Category: Life


A few weeks ago I was in Cardiff visiting one of my closest friends. We met in college eleven years ago and, despite her moving to Cardiff in 2009, we’ve remained bestest buds. When we she first moved down we used to write to each other a lot. To a stranger, untrained in our ridiculous comedy, the letters would read like some sort of cry for help, but to us they were hilarious. We used to send each other all sorts of stupid stuff, writing letters as characters and sometimes creating over the top, ridiculous stories to entertain each other. On my recent visit, we were talking about these letters and how it had been a few years since we sent our last. I’d taken down a particularly long and bizarre ‘book’ that she had written for one of my birthdays and it had provoked plenty of hilarity.

‘Where did we get our ideas from? I couldn’t think of anything like this now….’, she sighed flicking through the pages of Christmas carols she had adapted with rude and absurd new meanings.

It’s a worrying thought that has also crossed my mind. Up until a few years ago I was constantly writing.  Whether it was short stories, bits of screenplay, notes of ideas, or bonkers letters to friends. There was a point where I was constantly typing in ideas into my phone or scribbling on the back of my hand. I often used to leave my evening job with my pockets stuffed full of till roll which I had covered with ideas during the laboriously dull shifts. I was bursting with ideas.

The last time I really sat down to write (and complete!) anything was in February, when I wrote a full script for the Performing Arts concert in school. Before that, I hadn’t written anything since the September following my PGCE, when I went a bit mad with freedom and channelled all my pent up creative energy into a short story. That was about two years ago now. Before that, I hadn’t written anything worth talking about for a long time.

So, when discussing this sudden halt in creativity, our first morbid thought was ‘It must come with age’. Now that we have reached the sickeningly disgusting age of 27, and hover on the brink of *gulp* 30, it seemed obvious that that creative vein from our late teens had just sort of slowed. But age can’t be to blame, really can it? People don’t just stop being creative once they reach their late twenties! It doesn’t happen!

So, what is it? We both have quite demanding jobs and, as I’ve said lots of times before, I do sometimes feel this horrible sense of creative restriction since I started my PGCE (3 years ago this week!). I don’t perform anymore and I don’t really have the time to write, which has resulted in me feeling quite frustrated that I’m not able to express myself like I used to. My friend’s job is similar – she works long hours and by the time she comes home all she wants to do is switch off.  On the rare weekend, where I’ll feel so frustrated that I’ll force myself to just sit and write, what comes out is re-tellings or twists of real life events. Things that have happened to me or my friends. My writing now is more grounded to real-life – totally different to Reset, which I started writing in 2009, that I created a whole new world for.

Maybe it’s not ‘work’ so much, just ‘life’. We’ve got all these horrid responsibilities now that we didn’t have as teenagers and it seems that life is just clogging up our heads. In the last year or so I’m finding myself getting increasingly forgetful. Whether it’s names or memories or highly important jobs I need to do – I always had a very good memory but I’m noticing a steady increase in my ‘scatty moments’. A few weeks ago I totally forgot the word for ‘flannel’, so how can I expect my mind to focus on creating a story?

Perhaps creativity is like a muscle. My life has seen big changes in the last couple of years and it’s meant that I’ve had to give up performing and not had much time to write. Maybe the problem is that I’ve neglected to stretch that muscle that was so strong just a few years ago, which makes it tricky for me to carry out any kind of lengthy writing session now. When I think about it, my ‘creative peak’ was at a time when I was writing daily and that time itself has come off the back of my time in education. At GCSE level, story writing was part of the exam so I had plenty of opportunity to practise (‘write a short story about friendship’ *shudders*). At A level I wasn’t so much writing but devising stories and improvs as part of a Drama and Theatre Studies course, which also involved writing analytical essays about how I would creatively stage productions. Then, finally, at degree level I chose a Creative Writing module which resulted in Reset being written. It’s important to remember that during that time in university I was constantly required to read all kinds of literature, so perhaps immersing myself in other people’s writing is another way to inspire my creativity.

