#100GoodThings – Make Humanity Great Again

2016 sure knows how to kick us when we’re down, doesn’t it?

I tried to count how many terrorist attacks there have been this year, and gave up after thirty – before realising that I was ONLY LOOKING AT SEPTEMBER. Let that sink in.

Bowie died, and the fabric of the universe melted – Prince, Alan Rickman, Victoria Wood – to name a few. Brussels, Brexit, and now President Fart. I mean, come on universe, give us room to breathe.

So some beautiful Twitter pals of mine, Perri and Niall and I have decided that we aren’t letting hate win, and you shouldn’t either.

After a year that has fallen to hate, sexist, racism, prejudice, distrust, and fragmented communities, it’s so so easy to feel lost and disheartened. To give up.

But this is still our planet. We still have to live here, and we still love the people on it.

Each good deed has a ripple effect. Each good person makes a difference. And when one good person does a good thing, and another joins them, it has a snowball effect. Soon a hundred good people are making real change.

Today, I signed up as a Samaritans volunteer. Yesterday, I joined Fawcett Society, a charity for women’s rights.

And so begins #100GoodThings. Each day, do a good deed. It’s as simple as that. Each day do one thing that helps someone else. Tweet it with the hashtag. And soon, we have a whole feed of good deeds. A good feed, if you will.

If everyone does one good thing a day, imagine how quickly the world will become amazing. Miss a day? No fear, post something positive you saw.

Some ideas of good deeds, you ask?

How about joining a charity you care about?
Donating christmas presents to the salvation army so a family in need can have a good Christmas?
Give your old clothes to a charity shop.
Volunteer at a soup kitchen, or a homeless shelter, or for the samaritans
Send me some warm clothes to give to shelters and rough sleepers
Help someone with their gardening
Find a lonely person, have a cuppa with them.
Buy a coffee for someone on the street
Help someone with their homework
Listen to someone’s problems without talking about yourself
LITERALLY ANYTHING – there’s so much room for you to be bloody wonderful. Do what feels right. But just DO something.

In response to the election result, I shared this on Facebook, and it pretty much sums up how I feel about not giving in.


It’s time to be the best version of you, the kindest version of you. Bitterness isn’t going to fix this shit storm, only positivity can do that. Stand up for your fellow human, stand up for what you believe in, stand up for each other, stand the fuck up.

Be the person you’d be proud to tell your mum about. Be the sort of person Lin Manuel Miranda would write a musical about.

Be good. 100 days. 100 good things.

Let’s go.



The Body Coach & Body Positivity

Good day my lovely readers – Georgia, here. (If you’re new here, Sulky Bitch has a team of writers)

I recently signed up to The Body Coach 90 Day SSS Plan along with my co-blogger, Anna. I’ve also been preaching self-acceptance and body confidence for the past year or so, as learning to accept myself for who I am completely changed my life for the better. I want to talk about how the plan is going (I don’t know if it’s going to work or if I’m going to hate it) on Twitter and on here so I just wanted to do a little intro to the plan, and to a couple of the reasons I’m doing it.

I am a size 16-18 at the moment, I weigh just over 13.5 stone (I’m probably the biggest I’ve been at the moment, bar when I broke my leg and turned into a blimp-woman) and at 5’7″ that puts me in the overweight category (though we all know BMI isn’t as trustworthy as once believed.)


However, I’m also the happiest I’ve ever been with my body. I used to hate it. I used to hate myself and my body. But then I realised about 18 months ago – this is the only one I have. It does everything for me, it keeps me alive, it takes me awesome places. It’s flawed sure, but when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a fat person who needs to change. I see a bad ass who is doing what she loves in life. I’m not deluded – I have rolls and bumps that aren’t classified as ‘perfect’ by any stretch of the imagination – but I have accepted them. I don’t let them define me as a person or affect how I perceive myself or the world, or how I act around others. I don’t obsess over it, rant about it, cry because of it. I’m also aware that it’s down to my own habit of enjoying food and wine far too much, and perhaps not moving as much as I should.

