Thursday, 23 March 2017

Knee Deep In London



Knee Deep in London: Listen to the Knee Deep In Sound Podcasts Here


If moving to tranquil Sevenoaks was like double-dropping super-strength valium, then a trip back to The Big Smoke is like a shot of adrenalin to the heart.

London, like any drug, loses it's impact after several years of hits. You get used to the rush. To the uninitiated - a country-dweller, tourist or infrequent visitor - the city hits you in the face with all the subtlety of a shovel. Like a tornado it sucks you in, spins you around and then unceremoniously spits you out, like the cyclone in Kansas stealing Dorothy and Tonto from their home.

The human body is a resilient and adaptable marvel. You only have to study a commuter for the evidence: after decades of the daily schlepp from the 'burbs they have adapted accordingly. Darwin's theory of evolution suggests that animals evolve according to their environment: so it follows that commuters adopt a hard outer shell, fixed, forward-facing gaze, and immunity to their surroundings in order to survive the tough daily grind; the dog-eat-dog fight for survival. It's every man for himself. In short, you become hardened and immune to London - which includes its bright lights and dazzling charms, as well as the pitfalls of the polluted, overcrowded city.

But take the aforementioned human out of London for a period of time, and they soften once more. Then, when returning to the city as a visitor, rested and re-energised, the sense of awe is restored; stiff necks now fully mobilised as they crane to see skyscrapers; blinkers come off tired eyes as they open them wide in wonder.

This has been my experience. When working in the capital day in, day out, the slog of the journey and the sheer effort required to get through the day began to erode at the joy of the experience - in much the same way the sea wears away a cliff face. But now, a few years down the line and currently working closer to home, fully recovered from the exhaustion and soul-destroying monotony of it all, I'm able to return as a visitor - a tourist almost - on a purely social basis with renewed vigour. Like computers, most things work again after a control-alt-delete reboot, or by simply unplugging for a while - including humans.

I'm like a kid at Christmas when travelling into town, senses heightened in anticipation. Instantly absorbed by the madding crowd as I step off the train, the energy hits me: surging through my body like a jolt of electricity - as opposed to a baton over the head during my former incarnation as a worker ant. My head is like an owl's: almost rotating through 360 degrees as I attempt to take everything in - the architecture, shops, restaurants, bars - not to mention the deafening noise that such a hive of activity invariably generates.

Long nights out in London take on a hypnotic state as we drift from bar to club to afterparty, carried on a sea of cocktails and chaos, pinging from one venue to the next like silver balls in a pinball machine.


Magic Roundabout: located in the middle of Old St roundabout
A recent night out at The Magic Roundabout: one of my fave haunts...


Suddenly it's time to go home, and no sooner have the lights come on than we're in a taxi; whisked away from the choppy murkiness of the Thames and back to the still waters and serenity of Sevenoaks. When we awake bleary-eyed to hazy recollections we wonder if it was all a dream; one glance in our wallets tells us it was not. Oh well, it was worth it, we all agree; the memories sustain us throughout the corporate humdrum of the working week ahead.

Until next time, London...or should I say, next payday...

I love you 💋


photo credit




Buy tickets to Knee Deep In London via RA here



Tired of London, tired of life: my ever-increasing London '17 to-do list, ticking them off as I go...

Jan: 
Tobacco Dock NYD 
Groove Odyssey @Ministry Of Sound 
The Magic Roundabout 

Feb:
Forge and Co Shoreditch 
Mulletover at East Bloc 

March: 
The Breakfast Club 
Call Me Mr Lucky 
Clockwork Orange at Koko  ✔ 

April:
Knee Deep In London at The Printworks
Old Street Records

May:
Norman Jay Up On The Roof @The Prince Of Wales - MayDay Bank Holiday Special
WeR Festival (I know, I know, that's Essex not London)

June:
Jamiroquai at The O2

July:
Lovebox

August:
Elrow Street Party
51st State
SW4


TBC:
The Steelyard
Brixton Electric (been before - good times)
Queen Of Hoxton (an old fave)
The Hoxton Pony (ditto)
Village Underground (been before and enjoyed)
Dalston Superstore
Proud Camden
The Roundhouse
The Jazz Café (saw Too Many Zooz here - great fun)

Have you got more suggestions for my London '17 To-Do List? Hit me up!