It’s a sad fact, one that at times is difficult to accept, but my life now requires me to focus on things other than writing and performing. Once my ideas might have blossomed and flourished but now, my exhausted brain just tends to let them fester for a bit and then crumble away. But, determined to end on a positive, I’m going to make a promise to myself: to try to find the time to be creative. Whether it’s late-night writing, surrounding myself with inspiration novels, or spending time with fellow theatricals. That’s my promise….and I’m making it just as I’m going back to school!

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Over the last couple of weeks I’ve been forced to make a very difficult decision. It’s something that’s been in the back of my mind for the last year but, the time has come where I can’t ignore it anymore. It’s time to say goodbye to Pepe the Peugeot.

Pepe was my very first car, and my cousin’s before that. I’ve had him for five years now and we’ve been on many adventures together. For quite a while I knew Pepe was on his last wheels. The left door is dodgy, the rev gage is broke and I didn’t feel comfortable going too far with him in case he conked out. Last week his exhaust fell off and then he overheated due to a crack in the radiator. So, it’s safe to say Pepe is not in good health.

Last year, I was offered a chance to swap cars and, although I was tempted, the thought of not having my Peugeot was heartbreaking! I know, some might say It’s just a car, but it’s really hard to say goodbye. It felt like I was giving away a member of the family!

Your first car is always special. Pepe was my freedom. Because of him I could visit friends, stay out late and go to ASDA for chocolate whenever I wanted! I could travel to see family and help people out by giving lifts. Oh, and most importantly, he rescued me from the perils of public transport. This car was even more special because I inherited him, and I felt I owed it to my cousin to look after hm.

The last five years have been very important for me and although friends have come and gone Pepe the Peugeot has always been there. He was there when I was stuck working in a petrol station, desperate to get out and find a purpose. He was there when I started working in schools, forging a career path and meeting new people. When I was travelling around Wales during my teacher training, I was driving Pepe, and it was behind his steering wheel that I was flitting between elation, excitement and uncontrollable sobs of frustration. He’s faithfully ferried me from school to school during my year on supply, and when I moved into my first solo home, he came with me. He’s just always been there.

He may not be in the best of shape, but he can tell many stories! He’s stuck around for five tough years and, although some might think I’m a sentimental sod, I’ll always remember my first car and be genuinely upset when he’s gone. It’s been tough to accept, but his days of cruising around the north Wales coast are over.

So, it’s with a heavy heart that I’m beginning the awful task of looking for a new set of wheels and preparing to park Pepe up for the last time. *sniff*.

I used to have a bit of a fear. I didn’t like doing things on my own. I’ve got friends who would happily go to the cinema alone or eat in a restaurant by themselves but I never felt comfortable doing any of those things. I’d feel like all eyes were on me and I just the thought was enough to make me cringe.

As we get older, we do start to lose that horrible feeling of self-consciousness and realise that the world is not looking directly at us. If anything, we’re pretty invisible. Last year, I started going to the gym. At the first, it was with a friend, so any awkwardness could be laughed off, but when my friend could no longer find the time to gym, I was faced with the option of ‘go alone or stay at home’. I was tempted to jack it all in and vegetate in front of the television but the desire for a healthier lifestyle made me choose the first option. Initially, I was self-conscious but after a couple of solo visits I realised everyone else was too busy focusing on their own work-out to be scrutinising my sweat sessions. Hitting the gym became my ‘me time’, a chance to work out and spend quality time with myself.

I started to realise that I could do things on my own….

I’ve been desperate for a break away for years. I wasn’t fussed on where – abroad or closer to home – but I needed a trip away. When it became clear that going with someone wasn’t going to be possible, I decided not to wallow in self-pity at home but to bite the bullet and go solo!