And lately, I’ve indulged a LOT. I’m busy with work, screenings, interviews, writing, band practice, gigs and keeping my house from looking like a shit hole, and so when I have a spare moment I’ll go out for drinks or dinner – or I’ll order a pizza and just relax for a few hours. I know that this is unhealthy.

I used to be the kind of person who would crash diet. I tried all the fads, including something called the ‘soup diet’, slimming world (which actually, was pretty great), paleo (utter bullshit) and all sorts. Diets that are healthy, and that yo-yo, and end up with me getting bored and getting unhealthy again.

So I feel really positive about this decision. Because it’s not being forced by negativity, like my previous ‘diets’ have been. It’s coming from a pretty relaxed and positive place. And I feel like forking out the gut-wrenching £147 to sign up and being given a personal tailored long-term plan is the kick up the ass I need to get going. I don’t want to feel sluggish, to avoid the stairs where possible. I don’t want to sweat or to get chubrub when I go to the beach.

And on a slight side note, I also have PCOS, a condition that is exacerbated by a person’s weight, so whilst my case of it is pretty mild, I’m hoping it makes me a little more ‘regular’.

I’m on my way, hopefully, to just becoming a healthier person. ( I’m also a runner, though I am in hibernation due to hating running when it’s hot. So hopefully this’ll get me back on the pavement, too.)

So on that note…I start on Monday. I may or may not be treating this week as one last hurrah, by eating EVERYTHING. Who knows for sure. Wish me luck! And I’ll be done in time for Christmas cake 😉

And yes, I will be having cheat days, or I’ll go insane 😛

Side note. If you are bigger, and you feel fucking great – YOU LOOK FUCKING GREAT, YOU DON’T GOTTA DO ANYTHING UNLESS YOU WANT TO, OKAY?

And for reference, here’s some pictures of me now:

How I Cope

I have been in a bit of a funk for the last two weeks or so. That’s putting it delicately. Today I woke up, so to speak. Apologies in advance for a long blog.

Putting it slightly less delicately, I’ve been dealing with an illness. I suffer from manic depression and anxiety, though over the last few years I’ve plateaued a little bit. I wrote a blog a while back about  recovery and how I had managed to pull myself in to a place of self-love and self-acceptance.

But it is, after all, an illness, and it can come back. Sometimes yes, I do reach dizzying heights of productivity and grandiose visions of what could be (for example doing more than a reasonable amount of research on how I could become Prime Minister. Yeah). And sometimes, yes, I feel low.

I won’t go in to too much detail on the word ‘low’ or how I respond to it personally, as I’m pretty sure a lot of you have dealt with it yourself in one way or another, or know someone who has. But in a nut shell, I was walking around in a fog. I couldn’t enjoy things. Anything, in fact. The idea of living all the years possibly ahead of me when the world is such a horrible place, how desperately I want to help so many causes and how little I can to do about any of them. Fears I’ll never achieve my life goals, and moreover fears that my life goals are ultimately futile anyway. A very overwhelming sense of pointlessness. And that really is the tip of the iceberg – I could do whole blog on what venomous bile Brian (we’ll get to him in a minute) spits at me when I’m in ‘the bad place’, but that is contrary to the point of this blog. This blog is about coping.

This morning, as I sat on the train to work, I had the very distinct feeling of putting on one’s glasses after a particularly extended time without them. You get used to the haze, to the blurry featurelessness. Until you put the specs back on, and suddenly the green blobs are leaves. Everything is a little crisper, and a little clearer. The sense of foreboding had ebbed, and it was like when the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes. I shed a little tear, thankful that I’d managed to float back to the top. Excuse the multi-metaphor paragraph here but it was the best I could describe it.


