In nine days, I’ll be departing my current workplace and taking an unfamiliar plunge into a whole new territory, the like of which I’ve not seen in five years. That’s right. I’ve got a new job. Five years of working for some of the UK’s biggest FMCG brands, forging a path through the trials and
This was it. The big day. All was in hand. The dress fit like a dream, the shoes had arrived in time and unscathed, and I was ready to walk down the aisle polished and mentally prepared for the barrage of extended family that would inevitably follow post-ceremony. It’s a hard life being a wedding
Now is the season of impending nuptials. At least I think that’s what Shakespeare said. June is a month where at least two things are guaranteed to happen – neither of which include the bizarre combination of sunshine and thunderstorms that we’ve experienced in the North West of England over the past 24 hours: I’m
Anyone who’s ever worked in trade PR will tell you that it’s not always the most entertaining of jobs; particularly when you’re confronted with a crisis, budgets being cut on an annual basis, or the task of trying to create excitement around a subject that your average Joe would describe as ‘dry’ (e.g. insurance).
There it was again. That familiar feeling. As I put my face on for the day, I felt the wave of nausea which has become so familiar to me over the years. I call it my ‘anxiety belly’, and as I sat at my dressing table readying myself for the day, it washed over me
What a week it’s been for the habitual couch potato. For those of us who have little to no interest in venturing outside, the television Gods have offered up some terrific viewing to keep us working on that arse groove in the sofa, and I for one have been only too happy to oblige them.
In between watching Game of Thrones, having my hair cut, and building my Beauty Bay wish list, I’m pleased to say I’ve had chance over the weekend to spend some quality time with my favourite (only) nephew and his ma. When I say quality time, I do of course mean time spent catching up
I’ve never been one for a beauty regime but turning 31 last year brought with it a deep sense of foreboding, new wrinkles, and an insatiable need to moisturise. I’ve also woken up to the idea that my eyelids – such as they are – won’t stay in this condition forever, so it’s time I
I can only apologise for the hideously inconsiderate way in which I’ve carried on about my business this past fortnight without posting so much as a sausage – or even a witty remark about a sausage. It’s been a bit of a funny one in that I was away the weekend before Easter for
Easter is nearly upon us, which means that the year is speeding by so quickly I could vomit. It also means Sam is growing up at a terrifying rate. I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m 32 this year, but I don’t remember ever coming out with half of the absurdly grown up statements