So, I spent three days of the half term in London. It might not seem like a big deal to some people, the kind of people who travel alone all the time, but for me it was huge. I can be quite an anxious person, so the thought of being away from home, where so many things could go wrong, worried me for a short time after I’d booked the trip, but the possible adventures my trip could produce soon dawned on me. Being a huge theatre fan, I was determined to see a show or two whilst in the West End and I realised that I could see whatever I wanted! I didn’t have to compromise with anyone because this was my trip! I made all the decisions. So, on my first night I saw Les Miserables, a show I’d wanted to see for a years, and I was not disappointed. On the second night I saw David Tennant in Don Juan in Soho which was hilarious and extremely topical. Not once did I feel odd for being a solo audience member. In my time in London, I visited all the places I’d always wanted to see. I went to see Van Gogh’s painting in the National Gallery, spent a few hours in the British Museum, had a coffee at the Theatre Café and shopped in Covent Garden. I literally did not stop walking (just ask my poor feet!). I didn’t have to consult with anyone because each decision was my own to make – and it was very liberating!

So, if you’re the kind of person who would turn down the chance to do something great because it would mean doing it alone, take the plunge and be brave. This half term break has been the best for a long time because I didn’t let anything restrict my fun – I grabbed it and made the most of it! Not only did I have an awesome time but I learnt a bit about myself.  Travelling solo reminded me that I have strength, I can be brave and I can relax, and I can be comfortable in my own company. So my advice: Do it for yourself, go solo and enjoy!

The audience applauded and the lights faded. Another performing arts concert was over.  The beams of pride on the faces crowded onto the stage were infectious and enough of a reward for any club leader. 

I’d dabbled with performing arts club on several occasions, mostly assisting or being the guy in charge of the buttons. This year was my first time as leader and I was very aware of the responsibility I was taking on back in September. Of course I wanted the children to enjoy their extra-curricular club but I also wanted to provide a theatrical experience to the richest possible point. I wanted them to understand and share my passion for performance and hopefully develop a thirst for the stage. 

My idea was to give the children as much control as possible. I didn’t want this to just be another tick box job that’s rushed through. A drama club for the sake of having a drama club. I wanted then to learn and take enjoyment from it

Having ownership over the production ensured rehearsals were fizzing with energy and excitement. I discussed characters with each lead – motivations, backgrounds etc – and enjoyed watching ideas form in each actors mind. I encouraged improvisation (which often had hilarious outcomes) and I made sure the final script was jam packed with the children’s ideas. 

The result was fabulous. The energy this week has been excited but relaxed. We’ve had minor problems with prop-finding and line-remembering but all have been easily overcome. It’s been a very relaxed and pleasant final rehearsal process because the children were clear on what they were expected to do. I didn’t need to stress out because I knew I could trust them to pull it off. 

And they did! The positive messages from the audience (children,  staff members, parents) have been overwhelming. The actors handled each performance with a professionalism many would assume would be beyond a primary school drama club. 

It’s been a fun ride, not without its difficult moments, but I am itching to get going on next year’s production already. 

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So it’s back. I always forget just how much I’ve missed Doctor Who until those opening titles of a new series roll out.  Series 10 kicked off on Saturday with the introduction of a brand new companion – Bill Potts. After the initial intro clip last year I wasn’t too sure about Bill. She came across as a bit too cartoony and goofy and I could see her being very annoying very fast. However…(wait for it….rare moment coming up) I was wrong. Bill definitely made her mark in her premiere episode – showing that she was an intellectual match for the Doctor and adding a fresh new dynamic on board the TARDIS.

Bill is a new kind of companion. She sees things from a view point we’ve not had before. (She even asks the classic question in a different way – ‘Doctor what?’) She is refreshing for many reasons but mostly because of her humanity. I loved Clara, but by the end of her run if felt like she was saying the same things over and over again. The same quizzical expression. The same sarcastic comments. The same sort of cutesiness. Bill is different. Bill isn’t afraid to call the Doctor out on his faults – which of course Clara was happy to do too – but I can imagine Bill doing it with a bit less sass. She’s honest, grounded and flawed. She’s just a bit more human! The ways she’s written comes across so naturally. Perfect qualities for a classic companion. Bill also had one of the best introductions to the TARDIS, with the lights slowly booting up as the camera pans out…..only for her to liken it to a kitchen (its’ true) and a lift (also true). In her first episode she experiences heartbreak as she is forced to let Heather go. Her strength, complexity and emotional depth in these scenes are promising. It’ll be interesting to see how her story unfolds…