So I mentioned Brian a moment ago. I’ve suffered from anxiety for as long as I can remember, but only when I was 20 did someone put a name to it. Suddenly, everything clicked. The world wasn’t constantly falling down, with others failing to see it. Shortly after this, during a particularly fervent panic attack, I attempted to write in a message to a friend that my brain was being a dick, and my panicky thumbs accidentally typed ‘Brian’. Since then, he has been the disembodied voice of my irrationality. If I’m convincing myself that I’m worthless, that I’m a failure, that I’m fat, that those people laughing behind me are laughing  at me – well, that’s not me saying those things at all. Because me – the actual me – well I would never say those things to myself. I am super proud of who I am, of who I’ve become and what I have planned. I love how I look, and I love what I do, and I love my life views. I’m a confident and empowered person. It took me a while to get that way (and again, we’ll get to it in a minute) but I am. The voice in my head telling me that I don’t deserve to be that person is no voice of mine, and I take no responsibility for it. That voice is Brian, the mental illness douche, who occasionally crops up to be an asshole. This coping mechanism is more invaluable than I can explain. It gives my friends and me something to blame, something to poke at and bitch about when I’m feeling out of sorts. I highly recommend it.

Self Love

No, get your mind out of the gutter, I’m talking about empowerment. The thing that keeps Brian at bay a lot more than he used to be is my new-found confidence. I found it about a year and a half ago. I wish I could explain where or how, but I think I just came to realise that as long as I am doing what I care about, I’m true to my beliefs, and I surround myself only with those who truly love me for me, everything and everyone else doesn’t matter. Essentially, I spent so long giving a fuck about every little thing that…well, I ran out. I have no fucks left to give. I wear what I want. I don’t wear makeup to make myself acceptable to look at, because I’m already ‘acceptable’, that thought is just ridiculous. (Sidenote: Yes I’m aware I do wear a fuck tonne of and spend a fuck tonne on makeup. This is because it’s fucking fun and looks awesome. I do this for me, and other makeup junkies to lust over, and don’t feel the need to do it all the god damn time just so I feel I can go out in public).

This is one of the hardest parts of becoming the person I have, and I know people get pretty frustrated when I offer it as a solution when it’s obviously not that easy. So try starting small. Next time you go to put make up on, wear stomach holding in underwear, whatever, ask yourself – do I really give a shit, or am I doing this for other people’s benefit? And if it’s the latter, sack it off. If your Brian is telling you that other people think you’re ugly (which they don’t, I promise), ask yourself – does their opinion matter? The answer is always no, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. Give it a go. Try doing it for a day. I promise it’s life changing. If you feel like you’re struggling with it, tweet me @UpAndGeorgia, I AM HERE FOR YOU. And for the record, I think you’re beautiful, inside and out.

Acceptance & Weathering the Storm

So now we’re on to what was different this time. Why was it only two weeks when before I’ve fallen into ‘the bad place’ for months on end, deeper and deeper, never wanting to leave the house, and on the verge of throwing in the towel?

I’ve accepted that, whilst Brian is not me, he is a part of me. This is an illness that I have. When I have flare-ups it’s like any disease. You have to ride it out. Medicate it if you need to (I don’t personally but I can’t stress enough that you should never worry about seeing a doctor asap if you’re feeling this way. It’s just like taking medication for an ear infection or whatever. It is an illness.). Be sad for a while. Don’t try to force yourself better. It’s totally fine not to be fine for a while.

My friends know, now, about Brian. So if I need to be sad, I tell them that I am sad. If I need to talk about it, I talk about it. If not, they just let me be sad. But I know that they are there, I know that they are here for me. And that’s all I need sometimes.

One pal who also suffers told me last week that sadness is like a beach ball in a swimming pool. If you try and push it down, it keeps buoying back up with fiercer intensity. If you just let it be there, accept it, eventually it’ll just float away. Sure, it could come back, but it will float away again.

Sometimes, you just need to ride it out with people you love around you, accepting that you need to be sad just now. Like Eeyore’s friends do.

TLDR: It’s okay not to be okay, your illness does not define you but it is an illness and should be treated with self-care as such. You will be okay again, you matter, you are you and that is the most beautiful thing you can be. 

