Posted in social media

If I See One More Post About Trump On Social Media – I Think I’ll Explode

I’m not writing about politics, I’m writing about humans; humans and bandwagons.

I’m mostly writing this because social media has been ruined for me, and many others like me. If I didn’t need it for work I would flounce off in a huff (for at least a week) and refuse to look at my timelines ever again. Of course not until I’d made a grandiose statement of my intentions on the book with the face; I would then sneak back in and hope that no-one notices my return to Messenger from Whatsapp, where I would undoubtedly have referred them.

I’ll start by making it quite clear I am not a supporter of Trump, I didn’t vote for him, because I live in England. That doesn’t mean to say I am ignorant to the knock on effect of what goes on in other countries. I’m not. But i don’t need to know every time Donald does a Trump, or how and why every individual hates him, personally, and wishes him dead. I grew sick of all the social media in the build up to the election, and I naively thought it would all end when the new President was elected.  Oh how wrong was I.

So, back to humans and bandwagons. Let’s start with Melania Trump and that video that went viral of her looking crestfallen after Donny turned round and said ‘something’ at the inauguration.


That one brief insight into their relationship had people campaigning on social media to Save Melania from the evil tyrant. Now correct me if I’m wrong but I’m pretty sure theirs wasn’t an arranged marriage. Which leads me to hazard a guess that they dated for a while first. Which leads me to assume she already knew what a total twat he is. A twat with a big wallet who will one day rule the world. What’s not to like? Secondly, how do we not know that Mel was looking forward to a big roast dinner that night and Donny said, “looks like this is going  on  longer than I thought. It’ll have to be a takeaway tonight I’m afraid my darling”. Quite possible.

I’ve been taken quite by surprise at the strength of feeling in this country about Old Donny at the helm in the USofA. During his election campaign he said he was going to do a lot of stuff that we think is really bad. The Americans still voted him into office. In their country. And we (I use the term loosely as I didn’t step foot outside the house on Monday) have taken to the streets in our thousands to protest over the decisions he is making. Can you imagine if countries around the world were doing the same in response to our referendum to BREXIT? We would become keyboard warriors in defence of our country, our democracy, our choices.

Yes, there are humanitarian issues, without a doubt. But as far as I know he hasn’t actually killed anyone yet. There are many, many other world leaders who have a catalogue of atrocities  committed against their own people. The dictatorships, the infringement of civil rights. Where are their memes? Why aren’t we out marching for those people. In those countries? In 2011 following the ‘Arab Spring’ President Bashar al-Assad, responded to the peaceful protests in Syria by killing hundreds of demonstrators and imprisoning many more, that was only the beginning.  All the articles about Aleppo, the photos of the tortured, war ravaged, faces of the babes in arms have disappeared from our screens. It’s not gone away. They still need us.

I read the news every day. I know what is being said about Donny, I don’t need it plastering my timeline every other post. It’s like I’ve been transported to a desert Island with only one book that I have to read over, and over again until I’m rescued. Katie Hopkins is loving it though, Old Donny is keeping her in enough acid to prop her career up for at least another four years. By the way, if you type ‘how long’ into google the first entry in the drop down box is ‘How long US President term?’

This is my SOS from my desert Island. Please send me another book.


Posted in Dating & Relationships, women

When Valentine’s Day Doesn’t Get Your Heart Racing

Hand in hand St Valentine and Cupid (great image) contribute to this multi-million pound industry without even signing off on it. The names of a Saint and a God used to line the pockets of the fat cats, would they approve do you think?

At a time of year when we’re still vacuuming up the pine needles; the next onslaught of commercialised, materialistic, ‘invented’ celebration rears its ugly head. St. Valentine’s Day. Another 24 hours for the singletons to feel like social outcasts; or for those who choose to be on their own to keep justifying why they aren’t ‘looking’ for Mr/Mrs Right just now, if ever.