One thing that did stick out as odd was the re-appearance of Nardole. Nardole seems to have just…happened! Probably due to the large gap between his introduction in the 2015 Christmas special and his more recent appearance last Christmas.  Nardole just doesn’t quite seem to work yet. Still, I’m hopeful a satisfying explanation as to why the Doctor has him sticking around will be revealed as the series rumbles on. Though at the minute it does sort of feel like Moffatt is keeping him so he can kill him off in the finale (he’s promised it will be a ‘bloodbath’.)

The Pilot demonstrates one of the shows keys themes – regeneration. Doctor Who has the gift of being able to overhaul everything once things start to get a bit stale. It’s great to keep things fresh and allow a ‘stepping on’ point for new viewers….but what about old viewers? Doctor Who has gone through a lot of changes over time, particulary since it’s return in 2005, and next year will see the show have a new Executive Producer, a new Doctor, a new look and possibly a new companion. So did we really need this new revamp so soon? Sometimes the constant changing between series’ can be off putting to those who want to immerse themselves into a story they have already invested so much in. It can be a bit frustrating when the reset button keeps being pushed. Take Capaldi’s Doctor, for instance. This is only the beginning of his third series and he has transformed so much. He’s gone from grouchy and dangerous to a wise old grandfather figure. What happened to the snarling beast Moffatt promised after Matt Smith’s regeneration? I’d have liked that process to take a little longer, to have really been explored. It’s a shame this is to be Capaldi’s last series as his Doctor hasn’t really had much chance to shine.

So, overall a good opening episode but I’m hopeful for a bit less re-booting and a few more references to the show’s history in future episodes. Having pictures of River Song and Susan on the Doctor’s desk was a nice touch. The new TARDIS dynamic is going to give us some interesting moments in the lead up to Capaldi’s exit. I think it’s gonna be a good one.

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It’s Saturday. The high point of the week. The bottom of the countdown. I’ve been out to visit my family, as I do most Saturdays, and I’ve come back to the flat to carry out the traditional Saturday clean. I start in the kitchen and work my way through until every room is spotless. I feel like I can’t enjoy my weekend unless I’ve carried out this weekly routine. I check my phone at regular intervals. Snapchat, Instagram, WhatsApp, Twitter. (No Facebook. I’ve mentioned before how I hate Facebook. In my opinion, it transforms friendships into cyber-friendships, and before long you’ve forgotten what this person looks like because you only ever communicate via memes of cats.)

On this particular Saturday, I’m feeling very perky. I’ve got my iPod plugged in and I’m belting out some classics as I scrub, because I am in a very good mood. Last night, I did something new. Something totally out of character that has recharged my batteries. Last night, I went out. Alone. OK, I didn’t go to a club or a bar, but I called in at my local theatre. I became a member late last year and have dropped in two or three times, so I vaguely know a handful of people.  On Friday they were having a bit of a get together so I got dressed up and strutted on over. It was awesome. Nothing major to report, but I was out, interacting with other people, face to face. Talking to people. And it felt good!

Don’t feel sorry for me. Put those tiny violins away, my friends. I’m pretty sure I’m just experiencing something a lot of people my age go through. The majority of my friends have moved away, got married, had kids, settled down etc. and I just…well…haven’t. No one is to blame. It’s just one of those things.

Anyway, I came back from the theatre on Friday with a great big smile across my face because I’d broken the routine. The monotony. I’d gone out!

Don’t think I sit alone in the flat every weekend. It’s not like that. I’ll occasionally go out with my wonderful work friends or visit the theatre with some old school mates, but most of my weekends follow the same template. There’s no spontaneity anymore. I never get a random text inviting me round and neither does my doorbell ring unexpectedly. That’s what I miss.

