June Flickr Favourites

Months go by and the photos I take each day appear to get weirder and weirder. I think they call it scraping the barrel. I call it, “I don’t have a very exciting life.”

Whatevs people, I like that I’m documenting every tiny little detail of my life. It’s fun to look back and go “Oh yeah! I remember that.” Small things which wouldn’t ordinarily stay in your head but which provided you with a moment of happiness. Not big things, but it’s nice to look back and remember those feelings.

So what happened in June?

5th – I went to see Take That didn’t I?! God this feels like it was longer ago than the beginning of this month. I remember the horror of realising I wouldn’t be able to get tickets and then the rush of elation when I managed to snaffle the last ticket that a friend of a friend had going spare. And then began the wait that seemed to stretch on forever until suddenly it was upon us.

It was a brilliant night. Great show (although not as spectacular as the Circus tour and a little too Robbie-centric in my opinion) and it was fun to screech and scream like a small child. What was less fun was the long journey home after the concert, we’d opted to travel there and back in the same day which meant not getting back to Hull until after 2am on the Monday morning. I praised my clever forward planning for taking that day off work.

6th – It’s fun to do something new. And this month I started something very new, namely my album for my holiday in France last year. I’ve already bored you senseless with it in this post

10th – This month also saw me taken on my Magical Mystery Tour by The Person to South Lakes Wild Animal Park where I got up close and personal with all manner of creatures, but mostly fell in love with lemurs. (Still can’t believe I’ve got a photo like that by the way.) I posted about this here.

14th – You know when you have an item of clothing that just makes you happy? This is mine. I saw it in the window of Dorothy Perkins a while ago and knew it had to be mine. I saved my pennies and bought it this month. I would have worn it every day if I thought it was appropriate. It just screams summer to me. I wear it on a sunny day and I’m all bright and breezy and I can wear it on a dark and gloomy day and bring a little ray of sunshine to the office. (And if you did want to buy it, it’s in the sale now grrrrrrrrr)


26th – Speaking of the sun, when it has shown its face it has been absolutely marvellous to take advantage of Dad’s lovely big garden with its table and chairs and big garden umbrella. This day saw me feeling pretty ropey after a couple of nights out in a row, plus I was nursing Eddie the Ankle Egg So I took myself outside with a cup of tea, some chocolate and Tess of the d’Urbervilles (which I was woefully far behind on if I was to meet my target of finishing it at the end of the month) and had the best lazy Sunday ever in the garden.

30th – Hands up if you love the feeling of a finished WIP? Me too! And today officially saw me finish my ripple blanket A woo. hoo. There will be a proper post devoted to this momentous occasion, but I’m waiting for some nice weather so we can try and have a photoshoot outside.

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6 months down, 6 months to go....

June Book Review

I remember the days when I used to read loads. Where have they gone to? What am I doing now that stops me from reading as much as I used to? Maybe I am reading as much as I did last year, it just doesn’t feel like it?


Either way, there’s only 2 books up for review this month. Hurray.

Needles & Pearls – Gil McNeil
I read the first book in this series a while back. I hope my review didn’t come off as disparaging because it wasn’t meant to, it’s just that there’s not too much I can say about this kind of book. I could relay the plot to you but if I did that then it wouldn’t be worth you reading it and I’m not saying that’s it not worth reading, it’s a really lovely book, I just can’t say much about it.

McNeil has succeeded where so many fail – she’s written characters that are likeable. Ok, they’re a little one dimensional but they’re likeable and sometimes all you want from a book is a little entertainment and light reading. These books hit the spot and I have to say, that having finished this one I kind of wanted to know when the next one would be available to read.

The Testament of Gideon Mack – James Robertson
This guy's been sitting on my shelf for quite some time and I thought it was time he had his turn in the limelight. You know when you read a book and you can’t believe you let it sit on the shelf for so long? This is how I felt about this one.

The Testament of Gideon Mack begins with a foreword from a publisher, who explains the back story – Mack was a priest in a small village in Scotland who fell into the Black Jaws, a local river, disappeared for 3 days and emerged a changed man, claiming that he’d been hanging out with the devil. Then he went into the hills and was never seen again. Shortly afterwards a manuscript was found which details his life and how he came to meet the Devil – hence his testament.

