Being an Easy Slag; Contraception & Kids.

I’ve spoken about this subject in the past in relation to a few of my other blogs. But now is the time to make it the main subject of a blog, to highlight it’s seriousness. Continue reading “Being an Easy Slag; Contraception & Kids.”


What is the percentage of unrecognised flirting?

stock-photo-couple-dating-flirting-and-playing-billiard-in-a-pool-hall-1020107416This afternoon, like usual, I was in the pub playing on the pool table. There’s normally just the 4 of us, me, my husband and 2 friends. It’s not unknown for others to join us, but they play a game or 2 and leave. We currently hold the monopoly on the table because we are 90% of the time the only ones playing on it, every week it’s the same. We’ve been playing in this particular pub for about 5 months now, spending from 10 am-2 pm on the table and drinking coke (yes, I mean coke.) The pool table is free to play on Wednesdays from open to close, which is one of the reasons why we go in. I’m quite handy with a cue, and our weakest player has come on in leaps and bounds from the first game he played.

Pool as a game is a good ice-breaker. You’re not sat at a table, trying to hold a conversation with someone you’ve just met, unable to think of something to say, because the game dictates your movements and the conversation can begin by talking about the rules of the game, of which there are about 10 different variations depending on what country you play in, and whether you play in a pub or professionally. It’s also a lot of fun if you are flirting with intentions, and I have done that in the past. You can bend over the table a multitude of different ways…

As a married woman for the last 6 years, I have no idea what flirting is anymore. I wasn’t too up on my flirting knowledge in the first place, but now, because it doesn’t happen to me, I don’t recognise it if it does.

Today it happened.

I didn’t even realise it was happening until we had to leave. This is the brief conversation I had with the chap I had just beaten at pool.

Me ”Maybe see you next week?”

Him ”I’m only here today, back to work next week.”

Me ”Well that’s a shame. It’s nice to have a bit of competition.” I motion to the table, and my friend says ”Oi, cheeky!”.

Him ”Sorry if I offended you.” I thought he meant by pulling his shots on the table, because he is a far better player than me.

Me ”Oh you didn’t, it’s fine.” He laughed and I called to our friend to say goodbye.

Him ”If I see something I like I go after it” that puzzled me. Did he mean winning?

Me ”I’m not sure what you mean?”

Him ”You don’t?” he was smiling at me.

Me ”No.”

Him, laughing ”Do you have a number?”

Me, realisation dawning ”Yes. I also have a husband” and I pointed at him standing behind me.

Him ”Oh, I should shake his hand then.”

Me ”I’m flattered though, thank you.”

My husband and I are known among our friends for our lack of PDA’s (public displays of affection) it’s not something we have ever done, so it’s not difficult to believe that the chap thought I was single, despite the wedding ring on my finger.

We leave the pub and I explain what’s just happened to my husband, who wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention, and to our friend who caught up with us outside. The chap is quite likely old enough to be my father, unless he’s had a very hard life. That aside, he was pleasant, not bad looking and polite. It transpires during conversation that we had at one point in the past lived in the same area of London, and he currently works in a school not to far from me. We talked about the rules of the game, what rules we played etc.

There was a lot of innuendo flying around, which is not unheard of among our little group anyway, with talk about going slowly to get the balls in the hole and smacking it hard.

At no point did I, or anyone else, realise that this chap was flirting with me.

When I got home I began to think about how many times I may have been flirted with in the past, that I just haven’t realised at the time, and do I think it doesn’t happen to me because it hasn’t, or because I actually haven’t realised at the time it’s happening?

I used to say ”I wouldn’t know flirting unless they grabbed my arse.” Nowadays they ask for your phone number.

There’s a fine line between being nice and flirting. Things can get confusing, and often lead to situations you didn’t know you were walking into, if you don’t realise the other person is flirting with you.¬†Often women are accused of flirting, or giving the wrong impression or signals, just because they are being nice. I’m nice to everyone, I smile a lot and I’m not a shrinking violet around men. I can hold my own. But now I am thinking about it, I wonder how many men thought I was flirting when I was just talking and being my usual self?