Oh, I also bought myself a Purrmaid set of lunch boxes from Paperchase to cheer myself up, but that’s just me. 😉

13 things I wish someone had told me when I was 13

By Hannah Bundock

Puberty isn’t an easy time to be a girl. Hair starts growing in annoying places, the arrival of spots mean that you’re experimenting (usually unsuccessfully) with make-up and you suddenly have a ton of emotions that you just can’t deal with. Yep, being a teenager can suck, so here are a few things to help you out on your journey to womanhood. Things I really wished I’d known…

Never dry shave


And especially never dry shave and then put on deodorant! You may as well rub stinging nettles under your armpits. It hurts! There is always time to do a proper wet shave. Always!

Never shave an unconventional place


You won’t be the first ill-informed youth to think it’s a great idea to shave your arms, stomach or eyebrows…it’s not. There is a reason it hasn’t caught on. As too many of us know, once you shave one of these areas the hair never grows back the same. It grows through thick dark and furiously, so much so that you are condemned to a life of plucking evermore. Honestly don’t do it.

Never wear new knickers when you’re due on


It seems obvious but so many of us forget this, even us ‘grown ups’. When you’re due on it’s strictly granny panties. No new underwear, nothing white, just gross old pants. Trust me it’s really irritating when Aunt Flow ruins your favourite pair of pants.

Never use a tampon just because you’re due on

Pulling out a dry tampon like..

Pulling out a dry tampon like..

Another period one, but really they should teach you these things in school! Never use a tampon unless you are actually on your period. When I was young, I made the fatal error of using a tampon just in case I came on in my lesson. Removing a dry tampon is ridiculously painful; genuinely thought I’d pulled out a fallopian tube or something.

You can only use being on your period as an excuse to get out of P.E so many times


Teachers are cleverer than students give them credit. Believe it or not, even the men are aware that periods only come once a month. Therefore you have to use this excuse sparingly.

Never send a love letter to your teacher


Not something I’ve done personally, but I know people. Sadly your love for Mr Dreamy Eyes the Maths teacher is going to be unrequited.  To him you are his student and worse than that, you are a child. He’s never going to think of you that way. Save yourself an embarrassing day talking about your feelings in the headteachers office and tear up that note!

It’s not a race to lose your virginity


There is no rush to have sex. It doesn’t make you grown up or cool despite what some of your peers may think. Plus when you’re actually an adult, nobody cares. Wait until the right time with the right person. And if he/she isn’t willing to wait, they’re not the right person. Simple as that. Also, the kids in your class talking loudly about their sexual conquests… they’re lying.

An orgasm should feel amazing



So when you do find the right person (and you’re aged 16 or over) and the time is right, sex should feel good. Well, not the first time, that’s usually awkward and a bit painful, but after that. You will know when you have had an orgasm. If you’re not sure, you haven’t had one.

Foundation isn’t always the answer


That spot on your face, it isn’t that big. It only looks big because it’s on your face and you’re staring at it in the mirror and therefore you think it’s huge. The rest of us didn’t even notice it. You don’t have to cover up every blemish, it’s good to let your skin breath a bit. But if you do decide to use foundation please, please match it to your skin tone. Having a giant orange face on top of your ghostly white neck is far more noticeable than your tiny zit. Why do they even sell foundation that colour?

Eyeliner is an art


Eyeliner, especially liquid eyeliner is tricky. It looks so easy to put on, but it’s not. It takes practice, lots of practice. Never try and rush it, because it will inevitably go wrong and don’t try to put liquid eyeliner on your bottom eyelid unless you’ve reached expert level. If not you’ll spend the next 20 minutes trying to fish black globs of make-up out of your eye. If you do successfully apply your eyeliner, be sure to take it off before bed. It’ll only take you 5 mins and it’ll prevent you from looking like a member of Kiss in the morning and from future eye pain. Trust me.

Sneaking alcohol out of the house


Stealing a small amount of Mum and Dad’s alcohol seems like a clever idea, but it’s not. You will never be brave enough to sneak out enough to even get yourself tipsy whilst sitting in the park with your friends. Plus your Mum will know… Mums know everything.

Don’t aspire to be one of the cool kids


I know that they have loads of friends, they wear the right clothes and they always seem to be laughing, but you don’t need to be like those kids. Be yourself, find your own little group of friends and stop trying so hard. In the real world (the adult one) the ‘cool kids’ aren’t any more successful than the rest of us. Plus, the older you get the more you’ll realise that those kids aren’t actually that happy. They fall out amongst themselves all the time and bitchiness is rife. You don’t need that drama.

