The Scariest Tale of All

I often think about fear and how it affects me. All my life I think I’ve been afraid to try too hard. Sounds pretty general (and maybe relatable?) but if I’m honest, if I’d pushed myself harder in certain areas, things could have been different. Higher education for instance or my so-called talent for spinning a sentence – I’ve been scared to put myself out there in such a way that I actually get some of the things I want.

I am content with what I have though, and I’m genuinely happy with my life. We could always do more or have more but it’s important to appreciate our lot too – so I’m not lamenting anything really, or wishing I’d done things differently. I was meant to be a underachiever and that’s okay, I’m alright, kid.

The one thing that truly terrifies me though is getting older. On one hand we gain wisdom (supposedly) with every passing year but I’m genuinely afraid to get to a point where I’ve lost all my teeth and my knees don’t work anymore. The world is still so obsessed with youth and beauty – and even though I barely have either now, the complete loss of it is very hard to come to terms with. One day I will be a real and true elderly woman with a blue rinse and there’s nothing I can do to stop the process.

I once read an article by a woman who wrote that being middle-aged was the hardest thing to get used to because nobody sees you anymore. I thought at the time this sounded stupid but turns out to be true. You hit 40 and you’re suddenly invisible, the see-through best friend to all your hot younger pals. I am sort of joking, but only because if I don’t I will cry.

So if right now you asked me what my greatest fear is, after sharks, I would say it’s getting older. I’m scared and it is inevitable: I will age. I’m ageing now – every second of every single day I am getting older and I can’t slow it down – so I have to accept it. I can’t let the fear rule my life – I have to remind myself that with every thing I lose, I gain something new. Experience, wisdom, wrinkles.

Since I can’t beat the passage of time, I’m going to have to own it.

Watching Girls Go By

I feel like I spend most of my summer months obsessively people watching. Watching girls to be precise. I can take or leave men in summer or any month of the year – but women in the sunshine are something else.

The best outfits come out in the Spring as we tiptoe cautiously into the warmer months and I start to think about all the sartorial possibilities. Hey, if she can rock a blue and yellow print midi skirt with a plain navy tee, then I can, right? Hot pink? Why not? Stripey shirt that looks like a pajama top and mom jeans? I’m in.

I love it, it feels like hope and happiness to me. While the sun itself is sometimes my arch nemisis (ginger, what can I say?), I do like what it brings out in other people and I love witnessing women feeling themselves. They inspire me.

And it makes me think about age again but in a more positive way. Of how I don’t think I’ll ever be middle-aged in my mindset or attitude, how even when my body is heading south and my bones ache, in my heart I’ll still be as hopeful and dreamy and dorky as I was when I was 12. There’s very little difference between the girl I was and the woman I am. Except I couldn’t have dreamt I’d have Wonder Woman tattooed on my arm.

I think about how I’ll still listen to pop music, probably the same ten songs I’ve listened to since I was a girl as I walk to work. How I’m happy to grow up but not too much – and how certain things make me feel ten feet tall: jumpsuits, red lips, my rainbow umbrella. Less material things too: kisses and inside jokes, post-orgasmic chills.

I’m in a good place here, things are blessed. Sometimes they’re hard and sometimes I’m tired but I’m always open. To new possibilities, to new people. I’m surrounded by love and good companions, new and old. Young and my age and I’m learning for them everyday. Through them and through myself I am working out who I am and how who I am is okay. Honestly, more than okay.

All this introspection comes with the sun and with watching the girls go by and maybe to me that’s the best part of Summer.

Old & Gold

You know how you can tell who’s old these days? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you.

I’m such a prime example of this. I tell people all the time that I’m 36, and then remember that I’m actually 38, 39 next month. I need to stop doing that because nothing makes a person seem older than when they’re focussing on the one thing that shouldn’t matter. It’s a number after all, just an indication of how long a person has been on the earth, nothing to do with their character, their achievements or how they should live their lives.

I need to stop worrying about how much younger the people around me are and just be happy they want to spend time with me. I’m cool, right? And cool comes with experience (sometimes), with acceptance of who we are and with just being gifted, I guess.

What so bad about old anyway? Being old doesn’t stop us loving or experiencing the beautiful pain of life, of laughing and getting fucked up on a Friday night. It doesn’t stop us buying a leopard print coat ‘cos we saw two women on the way to work absolutely rocking theirs.

It doesn’t stop us hating the gym but smashing it anyway, make us immune to the appeal of office gossip, or stop us reading a Daily Mail article about Kristen Stewart’s love life over the shoulder of a colleague while scoffing that we’d never read the “Daily fucking Mail”.

Old is whatever we choose it to be and I choose to be cool with my age from this day forth.

Today, this second I am older than I’ve ever been. I’m younger than I’ll be tomorrow. In ten years I’ll maybe read this back and think, what this fuck was my problem?

I’m loving for the moment now, innit? Surrounded by younger people who think I’m cool.

Not a bad life to be part of is it? ❤️

Rock N Roll

I feel like I owe my blog some sort of essay that isn’t about film, though for the life of me I can’t think which topic to pick. So a freestyle post it is. These are usually the most honest, if flawed pieces, right? This may be a bad idea.

