfast while my grandma was clearing plates away and we were so excited to use it, but he told us not to spray it till grandma came back in.

As you can imagine, to us, the small ones, this was an absolutely delightful treat. Spraying cold, wet colourful ‘string’ all over the dining room and over each other and our grandparents. The giddy chaos insued, and we lapped up the giggles from all and the ecstatic feeling we all had from being a little naughty.

The mood however, quickly became a little more serious when my grandma realised “the damn stuff won’t come off the ceiling”. And forever, in the house on Bradford Road, East Bierley; on the ceiling, a small fluorescent green and orange squiggle forever stayed. Grandad got the full blame. Adult me secretly hope’s it’s still firmly in place.

Christmas – The cause for Alarm

As a couple they bought us the silliest, sweetest and best gifts. One year they had bought us a very large snowman balloon each. The helium filled ones. They thought it would be great to tie them in the garden ready for our arrival. All was well, we received and loved those balloons all Christmas and we even took them home with us. Probably much to the dismay of our parents – I have a brother which in this case meant 2 giant helium filled balloons in the house.

That winter it was particularly windy/stormy and I’m sure theres a tale about the balloons being tied in the garden too, but of the particulars I’m not 100 percent and I’m not going to make it up.

We went to the pantomime that year. Parents locked all the doors, and fully loaded with sweetie and juice box supplies we were off. Pantomime was amazing, we laughed and yelled “hes behind you” and “oh no it isnt” along with everyone else in the audience. We returned home however, to a frantic few neighbour’s. The house alarm had been bleeping the hell out of the entire street for 2 consecutive hours.

Turns out helium filled balloons set alarms off when you leave a window open in a gail, and leave them in a room with an alarm sensor. Who knew? The neighbour’s certainly did after that experience.

“My Grandpa Can Fix Anything” – peppa pig

Peppa pig made me sob.

The week he was taken into Linfield Mount I saw a particular episode of Peppa Pig. In said episode, Grandpa pig inherits a computer from Mummy pig and proceeds to break it (probably by button bashing- Gramps, I know that feeling) and after a phone call to Peppa, Daddy pig swiftly offers to take back the broken computer. By the time Peppa and her family get to Grandpa and Granny’s house, Grandpa pig has taken the computer to the shed, found a manual and fixed it.

“My Grandpa can fix anything!” Exclaims Peppa aaaannd buckets of tears from yours truly.

I cry because this was him entirely. He was a DIY man, and a bloody good one. With a shed, and a garage no less. If a jobs was worth doing, he’d do it well. If he didn’t know how to do it, he’d learn how and then do it well. My grandad was the living, real life model of Grandpa Pig. And if you know (parents with kids who watched or watching peppa pig on replay will hear me), you just know!

Lasting Heartache

The day we realised he had to go in a home was the day my heart broke for my mum. There was one moment, beautiful in it’s own way but ultra raw and real that will always stay with me.

He was having difficulty going to the bathroom alone. The problem with dementia is that it takes away the ability to make the connections. The connections we use on the hourly without even really thinking about it. The same way we teach a baby or toddler to do something, but in reverse. Between us, mum and I were trying to get my grandad to the toilet.

I refuse to say he in this situation; his dementia riddled brain wouldn’t let him use the connection that when he needed to pee he had to sit on the toilet. We were trying to guide him to sit back on the seat, and to coach him to pull off his undies. We weren’t having much luck as he chuntered a bucket load and took tiny steps in every direction but the actual toilet seat.

My mum, in that moment pleaded with him. The words “Please Daddy” came out of her mouth. I bit my lip so hard as to fight back a surge of emotions.

I’ve clearly known for a long time that my mum is his daughter; but in that very vulnerable moment I saw a little girl pleading with her dad, heart and soul. Wishing and hoping we could manage, just us three at that very moment trying so very hard to defeat this dementia related battle. But we couldn’t win that round.

My heart was torn in two for her. My heart was torn in two for him; and for me as well.


He used to call me Charlie, he did for years and years. Even when I decided to use Lotty he never changed his ways. It drove me nuts sometimes, but I cherish it all now. I dremt I heard him say it, I heard him say my name. I will always be his Charlie and that will most certainly remain.