It’s odd to read a book when you already know how it ends but Robertson has managed to create a character which is engaging but at the same time a bit of a loser in life. He’s also managed to deal with some tricky questions about religion and belief but with a sleight of hand that doesn’t weigh down on you.

Mack is a Minister who doesn’t know if he believes in God – is this a problem? Is it impossible that he met and spent time with the Devil? In the end it’s up to you to decide what happened but in a sense that’s not the real question – if he believed that it happened then surely that’s all that’s important.

This book also contains one of my favourite quotes ever and chimed in with something I say all the time;

“My time in Leith had taught me that it was possible to be a Christian without involving Christ very much.”

Loved it.

Also finished this month (by the skin of my teeth) my 6th classic of the year – Tess of the d’Urbervilles – but that’s getting a post all of its own.

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Book of the month?

The Testament of Gideon Mack. It’s a difficult task to write a book that’s enjoyable to read but also makes you question difficult topics. Hats off to Mr Robinson.

Today we are One

Well lookee here. We’ve made it to a year.
(And apparently gained the ability to rhyme.)

I won’t lie, it feels like longer. I mean I know it has been, so many of you have been with me longer than this guy’s been around, but I feel like this year’s been a long one.

It took me a long time to decide whether or not I would start a new blog after breaking up with the boyfriend. I went backwards and forwards over it many times – shall I just carry on as I am? Shall I just change the name of this one? Shall I just scrap it and start again?

Overall I’m pleased I started again. I needed to. After all I was pretty much starting my life again, it made sense to do the same in blog format.

How things have changed in that year. I look back over those first few posts and try and conjure up how I was feeling when I wrote them. In a way I’m thankful that it’s all kind of hazy and vague. I definitely know that I don’t want to particularly revisit it in too fine detail.

I found a piece of paper the other day. I must have done it at work and it was a list of all the emotions that I was feeling post break-up. It wasn’t pretty.

There was everything from feeling happy that I’d made the right decision to guilt at the pain that I’d caused, to anxiety about the choices I’d made to anger that I was being blamed for something when we both knew there was a problem, to sadness that I had yet another failed relationship behind me.

It was a very messy page.

If I was to do a similar list today I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be quite as messed up. It wouldn’t be perfect, but I’m most definitely on an even keel emotions-wise.

At one point I did consider just not blogging anymore after the break-up. To tell the truth I was kind of embarrassed. Here was this blog that was all about living with someone and yet I’d completely failed at doing that – I felt like a right idiot. But mainly that’s because I’d kept a lot of the doubts and fear and torment to myself, not wanting to have a blog full of whining and doom and gloom. Maybe that was to my detriment.

I decided I did want to carry on blogging after the break-up purely because I like it. I do. I like you guys. I miss you when I don’t hear from you. I find myself wanting to tell you things, wanting to let you know how things are with me (whether you want to hear them or not).

And you’ve made me realise that I made the right decision. I’m glad that you’ve stuck with me for this past year. I’m glad that you’ve patiently listened to me as I’ve rambled on about totally idiotic things, that you’ve praised me when I’ve brought something to show-and-tell and that you’ve given me advice and feedback and generally made me feel better.

I did plan on doing a giveaway for my one year anniversary. I even started to buy a couple of things for it. And then I sort of forgot in the temporary move to my Dad’s so let’s pretend that I haven’t told you all that and one day I will surprise you.

But yeah.

Thanks.

Running Woman Part 5 – Of Tape and Eggs.

Last week’s trip to the physio was a pretty embarrassing one. I had to admit that the shin splints had come back because I was a moron who ran too far.

He agreed that I was indeed a moron and that most likely they’d come back because I’d done too much too soon. But he also said it was good that they were recovering well – the lump that comes up on my shin when they flare up had already gone down by the time I went to see him and the tenderness had disappeared. A week’s recovery was pretty good he said. I have now christened my shin splints lump, Linus.

He said what I thought he might say – go back to the beginning. Back to running for not even 1km. Just up the street and back down again. Then next time for 1km. Then next time for 2km. Exactly the same plan as before. 

Obviously I’m to continue with the exercises, even though I don’t feel like I’m making much progress. He says that I’m doing well with them and to keep going.

But basically I’ve come to the end of the road as far as physio goes. He just said it’s unfortunately one of those things that just might keep happening to me. Or it might not if I build up properly this time. But I know a whole range of stretches to do now once I’ve been running and I have my strengthening exercises and I know what to do if they do flare up, just go back to the beginning again.