Again the shops are adorned with the trappings of expectation; as well as luring some in they serve as a reminder to others that an evening of ‘aloneness’ looms. For some this involves eating ice-cream straight from the tub; polishing off the last of the Baileys; weeping over Pride & Prejudice and dreaming of meeting our own Mr Darcy. Memories of my past. Nowadays I’d probably be joining an online chat for singles who laugh in the face of Valentine’s day (whilst eating ice-cream and drinking Baileys).

For others St Valentine’s Day is filled with the excitement of a possible proposal of marriage. I got engaged on Valentine’s Day when I was 23. Well, we chose to announce it on that Day having decided earlier to commit to each other; my boyfriend wanted to move back to London. Ok, I decided we had to be engaged if I was going to move away with him as I never wanted to move to London. Very romantic. It was an amazing day though, a dozen red roses (maybe it was 2, I don’t remember, I’m 50 now) sent to my place of work, balloons filled my car, so much fuss and attention bestowed on me. Lots of oooo’s and ahhhh’s as I showed off my £130 Ratners engagement ring.

There was a time when I bought into it all. When love was measured by the size of the card and flowers. I cried as girls at school clutched their wads of cards and spat the numbers at you asking “How many did you get?” In that mean, schoolgirl kind of way. And there was always one girl that you just knew had written cards to herself. I never stooped so low.

But now I am older, wiser, and a parent. I’m older and a parent anyway.  I’m not bitter or resentful, I do have a boyfriend (the engagement at 23 never got as far as a wedding) who will buy me a card, and something really obscure that after a couple of drinks I will question him over (one year it was Scratch Art?!!). I don’t mind if he doesn’t, probably would rather he didn’t. An article, posted 13th February 2015, in Psychology Today stresses the importance of ‘all year round’ love; as the expectations, comparisons and magnifications actually contribute to couples breaking up in the weeks before and after Valentine’s day. Expecting great romantic gestures; comparing what others have done, especially on Social Media; and the magnification of flaws in your existing relationship.

If you are in a relationship and all, or some, of the above apply to you here is how you can avoid the pitfalls:

  • Don’t let one silly day of the year put your relationship under a magnifying glass. Work on it as much as you can all year round.
  • Read the article in Psychology Today for some tips on reigniting the passion you once felt for each other.
  • Be realistic. Life gets in the way of love sometimes. It can’t be hearts and flowers every day.
  • Don’t believe everything you see and read on Social Media.

If you are single and Valentine’s Day makes you feel lonely; it doesn’t matter which day of the year you fall in love or go on a date. You are not a social outcast, you just haven’t found anyone good enough for you yet. Learn to love yourself first and the rest will come to you.

Happy Every Day, For The Rest Of Your Life

Posted in comedy, women

If Google Translate Took Over Your Online Profile – Dating Over The Age Of 50


I am writing this for a friend; Any Resemblance to Actual Persons, Living or Dead, is Purely Coincidental

A friend of mine who has recently found herself single after 15 years of marriage is ready to take the next step

For the sake of argument let’s call her, anything other than her real name, Liz. Liz is 51 and filled with a truck load of insecurity; this is what her profile would look like if she was brave enough to be honest. After all, they all find out in the end.



I am a recently separated 51 year old mum of 6, almost grown up, children. Yes, I know, I clearly started young; if you really want to know I’ll be a bloody grandma next month.

Physical Characteristics

I have bloodshot green eyes, wiry bleached blonde hair, a saggy tummy and boobs down to my knees, I did a lot of breastfeeding. I’m 5ft 8 inches tall but shrinking a bit now, mainly due to curvature of the spine that in the wrong clothes makes me look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. My wiry hair is starting to come out in handfuls due to my underactive thyroid, but if I do a Trumpian comb over you’d hardly notice.

Greatest Achievements

Getting through the day without having a number 1 or number 2 accident. This is  due to my irritable bowel, and inability to sneeze without letting out a little wee as no-one actually explained what pelvic floor exercises really are. Lying on the floor and raising my legs didn’t cut the mustard. I do have tablets to hold off on the number 2’s but I don’t always remember to take them. I would consider remembering to take my tablets quite an achievement as well, the memory is going a little, I know, too young!