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

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The Non-Mum Network



Ageing raver: I love the glitz and glamour of clubbing
almost as much as the music itself

Those Bird's Eye Viewers who have the dubious pleasure of being acquainted with me in real life will know that I love to party - the whole process of pondering which outfit to wear for weeks in advance...which accessories...perhaps buying a blingy new pair of heels; selecting false eyelashes and face glitter whilst out shopping, head tilted as I cradle my iPhone on one shoulder, chattering away to my mates as we come up with a group game plan for the forthcoming shindig.

I love clubbing; I pride myself on the fact that there's barely a cool club in London I've not frequented and had never been turned away by a clipboard-bearing Door Whore...until of course I went happily trotting upto the red ropes of the Mummy Club, beaming away expectantly, eager to come in and join the fun. 

The glamorous young MILF on the door took one look at me - looked through me into the depths of my empty barren womb - and promptly declared "You're not on the guest list...you can't come in," before turning on her stiletto heels and dismissing me with a flick of her wrist. Oh. Never one to be beaten down so easily, I had several attempts at IVF before returning to the Mum Club once more. Again, I was turned away. "Your name's not down, you're not coming in..."

"Not even with a mate who's a member?" I begged, my dignity rapidly being replaced with desperation. "I'm not expecting a freebie, or even concessions, I'll pay full whack" I whined.

"Uh uh," replied the door staff sternly - all the commotion attracting quite a crowd of Mum Club regulars; members who were by now regarding me suspiciously through narrowed eyes. Who was this Non-Mum imposter, attempting to infiltrate the Mummy Club? What was she doing here?

Crestfallen, I slunk off homewards, yanking off my false eyelashes as I blinked back tears; scrubbing off my Glitterlips on the tube. I was devastated to be turned away. I vowed not to be beaten...

Years later, feeling strong and positive once more, I made a conscious decision not to let the whole experience of being turned away from the Mum Club continue to get me down. I had a lightbulb moment - an idea so obvious that I instantly wondered why I'd not come up with it sooner: I'd open my own club. 

This club would be exclusively for women who'd also been turned away at the entrance to the Mummy Club; those who had done everything they could think of to be allowed entry: eating the right foods, hanging around with mums, trying to look like a mum even, before turning to fertility treatment as a last resort - but for whom the doors to the club remained resolutely closed. Then I decided to open the door a bit wider: to allow other women into the club, ones for whom The Mummy Club was never an attractive venue, but who would like to hang out with other Non-Mums anyway. 

My club? The Non-Mum Network

It may just be a virtual club at the moment - picture a chic and bijou little members-only establishment: expensive but comfy oxblood leather sofas; soft lighting; free-flowing cocktails being served by hot bartenders; an achingly hip DJ spinning tunes in an alcove - low-level at first before ramping up to fever pitch as we all get relaxed and tipsy, confiding in one another in the chill-out area. Who knows, one day I might have a real life Non-Mum Network venue - a physical place for women like me to meet other women for lunch or workshops. I'm dreaming big. 

If you've also been denied entry to the Mum Club, the one club you most wanted to get into, whilst everyone around you is breezing into it just by flashing a wristband, fear not. Follow this Facebook post for more information...


Why not add me as a friend on Facebook, search on Facebook for the Non-Mum Network under 'groups' or just click here to go straight to it. It's a closed group so everything said in there is for members' eyes only. I've also got a Non-Mum Network public page

So if you're not a member of the Mummy Club, come and join us instead. We've got bouncers on the door to keep the mums out, just in case a few try to slip in under the rope, as I did with their club 😋. You need never feel alone as a Non-Mum again... 


Ibiza 2006: smiling with my imaginary baby
(I didn't realise at this point my Non-Mum status was permanent)

#The Non-Mum Network

This article has also appeared in the Huffington Post UK



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Thursday, 16 March 2017

Oil Be Back


...as Arnold Schwarzenegger would say.


I'll Be Back: Arnie as The Terminator
photo credit


And I will, Aromatherapy Associates. You betchya sweet-scented ass I'll be back. For these luxurious oils are to stress and tension what Arnie is to the big screen: The Terminator.