You’ll be fine


It may seem like the world is ending today and that nothing will ever be ok again, but it will. You’ll be fine. Next year you won’t even remember the things that are stressing you out today. A lot of what you are feeling at present are hormones and they eventually settle down.  Hang in there. It does get better.

Five things my adult self does not give a fuck about anymore

By Kelsey Champion

I’d like to say I was an introverted, angsty teenager; but actually I was a gobby little bitch. I mean, now I’m a gobby big bitch but that’s neither here nor there.

The thing is with being a teenager, is that everything is a big deal! There is so much pressure to fit in or be ‘cool’ – and the fact that I instinctively put the word cool in quote marks leads me to believe that I never was and never will be it.

I’d love to reach back in time and slap my 16 year old self round the face and shout “get a grip! None of this matters!”

Here’s a list of things I realise I used to care about, but now frankly I haven’t got a single fuck to give.



Yep. I went there. I know I’m not alone in saying at school or college, there was NO WAY you’d answer nature calling on the back door. If anything, the girls in my school pretended it wasn’t a thing. Someone I know had to go to hospital because she wouldn’t even pee at school; she gave herself a nasty infection. In all honesty, I don’t know how true that is but for the sake of argument, let’s say it is.

Now, however, certain friends and I talk about it openly. One friend, who for the purpose of anonymity let’s call… ok I can’t think of another name, it’s Georgia… Sulky Bitch Editor, Georgia and I talk openly about it; when we are, when we can’t, when someone walks in after and you stand there proud as punch. Pooping at work is a particular favourite. (Ed’s note: Don’t forget hangover poop!)

Anyway, the point is pooping in public is no longer something I give a fuck about.

Body hair

I’m a busy girl with a thriving social life and a demanding job which gets a lot of my attention, small details like a bit of leg hair are not something I care about!

[Read busy girl with a thriving social life and a demanding job which gets a lot of my attention as ‘lazy girl with an addiction to Netflix and sitting down’.]

Some might say its ‘gross’ or ‘unladylike’ but let’s be fair, look at how many times I’ve said fuck in this post so far, did you ever really think I was ladylike?

Also, ‘ladylike’ can fuck itself. There’s no such thing. See this post if you think it is.

Early nights

I used to force myself to stay up late because going to bed before midnight was lame. Sleeping felt like a waste of my valuable time so I would do my best to stay awake as much as possible. This in turn meant that I would oversleep in the morning and then start the cycle all over again. But now if I want to go to bed, I’m going. Even if its 7pm; if the Sandman visits I am sure as shit going to sleep.

Wobbly thighs

Hello, I’m a real life human female. I’m a firm believer (the only time I can use the word ‘firm’ to describe myself) that there are many more important things whether you can fit in TopShop clothes or look good in a bikini. For the record, no I can’t and hells yeah I do – respectively. Now before I go any further, nothing I am saying is body shaming. If you are stick thin and HEALTHY then you’re gorgeous. If you are more voluptuous and HEALTHY then you’re gorgeous too. If you’re covered in scales with chronic flatulence and a tail and are HEALTHY then you are also gorgeous. I don’t believe a person’s size matters as long as they’re looking after themselves. Ok got it? Good.

I couldn’t care less if my thighs wobble when I walk. If you don’t like how it looks, well look at my face, if you don’t like that either, well… fuck yourself. My wobbly thighs aren’t hurting anyone – except when I’m in shorts and I get a touch of chub rub – so why should I feel the need to cover up or feel self-conscious about them?

Being a bitch

Some people look at a bossy man and think he is dominant, powerful, strong – all positive connotations. A bossy woman, however, is a bitch. If I think I can do something well, I’m going to. I believe if I have an opinion about it that I am well within my right to discuss it, however more often than not I will keep it to myself. But I’m slowly starting to learn that I have a voice and I have the right to use it. This blog is a particular outlet for such things. That does not make me a bitch. Being powerful and taking charge is not a bitch… if you think it is then I will show you what a bitch really is. I’m devilishly good at it.

