A post full of gratitude. This is for all the lovely people in the blogging world that hit follow on my blog.

Thank you for your support.

When I re-started blogging a few weeks ago, I never thought I’d be viewed let alone read and increase my followers as much as I have. Sometimes I don’t write in straight lines, sometimes I write on a high of life and other times I write from the depths of a low. Any which way, it’s always from the heart. So thank you, a million times for sticking with my ramblings. I hope you will keep me honest and stick with me for as long as you can.

Here are pictures from our park trip this morning. Delilah and I went to Shibden Hall Park with her big cousin Rowan and Uncle Gaz. We played on the swings and took a walk round. It was so sunny, I even caught my shoulders. Uncle Gaz saved the life of a little frog that had it’s leg stuck in a plastic ball and surprisingly there was a ton of frogs mating in the little boat lake.

To my 67 – again thank you. I hope you managed to enjoy a sunny day no matter where you are in the world.

Xoxo, L

My Up Coming Project

I’m working on an article for my blog. It will be highlighting a few of the actual issues we’ve been having as residents.

Wyke has a lovely community, but it is being plagued by gang cultured teens. The type that think it’s okay to terroris everyone they come across. I’m collecting some stories from locals, and getting a real insight of what’s going on. All we want is for the village to be a safe place again.

I’ve spoken to some amazing people, and they have been sharing there chill worthy tales. They are crazy bad. Worse than causing mischief and being a general nuisance. I think this is on an epidemic scale, not just in our village but across the UK.

On a lighter note; day 2 of being healthy has gone perfectly. Healthy food choices again and a couple of workouts. Today I chose an upper body circuit and a boxing workout.

Lunch was poached egg with avocado on toast and dinner was stir fry veg with chicken. And of course little miss Delilah stole my glasses during workout while snotting all over the place (She found a bug somewhere and the dear little love bug is not well).

I’m glad I’m working on a project, and I’m hoping to get the village some attention. I’m hoping authorities will start to pick up these gang kids and do something with them. We just want a safe place for our children to grow up in. And I also want to fit in to my beautiful yellow dress. I’m working on both things.

Xoxo, L.

Why I Handle Things The Way I Do.

There’s certain things in our life that mould us. Situations that make us react in certain ways and influences everything that happens in our lives. This can be good, bad or indifferent.

I remember in the first year of sixth form I was taking psychology as one of my classes. It was an outside tutor that appeared once weekly to talk about his self and every achievement he had ever accomplished. Class A bell-end. A conceited, haughty, selfimportant twit decided it was his job to preach his life freaking story once a week to a bunch of teens who wanted a psychology A-level.

Despite the douche-bag’s demeanour, psychology was an interesting subject and one that has kept my interest for all these years. I’d complete the reading and homework each week. I’d enjoy the classes; well the content at least, but never the teacher. He wasn’t relaxed enough to have a good report with any of his students and I’m pretty damn sure the rest of my class felt the same way.

We were almost a full year into the course and exam preparation had started. I remember the classroom. We sat in a room in the sixth form building. It was a class of about 15ish students. There was a whiteboard with a projector pointing at it where we would see the pompous bastard’s weekly slides. We’d answer questions in class while discussing the topic of the week. One word answers required or at least simple arguments for or against what ever a study had shown. Each of us took notes, but the class discussions were mainly opinion based.

One particular week the class had been set the task to complete a practice test paper. The test paper was comprised of essay style questions. Long answers. Write in paragraphs, opinions backed up with studies. We had never, in class prepared for this, or been told about it. Each of us tried the best we could and handed it in the following week.

The week after hand in, I wasn’t in class. In was away, at home sick. After he had marked the classes first attempt at the practice papers, there was a mass failing in the air. Every single member of the class did crap. I’m talking no one got higher than a D. Now, as I’ve already mentioned I was away from that class. This, unfortunately for the toolbox teach, was the week he decided to make an example of my work.

He slated my paper for a full 30 mins of a 45 min class. He trash talked me in front of my peers. In front of friends. In front of everyone else who had done equally as badly as I had.


If there was one thing I loved about sixth form, it was the solidarity between students. Despite the clique you belonged to, your social background, whether you got on in high school or hated each other; sixth form happened and against the teachers, the students stood united – no matter what. They told me everything that verbally vomiting, micro organism had said about me and my paper.

I’ve always been good with words on paper (apparently not so much in a psychology practise paper – lol). So naturally I put pen to paper. I wrote a letter and addressed it not only to him but to our head of year. This caused some chaos. He probably regretted using me as a target for the class. Using my work as his shooting range in his highly unapologetical rant at how shit the class he had taught was.

