I’m buying a Chromebook. Instead of using my phone to write long posts, I’m going to play in the big girl’s playground and use a keyboard and everything. Think I’ve decided. It’s a start anyway (Acer Chromebook R13). Get me, talking about tech 😉 (that’s as far as I go though).

I arrived at our next house-sit yesterday, in Tunbridge Wells, in the South East of England after an intense drive on the M25. If you’ve never experienced the M25, it’s an ancient, busy, stop-start motorway with batshit crazy drivers. It’s like people are living such intense, stressful, power hungry lives down south (near London) that they get trigger happy with their accelerators. They’re all insane. And that made me a bit insane too and I’ve got to watch out for that. I don’t like the pressure that other drivers put me under. I’m working on getting better at this.

Roads and traffic have been the theme of the last two days. Today I went against sensible advice, ignored Waze directions and ended up in yet another South East traffic jam. I was so grateful to get out of it that I didn’t realise we’d added another hour onto our journey, heading into the depths of the unknown Kentish countryside to be faced with endless winding single track roads, wondering whether there’d be a car blocking the way behind every new bend, just wishing for normal wider roads again. How I longed for those wide open roads. I became a warrior driving us home. On some kind of mission. Just keeping on going. No matter how long it took. No matter how many bends I had to take. I’d get us there. Minutes passed by so slowly. Would we ever reach a semblance of civilisation again? And then something beautiful happened.

I saw vibrancy. I saw growth. I saw magic. Ferns unfurled along verges, bright green trees swayed in the wind’s warm embrace, rain lashed down onto lush spring growth and everything sang the song of Mother Nature. Oranges, pinks, purples burst forth all around. Lushness. Breathtaking lushness completely consumed me and I knew that everything was going to be ok.

Sound asleep cattos. In a big pile of squish. Leo usually gets the brunt of Buzz’s bottom in one way or another.

My first ever podcast interview It was fun 😃

Miss Cookie Face. My tiny shadow for the next ten days.

This is @macgenie’s cat crush. Hendrix. The cow cat 😻

I lasted half the night with Cookie in bed. Her loud purr got even louder when she settled herself on top of my head (she’s so hot!). My arm got pins and needles because well, I couldn’t possibly move a muscle and disturb her. So I lay restless, in pain, for the love of cats.

I’m lying here in bed with darling Cookie, listening to her purr, feeling her snuggling into me. After a couple of days without cats, I’m grateful to be back in their company. I’m a little tipsy, in bed with a cat and it feels absolutely amazing. So soft, so furry, so right 😻

Women are interesting, complicated creatures sometimes (all the time). One reason is because hormones are powerful little buggers making women behave in exciting, unpredictable ways.

Every so often it gets pretty full on. Sometimes we just can’t help it. Here’s how it went today. For me.

Lethargy. Weakness. Frustration. Laughter. Loved up-ness. Desperation. Exhaustion. Annoyance. Despair. Pissed off-ness (quite a lot of swearing). Resilience. Power (conquering a 3 mile walk). Joy. Giggles (so many giggles - the kind of giggles you get when you’re over tired). Madness (I can’t go into a supermarket without buying random stuff I don’t need). Space cadet-ness (eyes ever so slightly crossing). Gratitude (oooooo let’s smell every single rose along the entire street). Dreaminess. Demanding (I want a cheese straw and I want it NOW). Surrender. Pain. Sexiness. Annoyance. Relief. Relaxation. Affection.

It can be tiring feeling so much in a day, your mind wandering everywhere. Like running a marathon and not finding your rhythm, holding it together in a slightly delirious state. But we manage. One way or another.

So here’s to all the women and their crazy behaviour. Here’s to their strength that they can make it through the day. Here’s to all the pain they carry and overwhelming sensations they have. Here’s to keeping it together. Here’s to carrying on. Here’s to eating a whole packet of biscuits. Here’s to madness. Here’s to getting the dinner ready. Here’s to them taking a moment whenever they need to without feeling the pressure to conform. Here’s to them knowing when to say no and being able to stand their ground. Here’s to all men being sensitive to all women and their amazing array of feelings. Here’s to being listened to (unless you’re really going on, like an absolute crazy woman, then you just need to lie down and give everyone a rest).

Women. You are strong. You are powerful. You are nourishing. You are full of love and so damn gorgeous. I’m having a square of chocolate in your honour right now. Nom.

There was a boy in my class. He was very fanciable. All the girls fancied him. Stuart B. I wrote him a love letter once and signed my name with mysterious dashes. He figured out who it was and didn’t reciprocate my undying love. I was embarrassed and upset and so good at wearing my heart on my sleeve. My friends comforted me. How sweet they were.

The last year of junior school was also the toughest for me. For some reason most of the class below me alienated me. Every time I walked past them someone would say ‘Quick Holly’s coming’ and they would all hold their breath. It was tough and confusing. I never told anyone and I never cried. I just took it and pretended not to be bothered. But I always remember their remarks and the look of a crowd of kids putting their hands over their noses as I walked by. That was crap.