Do you follow Sulky Bitch on Twitter? Well, you should! Tweet us your thoughts about this post. Anything you used to think was the end of the world but now you frankly couldn’t give a fuck? Let us know!




So, are you seeing anyone?

As a perpetually single lady in her mid-twenties, I find social gatherings like weddings, work functions, and/or family birthdays challenging. And by challenging, I mean that it’s challenging trying not to punch every single person who asks me if I’m with someone yet really hard in the face. Because apparently violence is not socially acceptable.

What gets to me is that there is always a sympathetic ‘aww’ to follow my firm ‘nope’ when answering that sodding question. Like it’s a bad thing that I’m not seeing someone. It makes me feel like my life should be defined by a man. Why is that a thing? I get that meeting someone you actually get along with and procreating is what life is all about for some people – and probably me, when the time comes – but at the moment, it’s not that high on my list of priorities, actually.


It makes me feel like my life should be defined by a man. Why is that a thing?


I’m not a bitter singleton. I get on with my friends who have partners just as well as I did when they were single, and I’m genuinely happy for them. I’m not the stereotyped caricature of a man-hating feminist; I’m not against the very thought of having a man in my life; and I do go on dates.

But I’m single for many reasons – too many, really, to go into now; but one of those is that I’m actually quite happy on my own, thank you very much.

we need to let go of this negative knee jerk reaction attached to being single

Shocking, right?

This tiresome question, it seems to me, is prevalent at weddings. Yeah, I get it, it’s a day of love and a celebration of coupledom and all that jazz but here’s the thing, people. I can relate to being in love and revel in the joy of matrimony EVEN IF I’M NOT WITH SOMEONE. A wedding doesn’t make me wish I had a boyfriend, or make me frantically sign up to (ahem, re-download) all those recommended dating apps on my phone, or even cry hysterically in the bathroom over that shit-head I dumped five years ago, with some toilet paper stuck in my ponytail like a veil. The reaction from people to my status, however, does make me feel shitty. It makes me want to paint my face, make a bone spear out of a previous boyfriend’s appendage,and descend into a man-free pit for the rest of my life, war crying all the way, just to prove a point.

Here’s the thing – and pay attention, because I’ll only say this once – your relationship status is in no way any measure of you as a person or, for that matter, anyone’s business.

I understand that it’s a very generic question for people to ask, especially far flung relatives with nothing better to say, and 90% of the time it’s not in a malicious way. But there are other topics of conversation that have nothing to do with my love life – or ‘lack thereof’.

“I’ve been doing really well at work, I have a very interesting job, my brother is doing well thanks, so are my friends, yes I have actually moved out of my parents house finally, I’m enjoying living in London a lot. In fact, I’ve made it my mission to to drink the bar dry of every cocktail establishment in the central vicinity of the city – would you like some recommendations?”

That, my fair ladies and gentlemen, is a good hour’s worth of decent discussion not related to a potential ring on a choice finger that isn’t my preferred middle one.


your relationship status is in no way any measure of you as a person or, for that matter, anyone’s business.


The point I’m trying to make is that we need to let go of this negative knee jerk reaction attached to being single. Especially when asking someone about their situation. They might be happy as I am, or sad, or angry, or just plain indifferent, but it’s up to them to decide the parameters of disclosing those feelings to you. AND FOR THE LOVE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT (vodka) don’t make them feel like their feelings are wrong or bad. They’re not. Being single isn’t bad or depressing or wrong. Neither is being so in love it makes people want to throw a Nicholas Sparks book at your head. In fact both can make you feel strong, and liberated and free.

So next time you feel the need to ask if someone is seeing anyone – Don’t. Stop. Think. And get a glass of wine instead. We’ll all benefit from less negativity and more wine.

Header Image from Paper Kitty – buy the badge now!

Rape is my responsibility

By Hannah Bundock

Rape is my responsibility. Now there’s a statement that’s going to make lots of people angry, but hear me out.