He’d do anything for me if I’d have asked him. And I remember vividly him asking what I wanted for my birthday. I told him that I would like a new top. He did one better and told me he would take me shopping for a whole new outfit. So he bought his little Charlie girl the tiny suede mini skirt (much to the joy of her mother) and a cream lace shirt to go with it. I loved it so much. I felt like a cowgirl in it, and I was so into country and western at that point.

Thank you for making a little girl feel grown up on her Birthday.

We decorated a Christmas cake one year together. Neither of us having ever done or used royal icing before. Needless to say, we did it wrong twice making it super runny which left the pair of us in the queue at the local coop on xmas eve waiting to buy an additional box of royal icing- Twice. We never laughed so much, even though the queue was horribly long both times, and the cake never lived up to grandmas usual it meant we were thick as thieves. Most especially when we had had any alone time. And we turned out to be a bit of a dab hand the next year at the Christmas cake. It’s all about the practice. Right?

That Music Got My Heart Strings

Massive on music, he played guitar and banjo and mouth organ across his life.

I sat with my grandad more time that I can count, and if we ever struggled for conversation I’d pick up a guitar and strum it for him. I cared for him for a week when they still lived in Lincolnshire, and I did this exact thing.

I played for him, playing a piece I learnt years ago called Celebrations and he teared up. I saw tears clouding his steely eyes and I knew he knew things were changing. He was only having the odd bad day then and was still physically fit.

I would love to have thoses days back… but I’ll keep them in my pocket. I will keep them close.

When he was in the home, we visited all the time. On one of the visits while trying to get him to eat something I put in some rock and roll. Bill Hayley and the comets. His fingers started tapping, it was the first sign of him we had seen for a while and we cried happy tears and tried to sing through it to the music. Told him he had to get better so we could rock and roll at my wedding.

My heart was a happy thing when I saw his fingers tap. An ever so tiny ray of misguided hope. Misguided and wrong but one I’ll cherish.

His Wishes

I knew he had wanted it to end for a long time. He hated living confined to one place, he hated not being able to articulate what he wanted to or remember how to do something or what the word was for something. He hated existence as it was for him. “I can’t carry on like this” was a phrase he used in ludic moments.

When he was taken into the home right at the end, I think he had made the decision to stop eating or drinking. He didn’t want this kind of torture to continue. I’m not sure if that was his subconscious or conscious decision, but it was so his choice. He would only eat the tiniest bits for my mum and occasionally me. This we think now was just to please us. Just for his girls, because no one on God’s green earth got him to eat any other bite. Stubborn that man.

When the end came it was sad. It still is. But it makes it easier knowing that he wanted this. He got his way, he did it his way and he gave them hell to the very last. Very much his style.

I was worried to be there, I didn’t know how I would react personally but I am eternally grateful that I could be there with him when he took his last breath. I was happy for him, he could rest easy, and dare I say it relief rolled over me just to know there was no more pain or suffering for the man I loved so dearly. Death was a kindness in this story; a welcomed thing. I hope, if anything happens once we pass (as I am undecided) that my Grandad has the best of it.

To you,

I am proud as punch that you belonged to me. My grandad.

My DIY specialists, cycling, bodybuilding, fishing, fixing, decorating, icing sugar expert; I never verbalised enough the fact that I love you.

Yours forever, Charlie xoxo

The Busiest

I’ve started countless posts about countless topics but the fact of the matter is I’ve been a little lost in life.

The last post I created was about turning thirty. I’ve been stuck between since. Nothing in particular, all pretty normal life milestones; but more than certainly all at once. Last year saw the battle over being made redundant nearing the end of maternity leave, my threat of legal action, my stupidity of not following that through and just settling now astounds me.

It saw me get a new job, one that’s turning out to be a pretty great place to work. Man and I decided to buy a house, but this meant decorating! Although it’s a relatively new house (90s build) it was poorly kept up with and in need if a little TLC and we needed to make it ours/comfy to live in (still plenty to do).

I officially set up a small business back in February doing what I love; baking. I am officially known as The Cupcake Girl. It’s been a blast, but with busy weeks mixed with a little insomnia it’s been hard work too. Loving the response and the support I’ve had so far. The cakes are going down a storm too.