One thimble-sized capful of the potent blend of essential oils found in each frosted glass bottle has the power to sucker-punch aches and pains and KO your cricked neck. The stubby 55ml bottle may not look like a Hollywood heavyweight, but don't be fooled by it's diminutive stature - this badboy can certainly pack a punch.



A capful of this oil is even enough for a big bird like moi


At first glance, I was dismissive: as a super-tall woman who stands (ok stoops) for endless hours in a beauty shop (yes, I sell similar products; I know my stuff), I have a tendency to carry a lot of tension in my neck and shoulders. When I invest in bath products I like to glug plenty into the tub. It follows that I like my bath-time buddies as I like my men: tall, generous and strong. I expect a lot of bang for my buck, so to speak. So as soon as I clocked the hefty £45 price tag on this little fella, I almost dismissed it out of hand, in much the same way I'd dismiss Danny Devito as a potential love interest. This cheeky lil chappy just wasn't doing it for me.



De Mama and I on our way out for a day of beauty buying


It was my mum who persuaded me otherwise, having had a satisfying experience with it herself. "Don't judge a book by it's cover" she advised wisely with a knowing look "it's worth every penny." At five foot nothing, my pint-sized mama knows that good things can come in small packages. And boy was she right.

After a consultation during which we closed our eyes and inhaled our way through every tester in the rack, Mum opted for Deep Relax (a knockout blend of vetiver, chamomile, sandalwood and patchouli), whilst I was drawn towards Inner Strength (an uplifting combo include clary sage, frankincense, geranium and ylang ylang)I was also given a 3ml bottle of Hydrating Nourishing Face Oil as a freebie, which I obviously didn't turn my nose up at (quite the opposite - containing jojoba oil, evening primrose, sandalwood, rose and patchouli, the aroma is absolutely divine).

I couldn't wait to get my new fella back home and whip him out of his attractive packaging. Within minutes the bath was run and we were naked (don't judge; older women know what they want - we don't mess about). I sloshed a capful of the oil into my bath and slightly more than a capful of wine into my glass.

Like most people, my morning routine is a speedy shower - so when it comes to my day off or an evening of pampering, I like to set the scene with military precision: cold glass of white, lights off, candles on, hair up; ipad propped on the shelf near the bath with my favourite show on catch-up. Bliss.

My senses were instantly assaulted by the strength of the top-quality fragrance of this bath oil - my house smelt like a spa - and as I sank into the steaming water (I know it's not good for you but I love a red-hot bath) I could literally feel the stress melting away (or that could have actually been my skin; I told you I have it too hot). Either way, the oils enveloped me in their warm embrace; any qualms about the value or efficacy of the products instantly dissolved, along with the ache in my neck and throbbing feet.


Hydrating Nourishing Face Oil: a little goes a long way


After the oils had worked their magic and I'd binged on my boxset, I emerged from the bath like a phoenix from the ashes: majestically restored, soothed and ready for my bed. I just had the strength to slather on the face oil - the few drops required means that even this teeny bottle will last for ages - then it's off to the land of nod to sleep, perchance to dream...of Hollywood hunks and glamour. Hmm, perhaps I shouldn't have dismissed Danny Devito after all....



Small is beautiful
photo credit



You can find out more and purchase Aromatherapy Associates luxurious oils, lotions and potions here. As well as being the perfect cheeky treat for yourself, they would also make a fantastic Mother's Day gift - you can even get the bottles engraved. To get a 20% discount enter the promo code PB20 at the checkout. The code is valid until the end of April. You're welcome 😉.

Enjoy!


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Monday, 13 March 2017

Send Me Nudes


Lads, before you start skimming this article hoping for flashes of flesh or requests for dick pics, let me be clear: it's about nude makeup. Not actual nudes. I just used that title because it's catchy. Soz and all that.

Due to the surge in popularity of 'dating' apps such as Tinder, asking a new 'match' to "send nudes" is dropped in as casually as asking what they do for a living - and almost as quickly. The exchange usually goes something like:

Him: Hey, you're fit.
You: You're cute too. So, tell me about yourself: what do you do for a living...?
Him: I'm in IT. Send me nudes!