As a child, I remember how exciting it was to see the familiar car of a friend or relative who just thought they’d drop in for a cup of tea. That never happens anymore! I’m not just talking about in my own life but it seems to be a dying act. If anyone is going to visit you, you know about it, sometimes days, in advance. Is technology to blame? Has text messaging led to the death of spontaneous visits? Now I understand this isn’t for everyone. I would love it if someone thought to call in on me by surprise but I know my Dad hates having visitors, never mind unexpected ones! But it’s another arrow in my war against social media. Does it stop spontaneous visits? Even my grandparents tell me to call them before I visit to check they’re home (which I quietly refuse to do. If they’re not in when I rock up, I’m not bothered because I decided to visit them.)

It all boils down to my continuing argument – Does social media actually make us less social? Have we lost the art of being social?  Has the convenience of technology made socialising…well….inconvenient? And are we too caught up in creating false lives online that we forget to live real ones? When I was growing up I always imagined my life being a bit like ‘Friends’. People would drop in whenever, help themselves to my fridge contents and there’d always be someone around to have a coffee with. Now, I know that’s not really a realistic expectation, (and on reflection I’m not really sure I want you poking around in my fridge, thank you very much!) but it just shows how times have changed. Would Ross and Rachel be together if they met in 2017? This cynical sod says no, because they’d be too busy counting their Instagram likes to notice each other!

Anyway, here I am. Saturday. Hoovering the hallway, sink full of bleach water. Living room smelling like polish and incense. And then a sad realisation washes over me. Every Saturday I emulate my parents. When I was young, Saturday was the cleaning day. The house would be cleaned from top to bottom just in case anyone was to pop over. Twenty years later, I’m doing that in my own place.  Only, times have changed, and the doorbell doesn’t ring.

Bloody technology!

Expecting a review of a musical? Not this week. A tongue-in-cheek critique of this week’s EastEnders? Nope. How about a couple of heart-warming stories from the classroom?  Afraid not.

This week, I’m going in deep. I could pretend I’m not having another mini life-questioning crisis, but I am and it’s all I can think about so settle down, buckle up and get ready to hear me whinge.

So, I’m 27. I have been for a couple of weeks now. And so far it’s vile. January always seems to kick-start a cyclone of thoughts and feelings that pivot around the same thought….

‘WHAT. AM. I. DOING?’

I’ll share something with you and I hope it doesn’t sound too self-absorbed or cheesy because, I’m hoping, I’m not the only one to have this thought. But when I was growing up I always thought I was going to be happy. I was going to be satisfied with life. That’s just how it works, right? You grow up and you’re immediately satisfied with what you have. Wrong! No one warned me that I would constantly be evaluating my life, questioning its direction and finding myself envious of people I don’t even know!

I’ve written before about the disaster that was my 25th birthday. On said birthday, I found myself driving along the A55, hair plastered to my forehead with rain, wearing clothes which were older than my Godchildren, stressed out of my mind at the workload at the end of the road in front and behind me. Both directions. Book-ended by paperwork. And I just thought….’Why am I doing this? Why am I forcing myself through the day, looking like a stale old piece of toast, living in my grandparent’s spare room and putting any money I acquired (at the time, it wasn’t earned) into my car or my mouth?’ It took a few weeks but I found my answer and, thankfully, after a few changes (which involved a massive shift in the wardrobe department) I found that what I was feeling was a means to an end. Happiness soon found me again.

That was two years ago and the most turbulent crisis I’ve had. It was hard, but I weathered it.

This year, my birthday was a very quiet event. I celebrated with a day trip to London to see The Book of Mormon and the usual restaurant visits with the parents. It was normal. Until a few days later. I was back at work, thinking about London and the show and the people. And….then it hit me.

I always said I’d leave my town as soon as I could. But, I’m 27 and I’m still here. I’ve come up with lots of excuses to stay and distractions from the yearning to leave but, I’ve realised I’ve stayed for all the wrong reasons and it’s becoming toxic to my wellbeing. I don’t neccessarily want to move to the other side of the World but a change of scenery and a chance to build my own life would be very welcome. I think I’ve stayed here for other people, rather than myself. I think the time is fast approaching when I need to go and find my own life.