I don’t really know what this means as far as running and I are concerned – I guess I see how it goes. There might come a point where it becomes clear that I can’t run any further than a certain distance, I’ll just have to see.

He did try another taping exercise with me however which I feel might be pretty good. It just consists of three seemingly random bits of tape being put across my leg.

They might not look like they’re doing anything but they’re actually pulling my leg round slightly and alleviating the pressure on the front of my shins. As soon as he did it I could feel that it will probably make a difference. And the good news is it’s one I can do myself so I have the tape all purchased ready to go.

I really wanted to go for a test run with this tape but knew I wouldn’t be able to until the weekend. Unfortunately there was a night out on the Friday standing between me and my run. And I was wearing a dress for the night out, not the most amazing of looks. But I didn’t want to ruin my chance to give the tape a whirl so I just went out anyways and hoped that people didn’t look too closely at my leg.

It was a good night and much fun was had. At the end of the night we began the epic battle that is waged every Friday/Saturday night in Hull – trying to find a taxi. Looking for a career? Come and be a black cab driver in Hull, we’re desperately short, no jokes, it’s impossible to find one.

We ended up walking just over a mile until we eventually flagged one down. It stopped on the other side of the road, I ran over to it....and twisted my ankle.

For reals.

If it wasn’t so tragic it would be hilarious. Do you ever get the feeling that someone’s trying to tell you not to do something? If I was one to believe in signs then I would have said that running the Race for Life was not in my destiny this year.

It’s not a terrible sprain. I can actually walk on it pretty well but it’s most definitely swollen and has suddenly turned bright red, I’m hoping for a pretty impressive bruise in the next couple of days. Also, bizarrely, I’ve developed a bruise on the other side of my foot, don’t know what that’s about.

So obviously running and testing out the taping method has been put on hold for some time. I am actually hoping that given a week or so of rest, I might be able to get back out there and give it a little test.

So now in addition to Linus, my shin splints lump, we have Eddie, my Ankle Egg. Eddie had a weekend of being iced and ibuprofen-ed and elevated. And actually he went out on Saturday night as well, but in flat shoes (for the first time ever I would like to point out. Turns out that Hull isn’t really full of short men, they only seem short when you’ve got 4 inch heels on), so he’s not hampering me too much. Even though I’ve christened him, I’m hoping our relationship will be short-lived.

Both ankles for comparison. Spot Eddie sticking out on the right. (Shoes are £6 from Primark btw)

I think I’ll be glad when this Race for Life malarkey is all over.

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The Running Woman Chronicles can be found here.

The Glimmer

There was a plan put in place when I decided to do my Masters degree. I’d decided towards the end of my final year that a Masters was the route I wanted to go down and I the advice that I took from a lecturer was to apply immediately, get a place for the September, but then defer entry until the following September and take a year out in the ‘real’ world to avoid education fatigue.


The other advantage to working for a year would be that I could save up the money to pay for my tuition. Trying to get money for postgraduate degrees is difficult to say the least, the money’s widely available for undergraduates, but those wishing to continue on have got to do it themselves, unless they happen to studying for something vocational, in which case money is all around.

So I returned to Hull and got my job in the cafe and began working hard to save money.

Only.

I forgot about the saving money part. Instead I went out and partied hard and didn’t save anything.

And I have literally been paying for it since.

I could sit and beat myself up about my foolish ways but I’m not going to. I was young, I made a bit of a mistake and trust me it’s not the kind of mistake that you repeat twice, so it belongs to that great list of ‘life experiences’.

However, with September fast approaching I realised I had to do something about funding my next year.

My salvation came in the form of a career development loan – a sort of half way house between a student loan and a normal bank loan. They’re lent by banks and you start making repayments on a set date, nothing to do with how much you’re earning or how long you’ve been in work, on this date, you will begin repaying your loan. The interest rates are usually a bit lower than normal bank loans and stayed fixed, so you’re not faced with a rapidly mounting bill that you can’t afford to pay.

I can’t remember the exact amount I took out now, pretty much as much as I could, to cover my tuition fees, my halls of residence and my general being-a-student-ways.

Life was good.

Until before I knew it, November 2006 was approaching and the first payment of my CDL was due. At the time I had just graduated, a little later than I should have done because a bit of a family crisis saw me having to take an extension to finish my dissertation, which meant that I also delayed getting a job.