How many wo/men have given up talking to, or flirting with, a wo/man because s/he’s not reciprocating the flirting, because s/he hasn’t realised that’s what s/he’s been doing?

How many wo/men found themselves in situations they didn’t intend, due to being misconstrued?

How many wo/men realise they were being flirted with after the fact, when it’s too late?

What’s the percentage of unrecognised flirting?

Do you have any stories to share? Please feel free to comment here, or if you would like to remain anonymous, you can message me privately on my WordPress site, using the contact me form.



Controversial, or true?

So ok, imagine that you are going to live in a different country. The reasons and why-fores are irrelevant. You have sold whatever you can, packed up the things you are taking, told relatives and friends and maybe held a leaving party? you’ve handed in notice at work, the kids schools and anything else that requires it. You have sold the house, or given up the tenancy. You have found somewhere suitable to live in your new country, you sorted out any necessary passports, you have booked plane tickets, the taxi to the airport and made sure that everything is in order before you leave your home country for possibly the first and last time.

That’s a lot to take in, yes? Now imagine that you have done all of this, but you haven’t actually learnt the native language for the respective country? Sounds daft, doesn’t it? Why would you even consider moving to a completely new part of the world if you can’t communicate with anyone when you get there? What happens if you need food shopping, need a doctor, have to call emergency services, enrol the kids in school?

Can the children cope with being completely isolated while surrounded by their peers, because they can’t speak to them? How will you get any work if you lose your job if you don’t know the lingo?

It really annoys me when people come over to the UK and can’t speak or understand a word of English. If you have managed your move to come over here to live and work, for a better life or similar, then why in the world would you not learn how to communicate before you get here?

Yes, I do understand that a lot of people are fleeing war and end up here with nothing, I do feel for them. It’s not their fault that this world is full of arseholes. What is their fault is when they don’t make an effort to learn English, and better their lives once they are here.

Even certain people born in this country need to learn English, because some of the conversations I hear on a daily basis are quite shocking. I’m not saying that everyone should speak proper Queens English, but simple pronunciations like the work Library when it’s pronounced Libry…. ugh. It grates on my nerves.

I am not the only person to have these views, and I won’t be the last. I don’t claim to know everything about people’s circumstances, or anything like that. But there are ways around things if you want them bad enough, and being able to communicate should be the very first thing at the top of the list for anyone going to live in a different country, with a different language.


I’m fed up with the ridicule.

Do you know why? because I feel that I can’t wear whatever I please in hot weather for the sheer fact that some knob-head will comment on how fat I am.

It’s like, I see boob tubes, skirts and summer dresses and I think ‘Oh that’s really pretty, I’ll be so cool in that’ and then I get second thoughts because even though my husband says I’ll look great in it, there’s always nagging doubt that fills my head and makes me change my clothes. There’s always some ignorant cock-womble who thinks it’s funny to take the piss out of fat people. ‘Ugh look at that mess’ ‘what does she look like?’ ‘oh my god I just went off my food’ are comments I legitimately heard while I was out with my family the last few times in hot weather.

I already have enough shit just trying to find clothes that fit me, let alone finding clothing that is going to keep me cool, looks good on me and flatters my figure. I know I’m fat, I don’t need you to shout it across the beach, or snigger and point at me in the street.

My self confidence is already in the gutter without you helping it along.

It shouldn’t matter what body shape someone has, everyone has the basic human right to walk down the street wearing whatever they gods damn please, and they should not be fearful of what you think about it. Yes I have a few more pounds on my middle, yes I wobble when I walk, but you know what? Tough shit. If you don’t like it then don’t look at me. If I’m that disgusting to you then why are you spending so long looking at me and making comments? Just ignore me and go about your business and keep your damn mouth shut.

I know I’m fat, I’m very much aware of how big my arse is. I didn’t go to bed skinny and wake up fat. I don’t need you to scream at me in the street that I have a big arse, I already fucking know that, cuntmuffin!

We are all human, and we all sweat and need to keep cool in high temperatures.