My dearest Grandad passed away in April after countless weeks of being tethered by an illness nobody can cure. His last few weeks were no doubt a living hell for him as well as us. I am left feeling privileged to have been able to care for him and certain that he welcomed death with open arms. I will make a full post about this shortly because awareness of the disease is getting there but nowhere near detail enough. It’s truly important that the truth is known.

So now, it’s me and my little family full plan mode for our wedding. Yep, the count down is on. October 25th is our next big thing with countless birthdays, a stag and a hen do in between.

So here is to redefining and find what’s lost currently. Getting back to writing, recording the cakes I create and being me. Take a leap forward into the rest of this year and planning the shit out of this wedding.

All hail the none quitter, all hail the rest takers, all hail you.

Love, L xox

30… and

So this is thirty. Three decades of experience and I’m still stuck in wonderland.

Between the birthday cards and treats I’m thinking I need to change something. A blog overhaul, a post scheduled and a new skin care regime… at least that’s what my birthday thoughts have suggested. So exciting times to come.

I have books to read, an Alice in wonderland cake to get through and skin to perfect. I have thoroughly enjoyed this weekend. Man took me to Lady Betty’s tea room in York yesterday afternoon. It was divine. Afternoon tea with an accompanying Kir Royal and a wander round York which is such a beautiful place. Visits galore and a birthday meal which was suppose to be a surprise (but I helped to organise it) with a very surprise Alice cake! How gorgeous is this!

I am eternally grateful for all who surround me on my 30th. I adore you, I am blessed to have you in my life.

Keep your eyes peeled for that overhaul. And eat cake; eat all the cake because I said it was okay as it’s my birthday. And I’m having a birthday week.

Xoxo, L

Eternally Formal in a B.O Ridden Waiting Room

Thursday was the day I had to go to The Job Centre to confirm my claim for universal credit (oh the joy). I was dreading this little visit. Thursday was a hugely busy day and this was my least preferred part.

The location – Parking and walking through a down trodden part of Bradford was not my idea of a good time to start off with. The Job Centre is located on Manningham Lane; for those of you who don’t know this part of Bradford I strongly suggest you don’t take a trip there unless necessary. Everything looks scruffy, filthy and well past its best. It’s like the sun got sucked out of the sky and your soul is slowly being consumed by a black hole that waits and feeds on all glimmers of possibility. I’m so very glad that I had care for Delilah on Thursday, I will aim never to take my child to this soul destroying place.

I’ve only ever been to The Job Centre once before. I felt exactly the same the first time, this being four year ago when I found myself redundant for the first time round. I had dressed as I would for an interview, but most people in the vicinity looked as though they had rolled out of bed and not showered for at least three weeks. People wearing tracky bottoms, looking like they had taken a dump in their slacks and carried on regardless – the smell from some would confirm this to be true. The gentleman who decided to take the seat behind me (we were practically back to back) had an odour so strong I had to strategically place the back of my hand under my nose and over my mouth so as not to breathe in the stench. The rancid smell of body odour was the thing I remember the most from the last time I had to make the visit. The thing of nightmares.

“Stay positive” I kept telling myself “It will be over soon – you’ll have a job by next week” My pep talks got me through the wait as did the thought of the two interviews I would sit that very day. I was feeling decidedly overdressed at the start, but convinced myself that I would never turn up to any interview in anything less that formal business attire and this should not be any different, even though the rest of ‘the Job Centre Crew Massive’ looked like death warmed up. Even the email concerning the time of my ‘appointment’ called it an interview. First impressions are important after all!

I was utterly determined they would not treat like a twirp, and went in ready to fight back and burry the potential insultee with words. The last time I was there I was told I was over qualified so they couldn’t help me. Let me clarify that I was out of work for a grand total of two weeks, and the claim I put in (just in case) for job seekers allowance was rejected because ‘I hadn’t contributed enough national insurance’. This was an absolute joke of a comeback as I have been working and paying national insurance since I was 16. I know people walking straight out of school at 16 claiming everything and anything they could, but I couldn’t even claim JSA regardless of working my entire workable life. Anyway back to Thursday, I was finally called forward (ten minutes later than my stated interview time) and the woman who I sat with was lovely. She didn’t talk down to me which was my major concern and led me through what would happen after going over the obligatory security details.