When I signed up to Tinder (in 2013, before I met Andy the following year) I was not only bombarded with unsolicited nudes, and requests for nudes, I was also sent plenty of pictures of other women in their underwear...or completely nude. Not by the women in the pictures themselves - I had my settings firmly set to 'women looking for men' - but by the guys they were sending them to, as if this was somehow proof that "all the other women are doing it." Sometimes guys would even say, "I'm not sure whether to date you...or her (female nude pops up on my phone). Who should I choose?" as if trying to start some kind of competition between us. One glance at the picture of the posing woman staring seductively into the camera tells me she's a man-eater; if she were a plant she'd be a Penis Fly Trap. Oh I certainly hope so. I'm happy to let her 'win' this one and swiftly delete the dastardly dude.

So girls, beware that when they guys say "send me nudes, I swear I'll never show anyone," he's telling porkies - not only will he show his mates, he'll also show everyone else he can think of...



Rouge Edition Velvet - great creamy texture, velvet matte finish


Anyway, I digress. Back to the nude makeup. To me, the words 'nude' and 'makeup' had never featured in the same sentence until recently. Why would they? To me the term 'nude makeup' is an oxymoron: if you can't even see it, how is it making you look better? What's the point of shelling out a load of dosh and then taking an age to painstakingly apply a ton of products you can't even see? Sounds like a case of The Emperor's New Clothes to me.

No, if I'm going to spend an arm and a leg on the latest beauty innovations and formulations I want to emerge from the bathroom in the morning looking catwalk-ready and as glamorous as Marilyn Monroe. Nude doesn't come into the equation: I want endless raven lashes, lips dripping brick-red gloss and skin like the finest porcelain. Or I did until now.

But recently I decided to give nude another chance, albeit my interpretation of nude. Rather than so little makeup that I still look anaemic, my naturally blonde features barely discernable on the blank sheet of A4 that is my morning face, I opted for visible makeup, but in hues of peach and muted browns that looked vaguely natural rather than naked.


  
eyeshadow palette in 02 OVER ROSE, lip pencil in 01NUDE WAVE,
velvet matte lip cream in 10 DON'T PINK OF IT


"I prefer women to look natural" proclaim men everywhere - until the aforementioned women have the bare-faced cheek to leave the house without a scrap of slap. Because there's natural...and then there's rough as a badger's backside; rarely does a woman look as good as Gigi Hadid does without makeup. (That's not dissing the sisterhood girls - it's just the brutal and blatant truth).


Because we all look like Gigi without makeup...NOT!


The fellas then quickly back-track with a tactful "You look beautiful either way...but I do love it when you're all glammed up," baulking in horror at the sight of thread veins, sparse brows and piggy eyes. He's hardly Tom Hardy himself, let's face it, but nevertheless everyone heaves a sigh of relief when the giant makeup bag comes out once more...

So here's my version of nude: still made up to within an inch of my life, but in a softer palette of shades. No red lippy or flicky felt-tip liner, yet enough colour and definition that I won't be mistaken for Casper the friendly ghost on my morning commute. The pigment is good, the quality decent and the best part is the price: Bourjois 3 for 2 at Boots meant I got all 3 items for around £15 (there are often offers on at either Boots or Superdrug - there's one at Superdrug now). So if my love-affair with the nudes turns out to be as short-lived as most of my Tinder matches, I won't be left broke and broken-hearted...



lanky birds: I've got an affinity with flamingos 😉
jumper from Oasis


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Thursday, 9 March 2017

Happy Birthday, Bird's Eye View!




It's my blog-versary!

An entire year has passed since I penned my first post here at Life: A Bird's Eye View. And what a year it's been: from getting an article published in So Magazine, to being featured on an American podcast over in Washington DC, to securing a regular gig at Huffington Post UK. 

I've written a whole host of articles (76 of them in fact!) about topics I never dreamed I'd dare, including sexual abuse, infertility and IVF, as well as cancer, marriage breakdown and depression. I've been a guest on another podcast, this time for Mike's Open Journal about mental health; been interviewed by Caledonian Kitty; met tons of inspirational bloggers and influencers; attended an event as an 'influential blogger' (get me!) for The Eve Appeal; got involved in Project Teen (to help improve the mental health of teenage girls); campaigned to raise awareness of cervical cancer for The Eve Appeal and Jo's Trust, and fought to get the wording changed on the smear test letter (which is now in the process of happening - watch this space). 