Fat people don’t stay indoors all summer long, why should they? Do you scream insults at skinny people whose bones you can see? no, so why shout them at fat people? It’s people like you that is another thing wrong with this world. People who are happy to make someone else miserable just to get a laugh are what is wrong with society today.

Thanks for making my life more miserable because you can’t use your manners and keep your mouth shut. Thanks for making me think twice about buying that pretty summer dress in the sale, because I can see the insults hanging in the air as I place it in my basket, and then take it out again 10 minutes later. You’ve won.

I hope the happiness you get out of hurting fat people is worth it?

Did your parents bring you up to bully people, mine sure didn’t. I hope they are proud of your behaviour?

If you are someone who thinks that being a bully is cool, I hope that one day soon you pick on the wrong person and get a lesson in manners.

My Uncles Funeral.

I hadn’t seen my family for 6 years or more before today. One thing or another, arguments and life all seem to get in the way. My Step-Uncle died 3 weeks ago. My family have buried 4 family members in 6 years so far. I missed 3 of those funerals, but made this one.

When you haven’t seen or spoken to people in along time following an argument, it’s difficult to know the reactions you are likely to get upon arriving un-announced, at a funeral for a non blood related relative, that you have only met a handful of times.

I’m happy to report that it was a success, as far as I’m aware. I wasn’t told to fuck off, or asked why I had turned up. I was met with smiles and hugs, one from my sister that took me completely by surprise in which I had to say ‘well, this is awkward’ before she let me go. I went to the wake. I didn’t have to buy a single drink, even though I only had 3 glasses of wine, and then some coffee to sober up a bit before I had to leave to go home.

It was bittersweet, I suppose. I was welcomed by family I had never met, and played pool with first cousins, second nieces and step cousins once removed. Family is complicated, we can choose our friends, but not who we’re born into. We can only make the most of the cards we are dealt, and live by the rules of our lives and what is expected of us as a member of a family.

I’ve been so far out of the family that I wasn’t even sure if I could be myself or if I should be reserved and behave. I can be crass, and sarcastic at the best of times and my family, step or otherwise, is not. A lot of the chaps playing on the pool table are proper blokes. They took the piss, they laughed and encouraged, and I was the only female at the table, in a dress and heels, holding my own. I think I earned some form of respect from them, but as we were all drunk at the time it’s difficult to know without asking.

I got a free ride to the crematorium, only because I didn’t factor in the high price of the taxi, and the driver didn’t have the change. I arrived only a couple of minutes late to the funeral, and had to stand at the back wondering if I was in the right place because I didn’t recognise anyone. The service was beautiful, I paid my respects to my Uncle and followed the throng out of the door. We all stood around waiting to see what was next and to sort cars and stuff. My sister and brother in law gave me a lift to the wake, and my brother in law gave me a lift back to my friends place where my suitcase was afterwards.

Now I’m sitting in my friends flat, writing this as he streams and I sober up. I’m hungry.

Today was a good day to start mending bridges. Life is too short to carry grudges and hold hatred in your heart. Forgive while you can and move on.

When you’re truly sorry, but have difficulty saying it.

All the way back in February I did something that upset a lot of people. It was unintentional in every sense, I do not like hurting people. But nevertheless, I did it.

How do you go about apologising when you have a lot of trouble saying sorry? It’s like being unable to say ‘I love you’ when you’ve been hurt in the past. ‘Sorry’ is used by most people absentmindedly every day. I use the word sorry when I accidentally bump someone, I use it when I’m in the way. You hand someone something and they drop it, you say sorry. What’s that all about? The word Sorry is loosing it’s worth. I feel that by saying sorry I’m not meaning it. I’m just throwing it out there and expecting it to work. It won’t.

I am aware that this blog will possibly reach the eyes of one of the recipients of my apology. But how do I get it to reach the eyes of those who won’t see it on here?

”Apologise in person” I hear you all cry. Read the above. If this is what they need from me, then I will do it. It will make me very uncomfortable, a big ball of anxiety and muddled words – which will inevitably come out wrong and make things worse. Apologising in person will not go well for anyone involved.

Mr B, I am truly and unequivocally sorry for my behaviour. I hope that you can forgive me, one day.

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