As we were sat discussing the bits we need to, there was rather a large hoo-ha outside the neglected building we exist in. As in noise, plus police sirens. Well that was comforting – at least there was police sirens. The woman turned to her co-worker and said “wonder what drama we’ve got today?” I’m sat there thinking that that statement means it happens on the regular and I would rather be almost anywhere else but here. She swiftly bid me farewell after that exchange and I cautiously left the building feeling pretty relieved that this particular interview, in this particular place was over.

Walking back to the car, I had no desire every to step in that hole again. As I drove off of Manningham Lane, the darkness lifted and the sun peeped through the grey clouds. The sun was magnificent, all ready for my interviews that afternoon and evening.

Job interview #1. Yes, this was just outside central Leeds. I’d planned where I would park, drove there with plenty of time to spare. The car park I had planned to park in was rammed. There was no way in hell I was getting in there. So I Google mapped it to the nearest car park. I ended up in Leeds city centre. Which while driving, is my idea of hell. I am far too impatient and full of road rage to deal with a city centre I just don’t know – most especially on my way to an interview. I spotted an on street parking spot, abandoned the car and threw money in the machine.

I set of walking. This idiot had only parked a 25 minute walk away from where I was interviewing. Would have been okay, but my little detour into the city had cost me time. I had 17 minutes to walk a 25 minute walk. I called and let the appropriate parties know, but I hate being late and having to follow Google maps on foot is stressful. The clock in the top right hand corner of your phone screen getting ever closer to the time you are supposed to be there, the map counting down clearly outside the time scale you should be working to. The walk was allllll up hill, and I’m not even talking a little hill. I’m talking like a really steep hill. The kind you would cycle up if you were in training for The Tour De Yorkshire. Realistically I should have grabbed an Uber to my location to save me the stress, and by the time I got there I felt like I had lost 90% of my bodily fluids. I never sweat, I sparkle. I had a very sparkly face. I was completely blessed that I had thrown flip flops in my bag as well as wearing heels. Flip flops were my saving grace at this point.

Got to the entrance of the building I had been told to go in. There was only a bunch of construction stuff going on right outside it. I couldn’t use that door. I walked back on myself to the last door I saw, threw on my heels and started to wander the corridors of a huge, huge building. I was so in the wrong place. I talked to some guy behind a desk who looked at me as though I had just landed my spaceship on his cat, but he managed to get a hold of the lady who was interviewing me even though it seemed like I was in the entirely wrong place. Once in the company of the interviewer things looked a little brighter.

SO as you can tell, this particular part of Thursday was highly eventful, and it all happened before 1pm. I was so very pleased to get home to Delilah. I missed her the entire morning I was gone. It felt like forever being so away from her. The latter half of the day went swimmingly with no mishaps or parking errors getting to the second interview. Here’s to next week when I should know how it all went in their opinions.


The Motherhood Penalty

It has come to my attention that The Motherhood Penalty is an actual thing.

There was me thinking I was the only one struggling with being made redundant on maternity leave and struggling to find a career to suit me now. The thing is, it isn’t just me. The Motherhood Penalty is REAL. We’re talking real pay gaps for mums in comparison to a non- parent counter parts, less promotion opportunities, held to higher punctuality standards than others. We are less likely to be suggested for hire than a less qualified woman without children. Just have a read at a few stats here ( Before you start, I know this article is full of American stats; but it is applicable for the UK and most likely a bunch of other countries too. There are plenty of other articles on the subject too. Read them, I implore you.

The last time I was made redundant I was in a new role within two weeks. This time, I’m 3 years more experienced. This time, I’m a mum. This time, it’s almost been a month already. As a society, it is our job to change this. As a mother who wants it all, it’s my job to hunt what I want down. Why should we settle for less than our counter parts? Those who choose to be dog owners are not penalised for their life choice, yet you have a child and that’s it. You certainly can’t have a career AND a family. You most certainly can’t do them both at the same time, let alone do them well. You must pick. You must pick one or the other. You can only be good at one thing – Family OR work.

That’s where I’m saying it needs to change. We are stuck in an archaic time. The stay at home mum suffers prejudice. It can be seen as old fashioned, lazy, and unattractive. “Gain a baby, lose a brain” this attitude spills out on to the mother who wants or needs to work, making it increasingly difficult to get back in to work. On the other hand, mothers who choose to have a career are classified as uncaring, lacking maternal instinct and cold. Working mothers have it hard. The guilt of having to pay someone else to help raise their child. Then there is the pay gap between them and their childfree counterparts, not to mention the problem of sourcing reliable and trustworthy childcare.