I tried calling up to ask if I could delay the repayments? No can do. I needed £180 from somewhere and had only one option...

Move back to Hull.

And here I have been ever since.

Working. And paying £180 a month towards my CDL. And that’s just been my life for the past three and a half years.

This week, in an attempt to get some parts of my life under control I decided to ring up Barclays (who supplied my CDL) and give them my new address. Goodness knows what address they had for me, I’ve moved about that much over the past 3 years and it was one of those things that I kept saying I would do but never got around to doing it (mostly down to a fear of the call centre – anyone else get that? You don’t want to ring because you just don’t have the energy to talk to someone who you can’t really understand?).

So I rang, gave my change of address, asked for a statement to be sent out to me and then asked, just while I was on the phone,

“When am I due to be finished paying this loan by the way?”

The man replied, “According to our records, the final payment will be on 31st October 2011.”

Hold up.

October 2011? As in this 2011? The year we’re currently in?

*Cue celebrations*

I don’t really know when I was thinking it would be paid off, I’ve been so used to paying it out that I wasn’t able to conceive of a time when I would be done with it.

It was a good feeling. No. It was an ecstatic feeling. It’s not so much that I’ll have an extra £180 a month (I won’t really, it will go towards paying off my credit card debt) it’s just that this will officially mark the beginning of the end. The beginning of starting to get my life a little less burdened down with debt. (I don’t count my student loan, I’ve long accepted that I’ll be paying that bugger off until the day I die. Plus it goes straight out of my pay cheque so I treat like I do tax and national insurance, it’s just money I never had!)

In other words it’s a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Just a glimmer, but a good sign nonetheless.

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Hurray! This is my 200th post. Good work little blog.

A change of style

Just over three and a half years ago (3 years and 7 months today to be exact. And who doesn’t love being exact?) my Grandma died.
She was a woman who had things in order and all grandchildren were left money that had been put in savings accounts since we were born (mine paid for my trip to America in 2008) and we all got something else.

My cousins both received jewellery and I received my clock, which I have spoken about before and might just be my most prized possession.

A few months ago I was round at my Dad’s and he told me that he had something for me from Grandma.

Hello randomness.

It turns out it was from Grandma, but via my Dad’s wife, who had been left a ring by Grandma, with the intention that it would eventually be passed to me. For reasons unknown, C has decided she doesn’t want the ring anymore and so it’s been passed to me early.

I don’t really wear much jewellery to be honest. I have my charm bracelet (remind me to introduce you to him some time) which I wear all the time and a few necklaces rotate round but I’m no longer dripping in it like I used to be when I was younger.

Most of the time I have just one ring on my finger. A small, square-cut amethyst with some teeny tiny diamonds on either side that my Mum bought me with some insurance money that she got when she was burgled many years ago. It’s pretty neat and plain and I love it and when I’ve sat and daydreamed about my engagement ring (there’s no point pretending I don’t, sometimes I’m too girly for my own good) it’s always been along similar lines.

This guy has changed a lot of that for me.

You can tell how long these posts end up in the preparation stage of life - the eagle eyed among you will spot that the book in the background of this shot is Wuthering Heights!

For a start it’s gold. I have always sworn I don’t like gold, I’m a silver or white gold lady. (I’d be a platinum lady but I don’t think I know anyone rich enough) But I don’t mind this gold.


Second it’s all a bit old-fashioned and fancy pants. I don’t really know my cuts of stones but I’m going to go with the blindingly obvious and say this is an oval cut (please let me know if I’m wrong) with some diamonds kicking about it and it’s not my usual style at all.

But I think that secretly that’s what I like about it. I like that it’s different. I like that it’s not like anything you’d see in H Samuel. It’s been around the block a bit. I remember when I went shopping for a pink sapphire for my sister’s 40th a couple of years ago – I went to a second hand jewellery shop and could have spent hours in there looking at all the different rings, not that pricey at all, only not ‘worth’ much because they’re a little bit older, not perfect and not fashionable. I think I’d to know that my ring wasn’t new on – I’d like to sit and imagine who had owned it before and where it had been.

