I had a great time over at The Ceme Conference Centre in Rainham for Essex Fashion Week on april 8th. The lovely organisers, twins Adam and Simon Ryan had kindly given us press passes – this was my first Essex Fashion Week and I wasn’t sure what to expect but, as an original Essex girl I was interested to see how shows such as The Only Way is Essex, acts like Olly Murs and 2Shoes (who incidentally are as lovely in real life as they seem on tele) have finally made people see what us Essex folk have long known, that there is more to Essex than meets the eye.

First and foremost, as a PR. I was all over it. I went along with Linzi Peel who was making somewhat of a comeback from series one of The Only Way is Essex, as member of girlband Lola. Linzi hadn’t been back to Essex since she left the band so it was great for her to catch up with all that has been happening since she left. Linzi herself is now presenting her own radio show and writes a column for Styled Magazine. She was interviewed and snapped on the red carpet – in my opinion, right back where she belongs.

Of course, most of the stars of TOWIE past and present were there, along with many of the Desperate Scousewives, Romeo from So Solid Crew, David Van Day and his lovely wife Sue Moxley – but it seemed star of the show was Nanny Pat – every time she popped out for a sneaky fag someone would be after her, for an autograph, a photo or a quick chat.

For me, being able to attend Essex Fashion Week was once again a step nearer recovery. Six months in and I am still on chemo but counting down now as it ends in FOUR weeks! which will be, in the words of lovely 2Shoes, ‘Totes Amaze’. I still get tired and I am still not fully back at work but life is starting to have a little buzz to it again, which is reassuring and gets me through the bad days, of which there are still many, but the less said about that the better.

So, I initially thought I would stay at Essex Fashion Week for a few hours, but the day was so brilliant we ended up at the aftershow party knocking back shots with some of the lovely peeps we had met during the day.

Amy Childs was a lovely as she always is. Whenever I see her at events she is always there, in the thick of the party, being chatty with everyone. I also met her brother, Wills, who is a singer/songwriter and one to watch in his own right.

The clothes on the catwalk were a mixed bag. My faves of the day were DressMeAlist (www.dressmealist.com) and the new collection from Amy Childs. There were also grown men in Onesies, but the less said about that the better.

Following the event I was sent the most beautiful necklace from a fabulous Essex based Jewellery company called Sparkling Jewellery (www.sparklingjewellery.co.uk) – I have been after a coin necklace (like the one Holly Willoughby wears) for AGES and was unsure of the designer. They have such a lovely collection, for those that love all things bling – go take a look!

In all it was a really brilliant day and really helped me start to feel like my old self once again. So to everyone involved in the event – a very big thank you from my little corner of Essex for all your hard work and for such a great time. Bring on Autumn/Winter I say!

I completely loved the feature in The Observer today – ‘Meet the young woman who has made a career out of loserdom’

It talks about how a whole new generation of women are ‘taking to their PJs’ and turning ‘loserdom’ into a profitable art. Be it the female blogger who wrote about the realities of living with her parents – and got a book deal. The out of work actress who spent two weeks in her onesie and turned it into a one woman show, you know the drill.

But what interested me it how this feature finally seems to tell me what I have often wondered. That it’s not just me that spends a lot of time in my skanky clothes reading bits of the observer whilst stuffing a banana in my mouth and chain drinking coffee – secretly relishing the fact that I am not out, in high shoes, wishing I was at home.

Yeah, about home. Being ill has meant that I have had to spend a lot of time here – after a while, you start to detach from your normal world (Sunday night dread, leaving parties, work lunches, deadlines). Suddenly you are just at home, at the mercy of spending time BY YOURSELF. You have a choice, you either become best friends with the Loose Women, or you start to re-read books you love, you start to write, you start to remember YOURSELF.

I have really noticed this – not so much at first when I was really in pain and everyday was like running through treacle, but now I have started to recognise that to be a ‘female slacker’, you kind of have to learn the art of just being.