We have come so far with equality yet we are still stuck with The Motherhood Penalty. For some reason the work world thinks that us mum’s supposedly stray from competency after birthing a child. In actual fact we gain a whole lot more than we ‘lose’ (the only think I lost is my size 6-8 waist). We go through the most incredible process of carrying, giving birth, feeding and caring for a new born infant that relies on us for everything. There are sleepless nights and long busy days that follow including numerous visitors who want to put their grubby hands all over that precious new born, which you in turn have to politely but firmly warn off (which is a new skill gained for a start).

Mums are the most amazing creatures on this planet; and it’s about time that companies realise that if we choose a child adorned life, we probably have more to offer after having our child/children than we did before. We are peacekeepers, cooks, cleaners, mediators, matriarchs, admin assistants, PA’s, nurses (in the most relaxed sense of the word), transportation co-ordinators, activity planners, risk assessors, the photographer, the personal shopper and stylist, the confidante, the politician, the dietician, the CEO and the fucking skivvy. We are the whole god damn package, and some of us even stay up late to work on our passions too.

So keep up work world; we’re ready for equality amongst mothers in the work place. Let’s hope my new role (whatever it maybe) is up to speed.

Confident Kisses,


The Reality of Redundancy – The 2nd Edition

I took a break for a while from blogging with the full intention to come back. Initially it was for other writing. I was concentrating on a new novel idea when I had the steam to do it. More recently things came to a head with my work situation. I was made redundant (as if you haven’t already guessed that from the post title). My professional contacts are aware now, as are my family and friends.

So I find myself two months away from my 30th birthday and I am redundant for the second time. I am a new mum finding it hard to come to terms with the fact I’m going to have to pay a lot of what I will potentially earn to childcare. I cannot get my head around it. I’m going to work (when I find my vocation) to pay someone else to look after my child. I find this a difficult concept. I love spending time with my little one. It’s been amazing getting to be with her, and watch as she has developed.

Let me get one thing straight, I want to work. I am ready to find my career, to rock it like the boss I actually am. I’ve never been one to shy away from hard work, I’m organised, and I thrive in an office situation where I can be in control, but have a little friendly banter. I work best when I’m left to it and I like feeling that I have contributed to something bigger. I love to see projects through and I can’t wait to get back into work.

Why Me? – This is the questions that runs on repeat in my head, and if you’ve ever been in the redundancy boat you’ll know exactly what I mean. I feel like in administration I’m on the most at risk list from the start. Working in a smaller family run business is where I found my place and each of the small family businesses I’ve worked for made me redundant. So what? Am I cursed? I am ready to have a little job security over here!

If you’ve been in the boat you’ll most likely agree – they say it’s not personal; but when it’s you losing your job, your income, the people that you considered a second family because you spent that much time with them and the fact you actually liked, no scratch that, LOVED the job you had; it is personal. Not for them, not for their business but for you. Redundancy is a highly emotional process and it hurts. Going into it the second time round is no easier than the first.

The Job Hunt – When you put out feelers on LinkedIn and on Facebook. LinkedIn was utterly helpful. I got a ton of hits on my profile, lovely messages of support and potential job leads. I even got a beautifully comprehensive email saying that I would be the perfect candidate for a position, the only thing in that director’s way of offering me the job was the fact I’m based at the other side of the country. Relocation is not an option, although the email was a perfect booster for the bashed ego and I appreciated the email, most especially on a down day.

Putting feelers out on Facebook was somewhat of a mistake. As soon as I did, I was tagged in cleaning jobs, shelf stacking work and weekend jobs – don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the sentiment behind the tags. AND I really don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or snobby but I have a degree and over 6 years of office experience under my belt. I am not starting at the beginning again. There are nothing wrong with these types of jobs, but I’ve been there before and I got stuck in retail straight out of uni and I’m trying my best to avoid it. It’s just not my thing. I really want something that can grow into a career for me.