I’m finding it difficult not to compare my life to others. I know that I’ve achieved a lot and I’m proud of that, but there’s a horrible niggling part of me that just isn’t quite satisfied. I’ve advised friends before never to compare yourself to others but here I am doing the same! Is it normal for me to be re-evaluating, questioning and criticising my life so early on? Am I right to be feeling so envious of people I haven’t even met? Will I get any kind of satisfaction that decisions I’ve made have been the right ones? Who knows?  I’m not looking for answers here, simply venting frustrating. To those feeling similarly lost, you’re not on your own!

The only thing I have to hold on to is one of my favourite quotes (which I have, again, used on friends before, much to their annoyance).

Everything works out in the end. And if it doesn’t work out, it’s not the end.

Sunday.

Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork.

My life, this weekend, has become entirely constructed by paper. My living room is awash with files and documents and post it notes and I seem to be drowning in the middle of it. I’m unshowered, pyjama-clad and all I’ve consumed is a piece of toast and a glass of orange juice. But I have been over powered by an almost supernatural entity. His name is Determined-G.

As you may have guessed, Determined-G is a force to be reckoned with. A whirlwind of frantic energy. Today he has been unexpectedly unleased. I woke up at 9.30 and he was there, staring at me from the side of the bed, hopping from foot to foot, eager to get going. He dragged me out of bed and shoved me into the living room, headfirst into my pile of school work. Seven hours later and he’s grown from an acorn of energy to a juggernaut. Absolutely unstoppable. ‘Just two more standards,’ he says, gesturing at my professional development file. ‘And then you can have a break.’

But, of course, he’s said this for the last fifteen standards.

Eventually, as the last sun beams of the weekend stream through the window, I reach a point in the paperwork where Determined-G is satisfied. ‘You’ve done well,’ he says, patting my aching shoulders. ‘Same again next weekend.’ And with that, he relaxes in the corner. Never actually leaving, just waiting, lounging on the sofa, waiting to be provoked. He’s been around for as long as I can remember, but he really got a chance to flex his muscles about four years ago. Most of the time, he’s an ally and a friend, but occasionally he can be a bit of a menace.

For example, Determined-G has helped me with my career, my living arrangements, my personal life choices…everything! But, on some occasions, he can be responsible for awakening Frantic-G. Like this morning, when I dashed into work early determined to start the week ahead of the game. Obviously, Monday madness struck, the game defeated me and Frantic-G emerged. By 8.45 I was having a mad rant about the photocopier a la Basil Fawlty.

My point is, you might have a Determined-G (they might be a Determined-K or a Determined-Z or a Determined-M) who helps you do amazing things but there’s no shame in taking your time. Sometimes in life there is just too much to do and putting pressure on yourself isn’t always the best way. So take a deep breath, chill the hell out and put Determined-G on low power. You’ll still get where you need to be, but it just might take a bit longer. And that’s fine.

‘Oh, Christ. I’ve got to write a blog post about this horrendous year!’

I sat down at the laptop. Brexit. Trump. Celebrity deaths. The end of the Bake Off as we know it. Where on earth do I start?

Well…actually….I’d like to focus on the positives. Not just because doing otherwise would mean typing up a mammoth post that my wrists just can’t handle, but because somewhere in the embers of 2016, amongst all the ash, are a couple of gems.

I have to keep reminding myself that, for me, it’s been an awesome year. Yes, I may have been clutching for the mojitos and chocolate and spending too much time buried in a duvet by the time Christmas hit, but we can’t let the horrors of 2016 impinge on the good stuff.

First of all, there’s my job. Alright, I’m aware this is becoming a bit of a catchphrase of mine but, I do really love my job, and 2016 was the year I was entrusted with my own class. Every morning I wake up and get to spend time with hilarious, caring and happy people. What a gift!