Believe me, there have been days when I have indeed indulged in daytime tele, nights when I have cried as I was too ill from chemo to go to a party, but of late, with the doctor constantly telling me to rest, I have started to listen. I have been reading, writing, and the other day I answered the door to the postman with a face full of smoky eye disasters, after trying to recreate a look – just for fun, just for the hell of it. I have dusted off my vinyls and have been listening to them. I look out of the window, just to look out the window, not to have a cheeky fag because I am so bloody stressed, like in the old days.

I confess, there may have even been some hairbrush singing – and I MAY have made up a Grammy acceptance speech, but I am TOTALLY BLAMING MORPHINE FOR THAT. (but I would like to thank my agent, and my parents’, and you guys)

Ahem, right. Anyway, as I was saying.

I have gone over to the shop in my PJ bottoms, and like the girl in the feature who talks about going out in her onesie, I also had a moment of ‘what have I become???’.

The thing is, when life really hits the skids, when you are really rolling in the deep (thanks Adele) sometimes you just have to go with it, and by going with it you really start to get to know yourself again – I really feel this is starting to happen to me, despite feeling poorly a lot. I am writing again, and not just this blog, but my book. I am making cards for people, having ideas again about what I would like to do when I am a bit better than I am now. I am starting to think about myself again, and to get creative with my time. Albeit from the sofa, under a slanket, whilst listening to 6music.

And here in lies the problem. Although I am not off through choice, I am starting to like it. I am starting to enjoy my own company – relishing reading chapters of novels, loving the fact that the Sunday papers can be read on Mondays, or throughout the whole week if I need to. I get frustrated of course that the only reason I am off is that, the reality is, I am ill, i have a lot of treatment, it is far from easy – but the new reality I am creating is of this strong, creative woman who has ideas and runs with them, eats cereal at 3pm, looks at volunteering opportunities overseas for when she is able to travel again, talks to family, like, REALLY talks. she makes cards, drinks coffee and eats cheese, naps, walks, talks, rests. I am really starting to like her.

It really is the little things that matter in life. It really is true what Virginia Woolf said, that sometimes, ‘all a girl needs is a book and a room of ones own’

So, to any girlies who are reading this, in their PJ’s, with their laptop on their burning knees, a cereal bowl beside them, a cat at that their feet – well, don’t feel down about it. It is what girls like us do.

If that’s loserdom, I am definitely a lifelong member. Maybe in some weird way, being forced to stop has made me realise that when I am ready to ‘start’ again, it will be very different to how it was before.

Now, it’s time for a nap.

So, I’ve been in hospital again, more surgery – fortunately I will spare you the details. I only got out of hospital yesterday so today I’ve been feeling a bit wrecked, although tonight I have perked up slightly – I’m getting a bit fed up with this illness now, and would really quite like it to go. My mum called in earlier and she said she always knows when I’m starting to get a bit better as I start getting stroppy – somewhat of a backhanded compliment but I sort of know what she means. I’m stroppy at the moment because steroids are bloating me, and I’m not talking in a ‘Martine Twathutcheon/Activia yogurt type way’ but in a ‘who ate all the pies’ way (although, I also ate the pies).

So many questions regarding my health remain unanswered – it’s pissing me right off. I have a job to do, holidays to plan, festivals to book tickets for, but at the moment I’m in some strange limbo which is quite frankly the equivalent of being stuck in some dull as dishwater waiting room. Yeah, heavy I know, but I’m on morphine – I’m channeling Courtney Love again. Bear with, Bear with..

Although, I have to admit, the drugs do lead to some pretty out there dreams. Last night I was in an Essex killing spree, armed with a lethal spray tan hose that would kill people stone dead, right after I turned them the perfect shade of Essex peach.  I also dreamt Gemma from TOWIE held a gun to my head and made me buy a massage chair, before laughing at me in the face shouting ‘FISHFOOD’.  – Yep, FISHFOOD. Don’t ask me, like I KNOW THE ANSWERS…

Not so much ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ – More ‘Nightmare on Loughton High Rd’

I woke up pretty traumatised – immediately ringing my most Essex friend to make sure she hadn’t pegged it in some awful spray tanning incident. She hadn’t, cos ‘she’s all about the foam fake tan’ these days.