I’m not agreeing with the misogynistic people out there who state that if I dress a certain way I’m ‘asking for it’. I’m not someone who believes a woman must act demure and reserved if she wishes to avoid unwanted sexual advances. No, I believe that a woman should be able to dress how she like and be as flirty and fun as she pleases and still be safe. Hell, even if I’m butt arse naked and laying on a bed, it’s still my prerogative to change my mind. It’s my decision; no one has the right to take that away from me. One day I want to live in a world where men and women appreciate that simple concept and therein lays my responsibility.

You see, I’m a Mum, to a beautiful energetic, exhausting, infuriating little boy whom I love with all my heart and he is my responsibility. At the moment he is only little, but one day he will be a grown up. As foreign as the idea may seem to me, one day he will be a man talking to women and it is my responsibility to ensure that when that day comes, he knows how to treat a woman with respect and as an equal. It’s my job to teach him that he should not expect anything from a woman, just because she’s wearing a short skirt or because she’s kissed him.

Telling kids that they have to let people to touch them to avoid being rude is a dangerous message.

His lessons will begin before he even realises. If I am tickling him and he tells me to stop,  I will stop. Simple enough, but it teaches him that no means no. If I continued to tickle him once he’d asked me to stop with the justification ‘but you didn’t really mean it’, what sort of behaviour am I teaching him? I wont make him kiss or hug people he does not want to. Telling kids that they have to let people to touch them to avoid being rude is a dangerous message. When he is older he won’t call girls in his class ‘slags’ without me rebuking him and god help him if he tries telling rape jokes. Grounded for a week!

Yes,  rape is my responsibility because (as much as I hate to admit it) I’m an adult, and I am responsible for the next generation. We all are. They watch us and learn from us. I want the sickening statistic  that 1 in every 4 women in the UK will be sexually assaulted to change, and that will only happen if we change. No more slut shaming,  no more laughing at inappropriate jokes just to fit in, no more pretending it’s not to do with us. It’s on us guys, men and women alike. We are responsible.

5 Reasons Your Baby is a Bigger Dick Than Your Ex

By Anna Hook

The human experience is vast. People take such different paths in life, and even if outwardly it seems similar, I can guarantee emotions and personalities make even the simple things vary wildly from person to person. There are very few things you can be absolutely certain of. You just can’t understand other people and the lives they lead. Even the line ‘only two things are certain,  death and taxes’, isn’t accurate…..*cough* google *cough*.

That said, there are three things that I can say without a doubt. These three things are universal and I speak for all women. 1) you have (at least) one boyfriend/girlfriend that ruined your life for a period of time. For ease we shall refer to this cockwomble as ‘Steve’. 2)  if you have a baby, you will love that tiny thing unconditionally and nothing will make you more content than their squishy face. 3) your baby, your little bundle, the light of your life, is a far bigger dickhead than your ex. You might query my number three, but it’s true. Here is why.

  1. Your baby takes all your food. That last cake you wanted. The crispy corner bit of the lasagne. Not yours. That’s for your kid now. Yup. And they won’t even appreciate it. They’ll chew it and spit it out and cry for whatever you’ve got. At least Steve always ordered good food you could eat from his plate. And calories from other people food doesn’t count (well known fact) so his chocolate was fat free. The guy might’ve been a twat, but you always got the last slice of pizza.
  2. Your child is brutal. Expect a lot of “mummy, why are you so hairy” and “mummy, your bum is MASSIVE.” At least your ex whispered those sweet lies, “of course you don’t look fat in that”.
  3. Your baby doesn’t care how much they upset you and there is nothing you can do about it. You had the option to kick Steve to the curb after you found out he was sending dick pics to the slag from his office AGAIN. Ignore his apologies, eat Ben and Jerry’s, and after 6 months and maybe keying his car, you’re over him. There is no getting over your baby. Your baby will leave you in a crumbling heap on the floor because they have told you again that they don’t love you. They won’t care if they break the vase that was a family heirloom or lose the first thing hubby ever got you. Your baby considers you less than Steve ever did. That includes when he was chasing skirt at the work Christmas do.
  4. The scars are visible. Sure Steve left you with crippling trust issues and a jealousy problem that means your other half has to sleep on the sofa every time the PPI sales call is made by a woman, but all that is bottled up under the surface just like it should be. The scars from your baby are right on the surface. Sure most people won’t see the episiotomy scar, but the one on your head that you got after a twatting with the unreasonably heavy batman figure……everyone can see it. No amount of drinking will cover it up like Steve’s wounds, and your eyebrow will never grow the same again. Sorry love.
  5. Your baby is ultimate bad penny. Steve showed up once a year, sent the odd I Miss You text but eventually he fucked off. Your baby won’t do that. He will never leave. Right now baby ruins date night with a shitty nappy. In 30 years date night will be ruined by a plea for money or unexpected grandchild babysitting. It will never end.