2016 has also fuelled my favourite hobby – theatre. I’d gone through a very dry patch where theatre was concerned, until March when I discovered some real gems at Theatre Clwyd….and the obsession with theatre tickets began. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Little Shop of Horrors, Joseph, Be My Baby, Cyrano de Bergerac, RENT….just some of the awesome shows I’ve been lucky to see this year. Then, of course, there was the big one – London. I’m still recovering from the brilliance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Southwark Playhouse and I don’t think I’ll ever get over that conversation with Freddie Fox. (I say ‘conversation’. I did a lot of nodding.) I also (accidentally) went to my first Pride festival whilst in London. A celebration of diversity, unity and love. The perfect antidote to 2016.

In September I also took the leap and joined another local theatre group, something which I’ve been meaning to do for a long time. After a few nights of volunteering I was really taken aback by the warmth and friendliness of the place. I’m definitely hoping 2017 brings more of that.

We’ve also got to remember the laughs. In 2016, I nearly got my hand glued to a tortoise, watched my friend face-plant the gym floor, giggled through a very serious game of bingo with my colleagues and sang the national anthem in a rural welsh pub whilst my friend tried to flick maltesars into my mouth. Mix in being chatted up by a Cliff Richard look-a-like, some awful Karaoke and the quest for the perfect Celine Dion impression and you’ve got plenty to smile about! I know, 2016 was pretty awful in a lot of ways, but none of it can be changed now. When I look back, I’m going to try and remember that year for its laughs, its nights out, its nights in, the friends, the fun and that important turning point in my career. *raises a glass of wine* and now to 2017, a new year, let’s hope it’s a happy one…..

…….*watches EastEnders*…..

Oh for Christ’s sake.

The big day is over for another year. All the stress and panic leading up to it has passed and it’s now time for my favourite tradition: spending Boxing Day eating chocolate and watching films.

One day I’ll write the blog about why Christmas sometimes runs the risk of being a miserable time for me, but for now, I’d rather focus on how good this year has been. The run-up didn’t top last year, but, as I sit with my wine and chocolates and wait for EastEnders, I can say it’s been….good. Here are some of my highlights.

  • Food – My favourite thing ever. I have eaten my own body weight and plan to do so until January 1st. I’ve turned the Joe Wicks book I was given upside down until the New Year. He doesn’t need to see this.
  • TV – I bloody love Christmas TV. EastEnders is always a highlight and last nights, although lacking in the traditional misery and despair in my opinion, was a festive treat. (Disclaimer: I know I keep saying this…..but if they kill off Ronnie I just do not know what I’ll do.) Doctor Who is also a traditional treat on Christmas night at Plas G and this year’s was super (and I didn’t fall asleep 15 mins before the end. Honest.) But the best thing I’ve seen this Christmas is Deadpool. I think he’s just taken the crown as my favourite superhero.
  • Family – UNUSUAL EVENT CLAXON – This year was the FIRST Christmas in memory that we had total of……ZERO arguments. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, round of applause please.
  • Children – This year has been special as it’s been the first Christmas I have spent with my own class. Those two weeks building up to Christmas were so much fun….but you can read last week’s blog for more of that.
  • And finally……GUYLIAN SHELLS. Yes, after almost 27 years of hinting (yes, I was hinting in the womb) SOMEBODY bought me a box of Guylian shells. My favourite chocolate treat. This year Z picked up on the sublte mentions and presented me with a box on Chrismtas Eve. (and by subtle mentions, I refer to the many times I have said ‘Oh look, Guylian shells. My favourite chocolate. No one ever buys them for me so if you do, I’ll love you forever. Guylian shells. Remember. Guylian. Repeat it back to me.’­ I’m such a lovely friend to have.)

Anyway anyway anyway, I hope your Christmas has been just as enjoyable and, like me, you’re looking forward to a brand new year. Now, I’d love to write more but I’ve got some Guylian shells that are begging for my attention and a bottle of wine which, frankly, it would be rude not to drink.