I’m not really sure where this blog post is going, but needless to say, once again, it’s all about light and shade, smoke and mirrors at the moment. The fact is, I don’t feel all that well at all – and that in itself makes life, well, not so much a box of chocolates but more a box of teeth breaking toffee, when you were really hoping for a soft centre.

So, I am back in hospital next week, for some more treatment, and then the week after for an Endoscopy. Swoony Specialist just tells me that it’s time to dig deeper, not much more digging to go, and then I will start to see a difference. I believe him. So as much as I am bearing with it all at the moment, I am asking my friends and family to bear with me. I know it’s boring, I know it and I’m sorry. I know I don’t answer your calls, and I’m not as much fun as I used to be, but I’m digging – and it has to take all my attention.

So bear with me – I’m sorry I keep saying no to things, not answering calls, basically being a bit crap, cancelling things at the last minute, but life is just a bit weird right now. Normal service will resume soon, I promise, well, I hope -  but, in the meantime, just remember, if I offer you a spray tan, just nod and politely decline.. .

x

Forgive the lack of blogging. To be honest, when it goes quiet from me it isn’t always a bad thing. i have been busy, doing stuff, seeing people, getting back into my life again, which has been obviously brilliant. The health stuff, ahh it’s still shitty and lots of stuff is happening, but i feel the need to share some of the good stuff that has happened of late, and has made me realise just how lucky i am. I’m gonna do it in a list – I LOVE A LIST. You know this.

- So, I was pretty heartbroken to miss my Irish friend Tilly’s wedding. I have two best girly friends, called Tilly and Amanda. We all used to live in London, but marriage and work took Amanda away to San Fran, and then Tilly and her then boyfriend, now husband, went back to Tils home town of Dublin. Us three girls are a force to be reckoned with, but because of my awful health I couldn’t travel to the wedding. Amanda and her hubby flew in from San Fran, so i knew that yesterday I would be seeing Amanda as they were travelling via London. Tilly was gutted she couldn’t get over from Ireland, but what with the wedding and everything, how could she.

So, she said she would buzz me in the afternoon, once I was with Amanda, so we could all have a gossip. Little did I know she literally meant ‘buzz’ on my doorbell. The pair had plotted between them – if I couldn’t get to Tilly, she was coming to me. So yesterday, us girls were all together for the first time in 3 years, and it was totally amazing. in the words of my dear mate Lisa Lynch ‘ain’t mates ace’.

indeed they are.

- In other news. i am going to be an Auntie again. TO IDENTICAL TWINS. I haven’t been allowed to share the news until yesterday, and I have been beside myself. My two new little bestie friends will be born in the summer and I cannot wait to meet them. I just hope they are nothing like Jedward.

- work stuff. So, you know in the last blog, when I wrote about going back to work? well, I have been going in one day a week, but this week I am upping it to two days a week and that makes me feel better, as I feel like I can get more done, it is all coming back to me.  I have some brilliant projects on and although I still have a long way to go, getting back into the press office and feeling like me again has been much more therapeutic that I could ever have hoped.

- So, my steroids have been reduced. I was starting to look a bit like an air bed, pumped up within an inch of my life. I really think how this illness makes you look is one of the hardest things to come to terms with, so a reduction in steroids has helped, and I can sort of see my cheekbones again, waving at me from beneath the puff.

- I have just eaten cake and a cheeseboard with The Lynch’s. That for me is the icing on the very posh cake that they came armed with. They are ace.

- Exciting things happening professionally, regarding my writing, of all things. That’s all I can say for now.

So, despite the continued anxiety over my health, the tiredness, the bloody overdraft and the expanding bum size, I’m generally doing quite well. I’m all about the glimmers and right now it seems here are some pretty bloody big ones. They were always there, I just needed reminding.

x

You know things are a bit shit when you stare at the screen for a good 20 minutes not knowing where to start. Don’t get me wrong – the glimmers are still there. I went into work for the day yesterday which was lovely, great to see people who I haven’t seen for 4 months. I am only in one day a week but it is a start – of course it showed me how far I have come since October, but it also showed me how far I still have to go.