I’m going to start with what’s most prominently on my mind: Age.

I’m in a rut. I’m 38 years old, the wrong side of 35 and when did that happen? My thirties have been my best, of course they have but they’ve shot by and now I’m here mildly fretting about the impending 40. Forty fucking years old.

I remember my mother’s 40th birthday party, which was thrown in our house by her cousin, who lived round the corner with our cousins. If you knew my mum (who I am very much like) you would be able to picture her face when she found out what was going on. I was ten and enjoying the party as ten years old do, through the milling legs of the adults, admiring tarty high heels and asking for sips of alcohol like a maniac.

How am I almost there myself?

Rather than lamenting the passing of time here though I think I’m going to draw a line under my fear, take a deep breath and move it forward. Like what do people who are nearly 40 do? Plan a party and freshen up their Bucket List? Get a drastic new haircut and take a lover? I’m down with all of the above, though the lover part sounds exhausting and/or messy. I’m pretty sure I’d prefer a weekend away to a house party too but I guess that’s down to the people who love me, they plan these things right?

Oh God.

But this rut, it has a lot to do with the turning of the tides but I guess it comes with being in any place for a long period of time, doesn’t it? I still have no clue what I want to be doing with my time. I’m neither creatively fulfilled nor rich as shit. I haven’t had kids but I also don’t have a career.

What am I expecting though? Exactly the right job for me to come knocking one morning, asking me out to play? Life doesn’t work that way and it shouldn’t either, aren’t we taught that nothing worth having comes that easy? Too right.

Okay. This is what I’m going to do. Stop beating myself about not being on the property ladder, not being one of those glossy chicks or on any sort of career path – and just be thankful for what I do have. Health, friendships and a good relationship. Booty. A job that might not be forever but that let’s me work with people I really like. An income that supports my ASOS addiction.

And I’m going to make a plan. A list of little plans even, that lead me towards a bigger plan. A life plan of epic proportions – there’s still time. 40 is only really 21 these days, innit?

I need to remember that age is more than just a number, despite what they say. It’s scary and it marks the steady flow of time getting away from us but it also represents experience and life stories, and I would never go back, not even a year, or a week. Even a day.

The other night I was talking to a friend and she said,”If I get to the end and I still have this life and the same circle of friends, even if I don’t meet anyone, I will die happy”, and I thought, that’s perfect. I want to feel that way too.

I’m going to get out there and kick rut in his arse (being weighed down by an unseen entity? It’s got to be male). I’m going to prove to myself that almost-40 is fucking fabulous, crow’s feet and all.

I might even think about this bucket list but I’m not jumping off anything high or swimming with any living thing. Thems the rules.

Birthday Month


Anyone else been having a tough couple of weeks? I know a couple of my nearest can attest to the bullshit of the last fortnight or so and I’m right there with them.

I’ve had some shitty tax themed worries hanging over my head (now sorted thankfully) plus the usual work stress but… it’s nearly November and that for me means ‘Birthday Month’, so I’m going to try and enjoy it.

There will be lots of nice things going on towards the end of the month but also next weekend (not this one, as I’m spending it cleaning, eating and sleeping), as Glynn has got us tickets to Brighton Film and Comic Con of all things!

The main draw for me is definitely George A. Romero, King of the Zombies (I can’t imagine him wandering around the hallowed streets of Brighton somehow) while my husband is excited about Spike from Buffy (I’m afraid I’ll lose friends when I admit I never really got into it). My dorky brother, meanwhile is beside himself about the appearance of Carl Weathers (of Predator/Rocky fame). So there’ll be something for everyone here.

Needless to say, the whole day is going to be a hoot. Sadly as a collective we’ve failed to agree on a theme for cosplay, so we’ll be going as civilians this time. If it’s really good, I fully intend to get into a costume for 2016.

Birthdays have always been a bit weird for me, I never really enjoyed them until I was with Glynn. He gets more excited about other people’s birthdays than they do and it’s so sweet. So now I can’t help getting carried away with the excitement. Work’s always a massive crack too, thanks to my amazing colleagues so hopefully we’ll have a good one this year.

I’ll be 38 fucking years old. 38 – nearly four decades, count them. That’s rather a good age I would say, so I’m going to enjoy it and embrace who I am because well I’m not going to change any time soon now, am I? I might be a clumsy, over-apologetic stumpy fingered sugar addict but I am mine.

So that’s me today. Feeling a bit better after those horrific weeks, no longer worried about taxes, forgetting about work for a long weekend and just generally staring at my navel thinking about being old again.

Happy weekend, all.

So This Is Thirty

Chewing over turning 30


My post has been published on the very cool blog, My Thirty Spot this morning. If you fancy having a little look, I talk about my experience of turning 30 over here.

Believe me, it was kind of a big deal.

Also, thanks to Hannah as I totally pilfered the idea from her and her post, A Letter to My 20 Year Old Self.

Imitation is still the highest form of flattery, yes?