This blog has been the baby I never had and I've loved every minute of nurturing it and watching it grow. I know it may seem a bit Crazy Cat Lady to have bought the blog a card and cupcake, but seeing as I'll never get to buy one for my real baby just grant me this one indulgence, please (plus, any excuse for a trip to Lola's Bakery, eh?). 

Anyway, thank you so much to all of you who've read my blog over the last 12 months, and please do continue to keep reading and giving me feedback. You're making a silly old bird very happy! Thank you also to my long-suffering boyfriend Andy who never anticipated becoming a blog widower when he started dating me a few years ago, bless him! (Makes a change from us girls being football widows though, huh? 😉).

Here's to the next 12 months of blogging!

Much love, Sam 💋





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Project Teen: 6 Things I'd Say To My Teenage Self

Me at 16

It's a long time since this picture was taken (a quarter of a century in fact), but if I close my eyes and think back I can still feel the hormones surging through my veins, hear my insecure outpourings whispered to friends on my parents' landline, and experience once more the raw emotion and angst of those challenging years. I've written about it before, in this post entitled Smells Like Cheap Spirits.

Which is why, when invited by young entrepreneur and author Ella Stearn from The Lucky Truth to take part in Project Teen, an initiative designed to support teenage girls through the daily challenges they face, I jumped at the chance.





By supporting this campaign and sharing our #YoudNeverBelieve quotes in this video, (yes that's me confessing to insecurity about my height), the other women and I are saying to teenage girls everywhere: you're not alone....


                                         


 Which got me thinking "what would I say to my teenage self?" So here goes:

6 Things I'd Say To My Teenage Self


1. Don't dumb yourself down to be cool

You go to a grammar school; you're lucky. Make the most of it. You're among the most intelligent kids in the country (yes, really!). So what's so cool about acting dumb? Messing about in class; winding 'Sir' up to the point of throbbing veins in his temples; driving the poor teachers to drink. And for what? To attract the attention of some spotty-faced oik with an attitude who you'll never see again after the next few years. Your intelligence is the most powerful thing you have; don't play it down. You can't go to the doctors for a quick IQ booster injection later on; there's no miracle cure for stupid. Ignore the bullies; keep your head down. This is your chance to absorb knowledge like a sponge. Those popular, rebellious girls poking fun at the geeky, studious ones? Half of them will leave school with a few lame GCSEs and an imminent baby bump. It's the geeks who'll have the last laugh when they get the top jobs and travel the world.

2. The boy who breaks your heart won't matter

Talking of oiks - that rakish bad boy, the dark-haired one with the curtain hairstyle flopping across his face and the sexy side-eyed glances? Forget him. He'll draw you in, use you up and spit you out. It'll hurt. Learn your lesson and move on. What'll feel like the end of the world for a while will seem pathetic in a year's time. Trust me on this. But don't trust him.

3. Be proud of your USP

Don't be ashamed of your USP. (That's Unique Selling Point, kiddo). Yes, you do have one. Several, in fact. You're a six foot natural blonde with brains, for Christ's sake. Instead of hunching your shoulders and mooching about like Herman Munster, push your shoulders back, stand tall and be proud. When you get a bit older you'll realise what an advantage being tall is. You'll be able to reach stuff, buy alcohol before your mates and see everything at concerts. You're onto a winner.

4. Dream big

Ok, now we've got that straight, let's talk goals. Think of some. Write them down, stay focused and don't let anyone stand in your way. Go to university (you won't, but you should). Live boldly. Have adventures. Travel the world. You'll learn far more by backpacking than you ever will in a musty classroom. School is just a small percentage of your lifespan; there's a big world out there. Who cares if that boy doesn't fancy you? Plenty of others will. Now stop expending energy on some little no-mark and get planning the big stuff. What seems important now will be like a grain of sand on a beach in the great scheme of things. The world is your oyster.

5. Be kind

Be kind. Be kind to everyone. Karma is real; it's a thing. If you pull the legs off a crane fly for the fun of it, be prepared to come back in your next life as a crane fly. Be especially kind to your family. You may moan about your parents not letting you stay out all night and bitch about your little sister stealing your makeup, but they will be there for you no matter what. Until they're not; don't take them for granted.