I was in the office for 4 hours. 4 hours – I know it doesn’t seem a great deal but it felt like a bit of a big deal. Today though I have been completely floored, tummy so sore and face puffy and painful from steroids – it showed me that i have to be realistic. People said returning to work etc would be like ‘riding a bike’. I am sure it will, in time, but I do think my head is getting better quicker than my body.

I am realistic that this phased return might show me that maybe working isn’t something I can really cope with at the moment, or even for the foreseeable, but the stubborn, determined girl in me, who LOVES my job will give it a really good shot. But I will NOT risk my health, so the next few weeks will involve a lot of thinking about what is realistic and what is manageable. I am working with occupational health, and blessed with a fabulous team who totally have my back. Day one isn’t an indicator of how the rest of the days will be. I look the same, but i feel so flipping broken – this boomerang of an illness feels like it takes a little piece of me with it every time I am ill.

I think I am just over tired – but I have always wanted to be honest about what is happening, really for my own account. i read back over this blog earlier, and the post i wrote when i had first come out of hospital, it really feels like such a long time ago. i know this is all part of the process and I know all will be fine, but tonight it still feels like I have quite a mountain left to climb – and to be honest – I wish I could just get to the flipping top.

So, in this last week, I have reached a few goals that will in turn aid my recovery. So, as the previous post tells you, I went to the National Television Awards, which was indeed, just what the doctor ordered.

I have also sorted out the hair. It is now a different colour brown to the previous FAR TOO GINGER brunette, and I also had highlights, so I am happier about that – and they didn’t charge me.

I had a manicure as well. Not quite sure who I think I am right now.

I also visited my work, for the first time in 3 and a bit months. I am lucky, as I love my job. I’m a press officer for a national charity – I also have some great friends there, friends who sat by my hospital bedside in early November when things were really bad. Have kept in touch with me throughout and have always made me feel part of the team, however ill I have been. So the visit was kind of a big deal, combined with an HR appointment to discuss my return. I could go on about how nervous I felt, how it took every bit of energy I had, and how I wore far too much makeup so they couldn’t see quite how poo I am looking, but I wont, because as soon as i walked in, all that didn’t matter and I felt like I had never been away – it was brilliant to see everyone – of course I feel a bit different to the ‘well’ version of me, but it was a boost I needed.

So yeah, my return. Yep – I am going back to work. I am far from ‘better’ – like I said, I may never get fully better, but I returning to work on the 13th of Feb. I will only be doing one day a week in the office and working two days from home, but it hasn’t half boosted my spirits – to have an aim, a goal and some wages will soften the burden of continued treatment. I’m good at my job, and I will be damned if this illness takes it away from me.

Of course, there are still bad times. I would be lying if I only blogged about the good bits. I am still having loads of physio and taking a shit loads of drugs, to keep the stomach working yet the bowel rested. The Thyroid tumour is still somewhat of a concern, although the new meds are helping that. They will decide in three months, when they scan me again, if that is something they can shrink down, or if I will have to have my throat cut and the thyroid removed (no no no no no). Energy levels are still low, face still puffy from steroids and my weight up and down for all the dancing about that my insides seem to be doing at the moment.

My god-daughter asked me the other day if I was scared. I thought about this long and hard actually – because when it all became obvious that I was really ill again, after the bowel collapse, I was scared. But I don’t think I am anymore. I really feel like this ‘brave face’ people think I put on, well, it’s isn’t put on, I really do feel like I am OK with what has happened and is happening. I would rather it hadn’t – but this ‘she looks OK but I’m sure she isn’t’ look I get at times from people is a bit annoying, because I really am OK. Basically – believe me, when you wear your heart on your sleeve like I do, if I wasn’t alright, you would know. I will never hide feeling unwell ever again, because look where that got me.

So, my next round of treatment is Monday – so this weekend me and my flat mate are going to the 02 to see Olly Murs in concert. It seems the only place I go these days is the hospital or to the 02 arena. Now, those who know me in real life know that pop music is far from my bag. I am such a music lover, my faves being Elbow and PJ Harvey. I don’t own any ‘pop’ music – but my flat mate is a total pop princess – and I secretly love Olly Murs, so tomorrow we are going to dance along to his cod-casio-demo-genre of music and not care. He’s nice to look at after all.