Job sites, brilliant for searching. Employers sometimes don’t get back to you, or they take an eon and this can be really demoralising. It’s okay if you’re only applying for a couple of things. BUT when you are on full out on hunt a job down mode and you’ve done a bazillion applications for administration based rolls and one person calls “I’m calling about the admin role you applied for” … Take it from me, even if you’ve kept a spreadsheet of everything you’ve applied for (yes, guilty) it’s still difficult to keep track when someone calls with that opening.

Recruiters – I know them. I’ve worked with them. I’ve used them to get hired before. In the most part they are great at their jobs – it is slightly annoying when they call with a perfectly interesting role. They sell you it, it sounds perfect and then they add (after signing you up for an interview) that it’s full time hours even though it clearly states in your CV and your profile that you are looking for PART TIME to fit round the family. It’s the ‘Oh I’m sorry’ or the ‘Never mind’ that gets you in the gut and makes you second guess what you can get out of a new role if you only want part time. And all because they didn’t read your requirements. Come on you brilliant people, you’ve got the gift of the gab but the research side of things could use some work. I guess us (the applicants) are just numbers and a hefty commission cheque for the recruiters, but again this IS personal – I AM NOT JUST A NUMBER.

The Network Marketing Draw – We all know I’ve dabbled in network marketing. I played with Jamberry and did well with it for a while, and I’ve been signed up with FM world since March time but I haven’t really pushed it. I keep thinking I should give it more of a go. A lot of people fake it to seem like they are making it in network marketing and that’s really not my style. I don’t fake. I’ll have to give it a shot as a hobby and remind myself it’s certainly not a vocation for me. It can provide lucrative if you are that way inclined, but I don’t feel like it’s for me at this moment in time.

Thinking Positively – That’s what all the guides say. Stay positive. It’s just a newly opened door for a better path.

This is all good, but I’m having down days and up days. Yes, it is important to stay positive but the reality of this is it’s not so easy in practice. On paper it is, but battling the internal monologue is the difficult bit. Especially on redundancy number two. Again the thought process of “Why Me?” springs up.

I am using this opportunity to go for something to suit me and to grab a new beginning with both hands. I am ready for a fantastic career, I am ready for the financial abundance that is coming with my new vocation and I am thankful for the opportunities that are waiting for me. The skills that I have accumulated from my work means I can apply for a more senior position. I get to choose which direction I want to take my career in next. I am excited to see where this path takes me.

So that’s where we are, a totally mind dump of a post. I hope you are all well, and I cannot wait to catch up with your blogs. As always, thank you for reading you beautiful creatures – I am eternally grateful for my audience.

All the positive vibes.


PMSing. Hard!

Bloating – check

Weight gain due to fluid retention (and bloating) – check

Appetite disruptions – check (double check if you count wanting to eat the content on the house and then not wanting to eat at all)

Headaches – check

Boobache – check

Mood swing – check

Anger fuse – what effing fuse? I mean, check.

So here it is, the raw honest truth about massively PMSing. I’m not normally a sufferer, but I want to rip out somebody’s throat today.

How the he’ll can’t you gain 4lbs since yesterday body? It’s certainly not funny. So now you’ve got me (well a combo of you bloated self doubtingness, and man) waiting for Chinese deliver and it’s after 10pm.

I’m so unbelievably angry for no reason, at everything it’s funny. Or at least it will be, when I’ve bled out for 5 days not died and slept. Now I’m a little less angry because the gin kicked in. Another thing I blame bloating for. Two single measures of gin and I’m done. Like not drunk drunk, but slightly squiffy. Squiffy enough to shout about PMS.

Being a woman is hard bloody work.

Now don’t get me wrong, we have the pleasure of pregnancy and child birth. Yes, childbirth is painful but the whole process is amazing and for the most parts enjoyable. But periods? Then when your done with that menopause?!

Who thought of that? Who decided that women would just bleed and then have hot flushes? Oh yeah and to top it off, most women don’t get better with age. I’ve already decided I’m going to be a ‘glam-ma’ when I’m older (if we have grandbabies [in the very distant future]).

Takeout is still not here and the gin is wearing off. Not a good sign for the delivery driver. Best of luck to that guy!

Xoxo, L

** edit** takeaway didn’t turn up till 11pm and the feeling of wanting to rip someone’s throat out and feed it to them (physically impossible, I know) has returned. Oh good luck to anyone crossing me tomorrow. I don’t even want to cross me.