It’s not worth masses of money. I wasn’t sure if I should get it insured so Culture Friend and I took a visit to a wee jewellers in town to get a verbal evaluation. We were told by an incredibly snotty woman that it was damaged (opals are apparently notoriously easy to mark and chip, they’re not particularly hardy and you apparently shouldn’t get them wet either) and that if it was on the house insurance I’d probably get about £200-300 for it. And this was all said with an air of “So it’s not worth anything.”

But to little old me, £200-300 is a lot of money so I am super careful with it and I’m not wearing it all the time. It’s not relegated to once in a Sheffield flood, it’s just one that I wear if I’m going out or on a weekday when I feel I just need something really pretty to look at.

PS. Incidentally the other day Dad found the receipt for the ring. My Grandpa bought it on 9th December 1972. Grandma’s birthday was 10th December so this was obviously a last minute purchase for her birthday (it would have been her 49th). And he bought it for the grand total of £59

PPS. Don't worry, I'm not particularly superstitious so the fact that Opals are supposed to be bad luck doesn't really phase me.

Running Woman - Part 4 - Why I am a Moron

One comment on yesterday’s post. Ouch. Guess no-one’s loving the running woman tales. Shame. Because I’m blatantly not going to stop. (Thanks for the love though Alex!)


Run my Route has become my best friend since I’ve started running. I would love to be the kind of free spirit that can just go out and run for an extended period of time but I just can’t. I need to have a purpose to my running, I need to know the route, no meandering for me.

I’ve got loads of 5km routes mapped out so I can mix things up and change things around and not get too bored in the same old routine. Heck I’d even planned out longer routes when I was considering running a 10km race. (It might still happen, I haven’t abandoned hope completely yet!)

Pretty much the only unanimous advice I’ve gathered about shin splints is that you have to start back slowly. Very slowly. This requires enormous amounts of patience, of which I am in short supply. I don’t want to take things slowly, I want to just start running again thank you very much.

But I was determined to be a good girl and seeing as the physiotherapist had made me promise I would take it slowly I had mapped out lots of shorter routes to start building back up.

First up – the 1km route.

I sailed round smoothly. I was feeling good. The inserts seemed to be doing a good job. I had no pain the next day. Super-duper.

Next up – the 2km route.

I had it all planned out and set off in the company of my i-pod to chug along. I figured 2km would take me about 15 minutes absolute tops, considering that I’m still regaining my fitness and trying to take things slowly.

So about half way round this route I think to myself, “Bloody hell woman, this seems like it’s been a lot longer than 1km, what’s wrong with you? You’re all out of breath and stuff?”

The longer I ran the more I beat myself up.

“Well this is brilliant. You’re never going to be able to run 5km by 17th July if you’re struggling this much to run 2km”

“How can you have lost this much fitness this quickly? How ridiculous”

“God you suck at life”

It was only when I was just round the corner from my Dad’s house that it dawned on me that maybe I should stop beating myself up. Or actually, I should continue beating myself up, but not for the fact that I was unfit but for the fact that I’m a complete idiot.

A trip to the Run my Route website confirmed that I am indeed a Grade A Fool.

When you plan your route you can choose to get the distance in mile or kilometres. Dumbass here really hadn’t run 2 kilometres There was a reason I was finding it pretty hard going. This person had run 2 miles. So I’d actually run 3.5km.

What a twat.

Not only did I feel like an idiot I really felt like an idiot because I couldn’t believe that I’d convinced myself to carry on running even though I knew I was running further than 2km. It’s quite scary in a way, talk about the power of the mind, what else might I be able to convince myself to do?!

And of course, because I’m an idiot I have been rewarded accordingly.

With shin splints.

I ran too far too quickly and now I have to pay the price and have managed to set myself back to zero. They’re not terrible, they’ve been worse and at least I know what they are now so can set about icing them and hoping for the best. But I am furious with myself for being so foolish.

I can’t say for definite that if I’d only run 2km then I’d be ok but I suspect this is the case. (Although I do have a record of being pretty hard on myself, hence this very story.)


I hate situations where you can’t pin the blame on anyone else and have to take full responsibility for your own actions. It makes me mad. Please can’t I blame someone else for my gross incompetency?

So I’m back to zero. I’m pretty busy this week so running would be out of the question anyway. I have a physiotherapy appointment on Friday, which I’m dreading because I’m going to have to confess to my sins and the Race for Life is looming ever closer and my fitness is receding further away.

So in a word - ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!