Don’t worry, I will tell him you said hi.

Considering I haven’t had a night out in just over three months – unless you count hospital, my parents house, or a wander over the pub near my flat, then most people would say, as I am still on chemo, that I should probably ease myself back in.

Yeah, well, about that.

So, I had my first night out on Wednesday. I went to the O2 where the National Television Awards were being held, followed by the celeb filled party. Now that, my friends, took a lot of blagging, but you know, I have a few friends in high places who are better blaggers than me, so following the awards, off we went to the VIP party… so like I say, first night out, easing back in? never gonna sodding well happen where I am concerned.

I have to say, as much as I was looking forward to it I was also feeling a bit nervous. I still feel unwell a lot of the time, and I think people can underestimate how being ill can be a bit of a blow confidence wise, but you know what, I thought screw it! – I put on a pretty black dress, slapped a load of makeup on myself, put my newly brunette hair up (I am starting to love it now) and stepped into those high shoes.

High heeled shoes, seriously, the bain of my life, but they immediately made me feel glam, and they were comfy, mainly because I had put a pantyliner in each shoe. Don’t laugh – you should try it (although stick them in, because I lost a pantyliner mid way through the night… I was so worried it was somehow stuck to my dress! it wasn’t, phew! – i wonder which celeb found it?)

I’m a bit of a sucker for a celeb packed night out, and this one was no exception. Highlight of the night was meeting Joey Essex (I know, I know, there I was in a room full of A listers and I hunted down Joey!). Also met lovely Fatboy from Eastenders, Amy childs, Kerry Katona, Kian from Westlife, Mark Wright, Janine from Eastenders, the cast of Miranda, some of the Corrie cast and loads of others who I can’t think of now – I tell you, that party was like walking into my twitter feed – hashtag? lookhowthintheyare.

Anyway, the free champagne was flowing – and all went to plan, except when I got asked if I was Gemma from Towie – oh and trying to convince joey Essex that yes, I was, actually, in Downton Abbey.

it really was such a fun night – chatting to my friends, catching up with the gossip, being all dressed up – we even made it on to the tele for the ITV2 coverage, live from the VIP  party – brilliant!

Anyway – the night ended with us waiting for our car, along with the Towie lot, Caroline Flack, some of the hollyoaks girls (so thin, so young, so glam! grrr) and the hot boys from Merlin. I was very tipsy, still in my heels, but for the first time in months, since I fell ill, I felt a little bit like me.

You see, it didn’t really matter that nobody knew who I was – because for the first time in ages, out with my girlie friends at the O2 – I suddenly saw a little glimmer of who I am – and believe me, it has felt like ages since i had.

The night ended with me and my friends eating bacon sarnies in my flat at 3am in the morning – and we spent the entire next day eating pizza and watching tele, all hungover, all with sore feet and the remains of the makeup still on from the night before.

I know I have lots more hospital stuff ahead, I know I’m far from ‘better’, but honestly, my little glam night out – well, it really was just what the doctor ordered.

I have been really interested this week in Beating Bowel Cancers campaign to make people more aware of the symptoms of this cancer, the second biggest cancer killer out there.

The symptoms of this illness can be pretty horrible, and of course, discussing ‘bum stuff’ with anyone is never easy. When I first became ill, it was violent and I thought I had food poisoning – I went for blood tests but they came back fine, so we all assumed that it was just a really nasty bug, or maybe an ulcer that they could treat.

So, the rest you all know, and the fact is, the more I hear about this illness, the more I realise that it isn’t something ‘older people’ get. I have met young, sassy professional females like myself who have gone through, and are going through more than I could even imagine. I myself have experienced pain over the last four months that I didn’t think possible.

I now realise that my symptoms started way before that night in July, when I woke up in terrible pain, way before.