I remember my last day of primary school. We’d done what we thought was the most hilarious leaving assembly (I’m sure it wasn’t as funny as we thought but we giggled sooo much performing it) and had a happy afternoon painting and modelling. My mum must have been over the moon when I came out for the last time with a kind of monstrousity of a junk modelling project, painted grey (and still wet) made up of about twenty cereal boxes. I thought it was a good idea to bring it home. My friends painted it with me. It was my last memory of them so it had to come. They’d touched this box, it had their paint strokes on it and now I’d probably never see them again. It was all I had left. We were all saying goodbye to the safety of junior school and now there was a new era ahead. Secondary school.

The best year of junior school was the last one. Not because I wanted to leave but because I adored my class teacher. I wanted to live it twice over. Mr Patterson was his name. Scottish, fun, caring. I fancied him of course. He called me Jolly Fudge (my birth name was Holly Judge). He made me feel cool. I thought him wonderful. He came in half way through the year on supply. How lucky. I tried to find him many years later to say thank you, but with no luck.

My best friend at school, Katherine, and I would sit on the boy’s table. We liked the boys because they did silly things and made us laugh - they drew rude pictures, said naughty things, did weird challenges like biting their little fingers hard, linking them together and then pulling them apart with force. Who came up with that? Seriously. It hurts. Kids are so crazy sometimes.

I was a prefect. I put the classical cassette tapes on as everyone walked into assembly. I felt important. I had one problem in assembly - there was a girl who stared at me like she couldn’t stand me. I didn’t know why and I didn’t like it. So I made a pact with myself to stare back at her. I always looked away though. Damn it was hard not to. It was a big deal. A hard task. No one likes to stare someone out, especially if they’re a bit afraid. But one morning, after months of her eyes boring into me and me looking away, I made my stand. I stared at her like I’d never stared at anyone before. And she looked away. I was victorious.

With this newfound exploration of erotic feelings and admiration of the female form I hatched a plan to see more. I don’t know how I knew this but a friend at school’s dad used to read the Daily Sport, a smutty paper with lots of rude pictures. I decided that if I offered to recycle his newspapers I’d be able to see the naughty pictures in it. So began the clever ruse that Angela and I (because I roped her into it too) would collect newspapers from around the area (mainly his as all the others were boring normal papers) and do a good deed, taking them to the recycling bins at the shops. Back then there were no recycling collections. It was a great plan. And so I would sometimes be found looking at a fanny or a pair of boobies behind the back of the recycling bins. I did it a few times I suppose. It felt naughty and nice. It gave me a buzz.

I also fancied boys. My childhood crush was called Richard. He and his blond, floppy hair would walk home past my house each day after school. He also delivered the paper (those were exciting moments as he put it through the letter box). I was smitten. He wasn’t. I accepted that fact with a heavy heart. Those feelings lasted many years. My longest crush ever. I didn’t have a crush on a girl until I was at uni. I’m surprised it took me so long though because I thought willies were weird.

Sometimes people arrive back from their holidays fairly early in the morning. Tomorrow is one of those days so we’re getting the house ready.

Simon’s on vacuum duty. He had this to say.

S: I’ve been hoovering in the dark. It’s quite fun.

I like his style (he’s bare chested too 😉)

It seemed predestined for me to have early erotic experiences. I was looking for something to read and I went into dad’s office for a magazine. I never usually did this because they were all boring puzzle and crossword magazines as that was the publishing industry he worked in. I took a magazine lying on the floor, it had been there for weeks, and opened it. Luckily dad wasn’t in the room because the first thing I saw was a pair of boobs. It was a top shelf magazine. It was exciting. I felt naughty. I felt feelings that I hadn’t experienced before. After that it was a matter of time before I found every rude magazine under that desk. It was a fun secret for a while though it didn’t last long - I’m too damn honest for my own good and told mum. The next time I went looking they were all gone. Argh.

On another occasion I found a bright pink book in dad’s bookcase among the hundreds of other books (serendipity at work again) which was an extremely rude novella dad said (years later when I told him) was a book that soldiers used to read in the army. Dad was in the Korean war. An educated man, but still a man. If anyone’s interested it’s called My Life As a Flea and you can get it online as it was written such a long time ago (be warned, it’s ever so naughty).

Ecstatic face of dribbly love after daily scritch scrotches.

Delicious sights and smells this time of year. I’m drunk on flowers. Spring. Aston-Le-Walls, Oxfordshire, England.

It’s celebrate Douglas Adams day today. I’ve been meaning to post this hilarious story for a while. A true story, about Douglas and a packet of biscuits. Today seems like the perfect day to post it 😃 Love you Douglas. Thanks for all the fish. The Biscuit Saga

Day 15. Ended up incorporating a saucepan into my routine tonight. Quite heavy. I enjoyed the handle grip. Nice texture and girth. It became an extra weight useful for toning my arm muscles. Saucepan toning - coming to a gym near you! Heart rate was up many times tonight. Yes!

I’ve found that being in a state of flux is a healthy conduit in making my life better. Here’s an example. Up until last year, I was settled. In my house. In my job. I went to the same shops each week for the same food. Drove the same route to get to the same places. Settled, yes.