A few point I stated in my letter:

1. Is it fair to make someone who isn’t in the room a victim of your slating in front of their peers?

2. Is it fair to say that speaking about your own life, and how amazing you were to over come the obstacles you have faced has mainly nothing to do with Freud, other psychologists or theories they have presented?

3. If the entire class failed miserably on a practice paper, isn’t this a reflection on the teacher rather than the class?

We were pulled into a meeting to discuss and I let him have it, both bullets in front of the head of sixth form. He apologised (but not publicly) for humiliating me in front on my peers. He offered to re-teach the last year to me in a one-on-one situation to which I replied “I wouldn’t waste my time”. His egotistical nature had him deluded him into thinking he could teach in the first place. I wasn’t going to fall for that one.

I gave my official notice and never attended his class again. At the end of that same term, he was moved on. Now I’m not saying that was my doing. I’m only saying I hope I had a little helping hand in having them realise the man was full of BS.

This incident still holds some resonance with me. I’m still that sassy girl. Quiet, understated and when cornered – a full on queen bitch. And yes, I am proud of that. Sometimes arrogance needs a mirror holding up to its ugly face…. sometimes you have to smash the mirror over that ugly face.

Till this day, I will take so much agro from someone before reacting. I’m okay with that. It builds up, and builds up until I flip the switch and make sure the agro stops. I might be wrong in how I deal with certain situations but it’s the only way I know how.

How would you deal with this situation? What do you do when you’ve had enough of the BS?

(Some of the sixth form girls, I’m in the red, looking giggly as we had just photo bombed this pic. Each beautiful woman in this picture will always be welcome with me)

Xoxo, L.

Weddings, Worries and Inner Wars.

It’s been a long while. Guilty for loosing site of my internal author I’m afraid. Silenced for a while by life events, work and everything else in between. Whole heartedly I find myself in need of my fix and the block I have suffered has been lifted.

Today I find myself typing away once more after the life affirming event of my little brother’s wedding a week and a half ago. Bride and Groom are entirely happy with all the proceedings. It was undoubtedly a beautiful day. I was proud to be a part of the union. The entire outfit celebrated for those who couldn’t be there and of course, for the happy kids tying the knot. I hope happiness finds you both together, wherever you lead.


Since my little brother got married, my best friend announced her engagement on Halloween. Congratulations again D and Hubby to be. I genuinely couldn’t be happier for you both, and most definitely can not wait to celebrate when I visit in just over a weeks time. It’s all celebrations round here. I mean there certainly is something in the water, another engagement announced just a couple of days ago. A friend from the past, a smile that evokes emotions in the form of both a smile and a question. Congratulations to you too. I truly hope you have everything you want in life, I only know a pinch of the story, but dear friend, I know you deserve it more than most.

I won’t ever pretend to be desperately wanting to follow in my friend’s celebratory reasons quickly, but the recent surge in such occasions makes me question if I would ever be someone’s choice. I’ve dated a few people since my leaving uni, most of them now getting hitched or having children. Don’t misunderstand me, as I am with someone who I consider to be rather special. Though my recent discovery of his porn collection is questionable, I really didn’t know he had an actual thing for redheads; and I quote, ‘there’s only one redhead for me sweetheart’ which I now know relates to one of his suicide girl redheads. Special? Don’t I feel it. And no, before you even dream of thinking it, there was no snooping involved. The folder boldly presented it’s self on the start up button, might as well have been entitled ‘PORNO’.

I know this is an inner war I must over come. I’m sure that most women my age are probably in a very similar situation to what I find myself in. I must make it clear that the emotion I feel is not jealousy. It is not and never will be the green eyed monster. It’s purely the thought of never being someone’s first choice. Never being good enough. The thought of perhaps being too intimidating, too imperfect, too bossy, too strong willed, too opinionated, argumentative, fat, quietly spoken or just not enough. The list could be continued. I’ve convinced myself that this is how all women my age feel when mostly all their friends are married, engaged or having/had children. I’m still sat here with my menagerie of cats and dog, and the man asleep on the sofa that’s in lust with a different redhead. At least there is honesty in writing, truth in words and more importantly the ability to explain an unexplainable situation when you’re the woman who likes wedding but isn’t all that convinced on the institute of marriage.

You will find no bitterness here, only well wishes and congratulations for those celebrating. This was never a sympathy vote, it was only a vent. Only away to get it out there. Writing, after all is therapy.

Celebrate and be happy,

L xox