The tiredness has never really left me since I was previously unwell in 2010. I had never really felt better, my stomach would bloat, and I would often have an upset stomach. i could gain weight very quickly, but then suddenly be 6lbs lighter again in a matter of days. I felt itchy, I would often see blood in my poo but somehow convince myself it was ‘nothing’ – then things would settle for months, and then suddenly i would be back in that painful cycle.I thought I had IBS.

Anyway, the thing I am fast starting to realise, sadly the hard way, is that Bowel Cancer doesn’t have a type. Me, I have a type, I prefer tallish, scruffy, arty men. Bowel Cancer isn’t so fussy, it goes for young, old, blonde, brunette, fat, thin, rich, struggling, the good, the bad, the ugly. It simply can happen to anyone. Even me. Even you.

So, today, if you do one thing, take a look at the http://www.beatingbowelcancer.org/bowel-cancer-symptoms – They have loads of information on their website which will help you understand the symptoms. If you have been suffering in silence, like I did,  book an appointment with your doctor. It is very likely to be nothing, but better to be safe.

Don’t leave it till you are too unwell to even have the energy to do anything about it. Bowel Cancer moves quickly, but you can move quicker, but you have to BE LOUD, BE CLEAR.

Remember, it’s better to know if you are poorly, than to secretly suffer in silence. Treatment these days is amazing, and it’s very treatable if caught early enough, so don’t leave it till tomorrow, when you can act today and prevent, excuse the pun, your pain in the arse becoming an even bigger one.

http://www.beatingbowelcancer.org/bowel-cancer-symptoms

So – the chemo that I am on has made my hair a bit shit. Basically, I am hopefully on a mix that means I wont lose it, but some of it has gone really thin, and I have been told, NO BLEACH.

Now, it has to be said, I’m a natural blonde, but a meh blonde, like ‘meh, whatevs’ – kind of like I have had some old ash chucked on my hair. I get through this by having highlights (two blonde to one gold) every 8 weeks.

Since chemo, my roots have got so out of hand that I decided to become a brunette. Now, I realise that this doesn’t sound like much of a big deal, but when you have spent your whole life not only being blonde, but defining yourself by it, it’s kind of a big deal.

Anyway, to cut a long hair story short (see what I did there?) -  I did it. I now have a darkish reddy brown hair. It has made it look loads thicker, but I somehow feel ‘wrong’. Now, coming from a girl who has had her knockers chopped off, well, this should be a walk in the park. But it isn’t. I don’t feel like ‘me’ – I liked it when I first has it done, but now I feel wrong – like I am trying to be someone else, or wearing a wig, both events which I have done in the past – but this blog ain’t no place for THAT story.

Anyway, I am going to give it a week and see how I feel. I have my first night out happening on Wednesday. My first night out in three months. I am off to The National Television Awards  – not even this dodgy bowel or a bloodstream full of chemo will keep me away from one of my fave nights of the year.

The only thing that could keep me away, in fact, is if my hair looks shit. So on Wednesday, just pray for a good day hair wise for me, otherwise we could have a right bloody drama on our hands, and nobody needs to see that.

Maybe once a blonde, always a blonde? or maybe even this head could be turned to believe that, really, the only way is brunette?

Watch this space.

I was really interested to read this week’s column by Lucy Mangan (who, incidentally, I am a complete fan girl of, I mean, she wrote a whole column on how fat David Cameron was getting, and those who know me all know about my DC rage).

This week she was talking about keeping a diary – with it being 30 years since Adrian Mole, who I was also a complete fan girl of.

Lucy says she has never indulged in such a ‘foolish habit’. I however, have kept a diary since I was 11 years old – and often look back at them and laugh. I have however also faced the humiliation that goes with it.

Lets face it. I am the youngest in my family, the only girl, with two older brothers, who are 5 and 3 years older than me. That in itself was a big enough challenge in life – teased relentlessly but with a constant cloak of brotherly protection around me, my childhood and teenage years were somewhat challenging. Boyfriends threatened quite a lot, my ‘quirky’ dress sense and what I then thought was ‘puppy fat’ ridiculed constantly by my brothers – my diary became a source of ‘getting it all out there’ – some may say like a childhood version of blogging.