6. Love yourself

On the subject of kindness, my final point is a big one (I'm almost 41, and it's still a work in progress). You'll probably never master it completely, but you have to keep at it. Ready? Be kind to yourself. That's it. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Believe me, it'll be the hardest one of all. If you can be kind to yourself - tell yourself you're worthy; capable; beautiful - it'll be the best thing you'll ever do. Until you can learn to love yourself, you'll struggle to love anyone else: negative emotions like insecurity and jealousy will tarnish relationships and cloud your judgement. Look after your health and your sanity; take care of your body. It's the only one you'll ever have. Surround yourself with good people. Believe in yourself: if you believe you can or believe you can't - either way you're right. When you finally work out how amazing you are, how precious life is and how little time you have to waste worrying about the small stuff (spoiler alert: it's almost all small stuff), then, and only then, will you discover true happiness.

Good luck.


To support Project Teen and get Ella's book Yeah Right! A Girl's Guide To Surviving Teens to the girls that need it most, click here. Please share this post and the videos it contains to raise awareness of the campaign, the issues facing teenage girls and to let them know that we love them, we support them and we have their backs. 


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Monday, 6 March 2017

Because It's Cancer

The doctor will see you now
photo credit

If you're anything like me, when you notice something different about your body - a lump; a pain; a reaction - the first thing you do is pick up your phone and tap your symptoms into the Google search bar. A few seconds later and wise old Dr Google responds with a myriad of possible causes and diagnoses. At this point you frantically skim-read the first page of results and are either:
a. reassured that it's just a minor complaint, or
b. panicking that death is imminent, or at the very least it's a depressingly debilitating life-threatening illness.

What often happens next is the common sense part of your brain shouts down the neurotic one, gives it a sharp slap round the face to calm it down, and then you push it to the back of your mind and go about your day.

If the symptoms persist, Common Sense reluctantly listens to Neurotic Hypochondriac's frantic pleas until he eventually gives in with a sigh and an eyeball roll and books a doctor's appointment, just to silence the inner conflict that's distracting you from living in peace. Common Sense tells Neurotic Hypo he's overreacting, but he simply shrugs and gives a wry smile, knowing he's won the battle - this time at least.

But then Life takes over; work is busy, home life hectic, and the doctor's appointment is forgotten. Common Sense says "the symptoms have subsided, it's fine." Hypo is unsettled, but sulks and doesn't push it. Time passes. The symptoms reappear. Intuition decides she needs to step in. She gives Hypo a nudge, who reminds Common Sense the appointment is outstanding, and another appointment is made...and cancelled. Something came up.

Eventually, you get to the appointment. By then, you've got used to the symptoms. Common Sense plays them down at the appointment, as you're feeling ok today and besides, you have an important meeting to get to. "This is important too!" shrieks Hypochondriac, panic rising, but he's said this before and it turned out to be nothing, so Common Sense puts his hand over his mouth and drags him kicking and screaming from the surgery. Intuition is unsettled by this performance, but despite her concerns she silently retreats.

Some months later, something remarkable happens: all the inner voices agree. The usually dominant and pragmatic Common Sense finally admits he's been bullish and listens intently to softly-spoken Intuition; both agree Neurotic Hypochondriac's voice no longer sounds crazy but actually quite feasible, and all three drive you back to the doctor. He also concurs this time and you're promptly referred to a specialist. But instead of feeling a sense of happiness, relief and calm that everyone is aligned and in agreement for once, you feel something else entirely.

Because it's cancer.


photo credit

For early symptoms of cancer, click here





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You're Ovary Acting

Wow! You're Ovary-acting


...or are you? You don't want to upset those ovaries do you?

Do you even know the symptoms of ovarian cancer?

C'mon ladies, we need to be clued up on this stuff. I know, I know, it's not the most fun topic to chat about when you see your girlfriends - we'd far rather be quaffing champers over a long lunch...or perhaps you'd prefer to be at home helping the kids with their homework - well, anything's better than talking about The Dreaded C, isn't it? We've all been affected by cancer in some way in our lives - either personally or having to watch the suffering of a loved one - so it's a painful topic, I get that. It's bringing a lump to my throat typing this, as I recall the faces of those I've loved and lost to this terrible disease.