Too settled? Definitely.

I’d lost my mojo. Things trundled along just the same. I was ‘comfortable’ and as many a wise person would say, being too comfortable is a dangerous place to be. I’d lost my edge.

And then we (because this involved Simon too) made a big decision. To sell everything, travel the country and taste different places. Tasting is living. Seeing new places makes us see new things in ourselves.

So the conduit was the decision to move forward and have a new adventure, which opened my eyes to the fact that all the stuff I had (clothes, plants, things) were weighing me down and keeping me trapped. Letting go of most of those things helped me experience freedom in a new way. From possessions.

Now we’re on the move. Every 2 - 5 weeks. Each time we pack up our little car and move somewhere different and start living again. In a different space. In a different kitchen. Learning more lessons. Understanding ourselves a bit better. Our limits. Our controls. Our levels.

We ask more questions. We’re more practical.

What makes a good kitchen? Obviously how big the dance floor is (and how sharp the knives are).

Are kitchen islands a good idea? No they get in the way of the dance space 💃

Is it a good idea to have cats in the bedroom? Depends if they bring prey to your pillow. Depends if you want a good night’s sleep.

Where’s the best place to feed a cat? Outside or as far away from the living space as possible.

Why does everyone buy Felix cat food? No idea, it smells disgusting.

Do we really want a box in the house where cats shit? Absolutely not.

What kind of area can we live in? Countryside, city, suburbia, village, anywhere as long as we’re creating. Though we’re feeling the buzz of the city more and want to spend time right in the heart of it.

And so on.

With all this new knowledge comes adaptations in our behaviour. We’ve wanted to change our diet forever (we were total chocolate junkies) so this new transition made it possible to think differently. To really work towards being the best version of ourselves. And not weaken with old habits.

Low carb diet it is then. It’s going so well. The fat is just disappearing. It just takes time and willpower.

Having a child is another way of being in a state of flux. You have to be spontaneous and alert and the best version of yourself for them.

So change is good. Don’t be afraid. You never know where it might take you. Try it if you can. Say yes to everything new and find your mojo again.

For whatever reason, since my teenage years, my mum has gained a habit. I tell her something amazing happening in my life, maybe sing her a song I’ve written, tell her about a holiday I’m going, or that I’m appearing on Micromonday podcast (😊) and she finds it’s impossible to react at all (other than negatively) to what I’ve said. After singing a song she’d tell me how my voice could be better, if I said I was going on holiday she’d talk about where she’d been and when I told her that I was appearing on the micromonday podcast she just ignored me completely and said she needed to talk to me about her problems. This happens in person or by text.

Now I’ve fought back over the years and questioned her motives. ‘I’ve just created a beautiful song mum, why are you picking at my delivery?’ and she would laugh a bit, embarrassed and say sorry. I guess she just wasn’t as passionate about the song as I was.

These days I ignore her behaviour, though still fall into the trap of trying to impress her now and again. It hurts when I’m not validated by the one person I thought had my back. She’s set in her ways. I don’t see her much. It’s ok. But, I was left with old, unresolved feelings again and I wasn’t even out of bed.

I got to thinking, I still see my mum as my ultimate ‘like’, the one like that I should get no matter what. But it hasn’t happened for a long time. I’m just kidding myself. She loves me in her own way, not in the way I want her to love me.

Then another idea came up - if i could set myself free from this rose tinted spectacled relationship I believe I have with her and get to a place where I don’t expect anything from her anymore, I would truly be my own person. She is my ultimate test in letting go.

As I lay there in bed pondering all this, reflecting on the pent up anger that still comes up sometimes after getting a text from her, I felt a power surging through me. A light. A shield. It felt like something was changing. It was time to say NO to all the old patterns of behaviour. I saw clearly how much reliance I was putting on somebody else validating my happiness.

This is who I am.

I AM AMAZING. I am full power. I am enough. I am enough. And if you want to, you can come along for the ride. But if you don’t, it’s ok. I can ride this rainbow unicorn to the stars all by myself 🦄

It just so happens that next week we’re staying fairly close to London. It just so happens that Phantom of the Opera is in its 33rd year. It just so happens that I’ve bought tickets to see the show and I’m the happiest girl with the biggest smile on this bright, sunny day 😌🙃

Day 14. It’s amazing how little I sweat now dancing, compared with a few months ago. My body has stamina. I’ve earnt it, putting in the hours, making my heart beat fast. I have an abled (rather than a disabled) body. What a glorious concept. What a moment to celebrate in my life.

Is there something you use in the house which has revolutionised the way you do something? For me it’s the Oxo Crumb brush. I never knew how much I would enjoy using a crumb brush until I had one. It’s a much better experience than a hand or a cloth. It’s a kind of dinky pleasure. 😃

Loving the shape of catto’s nose and mouth. Full of curves and lines making the perfect little snout with which to snore out of.

I had a Nokia phone with buttons. The only delete key broke. My texts could get imaginative - I’d try to use every letter I typed. Sometimes this wouldn’t be possible (when I’d accidentally press the x or z key so there’d be a load of random letters at the end of the text.