You kind of have to picture the scene – my family is fairly ‘eccentric’ to say the least, but in the 80s my father was the local eccentric, who would walk about singing through the streets, painting our prefab house pink and black stripes and buying a bright orange mini. My mum worked in Woolies, on the record counter. Me and my friends would go in after school and she would say  ‘here, stick this cassette in your pocket, the case is cracked’ – quickly followed by a ‘quick, my manager is over there, scoot!’…

We holidayed on holiday camps and ate white bread with oven chips every Saturday afternoon. My Grandparents lived up the road.  It was council-estate heaven and hell all rolled into one, and there, in a little corner of suburban Essex, was where I was often found writing my diary.

I spent the whole of my childhood and teenage years in love with the boy down the road. It started when he asked me if I wanted to go and play football on the ‘wreck’. My dizzy twelve year old self thought this was the most romantic thing that had ever been said to me, even after arriving home with scuffed knees and matted hair after trying and failing to show the boys I could indeed play footie as well as them.

I wrote in my diary ‘ if this is what love feels like, I would happily be in love’. I was 12!

Between the ages of 12 and 14 I was bullied by a local group of girls who lived on my estate and went to my school. My diary became my therapist; I would come home and feel as though I had someone to tell. To share the hell that my teenage years were becoming.  It was the sort of bullying that messes with your head. The ringleader would decide if the class would talk to me or not that day – so sometimes everyone was my best friend, other times, everyone would blank me.

I was egged and floured on my 14^th birthday. I remember walking up the hill crying. Feeling like I had no friends, except the boy up the road, who I was madly in love with.

Walking home from school that day, boy up the road said to me ‘why don’t you just tell them all to fuck off?’. I remember this conversation well, and I said to him ‘if I do, it will make everything worse’ to which he replied ‘you are covered in pancake mixture, how can it get any worse?’…..

The entry in my diary that night read ‘Wow,  Paul was so nice to me on the way home. He said I am popular but people are just scared of Michelle and Julie (real names! Bitches) . He says I need to stand up for myself, but I said to him, that would make everything worse, although how it can be any worse is beyond me’.

Anyway, the joy of keeping a diary and having older brothers is that they WANT TO READ IT, endlessly. I thought I was sorted, as mine had a lock. But it’s a little bit like the time my mum put a lock on the phone. We just bought another one, and the key would fit all. My brothers did the same with my diary.

They read it. All of it. The bit that said ‘Michelle rang me tonight, I am POPULAR’ the bit that said ‘why did Daddy have to paint the house pink and black, what is that about? I am the daughter of the local nutter, who lives his life in neon’ and including the bit where I wrote ‘if I am going to be bullied forever, what is the point of even going to school, of even carrying on’…

This caused my brothers to tease me endlessly, of course – but also threaten the brothers of the local bullies. I remember everyone was suddenly really nice to me. To this day I have no idea what they did, but they will still, to this day, tease me with the phrase ‘I AM POPULAR’…….

As time went on, my diary became a weekly affair. Through school, through my gap years, through university. I have all of the diaries I have ever written, and sometimes I read back and can remember vividly how I felt whilst writing them.

I still have the fag box that my first proper boyfriend wrote his number on. I still have a blow-by-blow account of my first kiss. (Keith) and my first heartbreak (Keith).

Even now, at the age of 38, and poorly, I still keep a diary. One where I share thoughts and feelings that I wouldn’t share with anyone else. I guess keeping a diary is ‘just my thing’.

The teenage ones are very cringey, and sad, and funny, and embarrassing, but they are mine. They are an account of my life then, and reading them now, well, it really makes me laugh. I’m just glad I don’t live with my brothers any more.

Oh, and by the way. I never did get a kiss from the boy up the road.  The last I heard he was happily planning his civil partnership. Even then, I only seemed to have eyes for the gay ones!

Some things NEVER change.

PS I did eventually harden the fuck up and slapped Michelle so hard after she flicked ink at me that she fell and smashed her head on the corner of a desk. She was alright, but it was, without a doubt, a defining moment in my life…… #smugface.