12 Things You Learn From Going to a Catholic All Girls’ School

By Nancy Bellis

1) All boys are evil. Except for Jesus.

2) Teacher: “This term we are studying sexual education” translation: “we will spend 6 weeks of learning about intercourse, but only the part that relates to baby making. Which of course you can only do if you’re married. To a man.”

3) After begging parents for singing lessons as an extra-curricular activity, you find that you will only sing hymns. There will be no pop classics here ladies.

4) In physics, Fe somehow stands for iron. In a Catholic girls school, PE somehow stands for netball.

5) Lessons are only 40 minutes long due to the five minutes used to do the register and say the school prayer. This is how we learn to truly appreciate prayer.

6) Teachers will ask you to lift up your jumper to prove your skirt isn’t rolled up, because apparently they don’t realise that teenagers actually grow taller during their time in secondary school.

7) You will never care what you look like as there is no one to impress. Not even yourself, because vanity is a deadly sin. (Unless of course, you’re meeting boys after school.)

8) Mark’s Gospel is the way, the truth and the life. Breath, sleep and read it until it’s imprinted in your mind.

9) You will never be particularly bothered about starting your period during school hours.

10) A mobile phone going off during mass can be disguised by having 20 students simultaneously coming down with a terrible cough.

11) On non-uniform days, the dress code is still enforced. Hard.

12) Everyone has a crush on at least one male teacher, even though there’s only a handful to choose from and they’re all middle-aged or older.

Dog Poisoning Hysteria

By Jeannie Mac

I had seen the stories in the papers a few years ago, thought that’s a bit harsh, who would do that?

I didn’t have a dog back then, once we got our precious puppy in November last year suddenly every dog story in the press became the most important news in the world. I began to obsessively research the stories. It was then that I realised just how many cases of poison had been reported locally. Two dogs had died and many more had been hospitalised as a result from this rash of poisoning last year and its still going on. Not just in one village either – this was a wide spread activity. A whole range of popular dog walking areas had allegedly been targeted by this sicko.

 I began to obsessively research the stories.

Sausages stuffed with drugs were being hidden in the undergrowth, dogs were dying within days of eating this stuff, vets were urging all dog owners to be on the lookout for the symptoms of poisoning.

sausagesOur neighbours had blue pills thrown into their garden, little old ladies are warning us about the places to avoid and apparently the council and police are unable to stop this happening. The local fields, woodlands, open spaces and parks have all received nasty packets of evil. Collections of dog walkers are found scouring local parks to clear out the sausages of doom each time any are spotted. “If only there was CCTV” the police could act!


Total hysteria among the dog owning community of which I had been completely ignorant before our fur baby arrived.


The drama…. the fear….. no one was saying yet what those poisoning symptoms were though.

The council officially denied there was a problem a year ago as no one had reporting anything to the Police or Council.

Total hysteria among the dog owning community of which I had been completely ignorant before our fur baby arrived. Can anything be done? Do the majority of people care? Are we forced to keep muzzles on the dogs for ever more?

Personally we are struggling to give our pup a quality of life that doesn’t result in poisoning whilst balancing this against a strong sense of fear and guilt each time we take her for a walk. The alleged poisoner is having a much wider impact by poisoning the joy we should be feeling for our newest family member.