But, as a friend suffering from terminal cancer so succinctly put it recently: knowledge is power. If we know what we're dealing with, which symptoms to look out for, we can stop it in it's tracks by getting the required treatment early on. As with all cancers, early diagnosis is key - but ovarian cancer symptoms can be confused with other conditions, or dismissed as part of growing older, since it most commonly occurs after age 50. So familiarise yourself with the symptoms, and visit your GP if you have any of the following for more than a few weeks:



www.ovarian.org.uk


There are also certain risk factors that increase your chances of getting ovarian cancer too:


source



March is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month, so I'm fundraising in aid of The Eve Appeal by hosting a Make Time For Tea event at the end of the month. All you have to do is bake (or buy!) some cakes (and/or ask your friends to bring some along too), pour the tea and have fun with your friends whilst raising awareness and funds for the campaign - simples!



my fundraising pack arrived when I was leaving for work the other day


If you are not able to host your own tea party, or attend one locally, you can always donate to my Make Time For Tea Just Giving page here:


                               https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/wanderingblonde


So come on everyone, let's raise funds for The Eve Appeal and keep those ovaries happy. You're not overreacting; you're Ovary Acting.  ðŸ’‹





Thank you! xx


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

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Saturday, 4 March 2017

Born Lippy


Sparkles Lips: add some glitz to your lips

They say you should never wear glitter over the age of 40...or is it 30? Whatever! I say to hell with them and their rules - whoever 'they' are anyway! 'They' are probably the hoity toity, buttoned-up Fun Police - the conservative rule-followers who also disapprove of holidaying in Ibiza (so common!) and clubbing at any age after graduation. Well 'they' can just push their horn-rimmed specs back up their aquiline noses, quit quoting endless dos and don'ts from the play-it-safe rulebook and go back to finishing the Guardian crossword - 'cause we ain't listenin'!

I've never been particularly fond of being told what to do, so I'm not about to start now. I've always had plenty to say for myself - too much, perhaps. My mouth does have a tendancy to run away with me: I was born lippy. But I'm an upstanding member of society and have never been in trouble with the law, so if the only crimes I'm committing are those against growing old gracefully then I think a mere caution is ample punishment, don't you Officer?

Sparkles Lips in Holographic Pink

Yes, glitter sits in your wrinkles and shimmer shows up your crow's feet, but does anyone really care? I'd far rather see someone out having fun, eyes crinkling, head thrown back and giggling uncontrollably with a bit of glitter settling into her laughter lines than a perfectly stylish yet stony-faced ice maiden.

There's a time and a place for everything of course - the glittery lips I'm demoing in the clip below are not geared towards the school run (the dried glitter has the texture of sand so will probably remove several layers of little Johnny's delicate peachy skin as you kiss him goodbye on the cheek at the gates) or zipping round Sainsburys (people will assume you've pulled an all-nighter and not slept yet), but on a big night out or a summertime festival they are perfect: fun, frivolous and - in my humble opinion - 40 year old-friendly.

I know I have major crow's feet around my eyes and in a few years will resemble a big blonde shar-pei, but having a strong sense of humour is what's got me through life thus far, so I wear the resulting laughter lines with pride. And besides, I'd rather crinkly eyes from smiling than deep frown lines and a furrowed brow.

So tear up the rule book (and that boring Boden catalogue whilst you're at it), whack on the tunes to get you in the mood and get out the glitter pots, girls! It's time to shine bright like a diamond and join the glitterati. Let's sparkle, shimmer and shimmy our way through life while we still can (if we listen to the nagging naysayers it won't be long before the ol' knees give way and we won't have the option anyway, eh?).

If being covered in a fine layer of fairy dust makes you happy then go right ahead, I say. I'm sure even the most fastidious of fashion rule-followers would agree: the best accessory you can wear - whatever your age - is a smile. So you may as well make it a sparkly one...





Order your Sparkles Lips here
                                                                                    

Now you've got your glitzy lippy sorted, crank up this old club classic and get yourself in the mood to party....have fun! 👯



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