Biggest Fears

See Above


Since my separation, after the initial shock and clothes shredding spree, I have learned to live my life alone. I threw all the razors in the bin, I am a liberated European woman with more hair under my arms and legs than anywhere else on my body. And I mean anywhere. I enjoy going to bed early and not having to put up with my beer bellied, unshaven, whisky breathed hubby pawing me. I’m peri-menopausal so not really interested in a physical relationship right now. Not to mention the enormous amount of effort it takes to clench my buttocks (just in case) and fake an orgasm; my COPD can be exacerbated by that kind of fast breathing. I have two different types of inhaler for that, but it’s just not worth the risk, you know.

Career and Financial Solvency

Thanks to my ‘children’ not being ‘children’ I’m not entitled to any maintenance. My lovely little job I did for pin money has now become my main source of income. I am really poor so DSS need not apply.

Looking For?

I’m looking for a man between 35 and 45 with a busy career that keeps him away from home for long periods of time. Tall, dark and handsome, big heart and even bigger wallet. Someone I can flirt with over the phone and on messenger but not have to see too often, The odd meal out, but home to our own abodes. Generous to a fault. Someone who wants to make sure I live comfortably but wants nothing in return.

Whoever said that 50 is the new 40 was having a laugh

Any Takers?

Posted in comedy

When You Choose To Spend New Year’s Eve Alone – Hit Or Miss?

When, on the last day of 2016, you realise that the biggest decision you have to make each day is whether to use the curling tongs or straighteners you know it’s time for change. I thought I’d already started to implement enough changes when my son left for Uni not to still find myself in this position. I have a notebook full of scribblings, ideas for blog posts, a journal of my 50th birthday holiday week, and funny one liners fed to me by my BF. Not to mention the makings of a piece of flash fiction and my notes for a new radio show. And yet here I am, still flailing at life. I woke up this morning, the first day of 2017, home alone. I decided to spend New Year’s Eve on my own. The son was away for a party and I told the BF in true Greta Garbo fashion “I want to be alone”.

Being on my own was supposed to free me to do whatever I pleased, when I pleased, and without having to please anyone else. Lounge around in my house clothes (I don’t own PJ’s, even though saying that I was lounging in them would have sounded much more romantic) watch chick flicks, drink beer, maybe read some chick lit or be productive, bring some of these scribblings and ideas together. In reality by the time I’d had a couple of beers and my son headed off at 8pm I was already wondering how I would stay awake long enough to do any of these things. I didn’t.

I spent half an hour thinking I was having a twitter conversation with Simon Pegg, not hard to believe he had nothing better to do on New Year’s Eve is it? I did have a twitter conversation with Simon Pegg, but it was the wrong one. Much to my embarrassment after I’d catalogued the chat in status updates on facebook and pm’d my son. I rapidly deleted the Facebook updates and ceased to chat with the 40 year old, lonely imposter. Had he nowhere else to be? Really? Ok, he wasn’t an imposter, I didn’t have my glasses on and the profile pic looked pretty professional in it’s haze. I know, I should have gone to Specsavers.




After catching up on Eastenders, real home alone tv viewing, I went to bed at 11pm with:

  • A beer (had to show willing)
  • The landline (just in case my son or the police needed me in the night)
  • Laptop (just in case the Real Simon Pegg, or any other celebs I have tweeted over the last couple of months, actually had the good manners to reply)
  • Bluetooth Speaker (so I could listen to the 3 hour New year’s Eve party mix on the radio, bed dancing?)

I turned the tv on with the volume down low, tried to find a subtitle button in the dark to no avail, and fell asleep before The Birdie Dance! My BF phoned, waking me, at midnight, to wish me a Happy New Year, tell me I was right that the Mrs Brown’s Boys episode was a repeat of the Christmas Day show, and to invite me to lunch at his Brother’s house on New Year’s Day. I declined the invitation after, yet again, commenting how they leave these things to the last minute in his family. And I told him I wasn’t planning on leaving the house for 2 days as I have so much to do… I will be letting my creativity flow not flail.

I, like so many others, have been tricked into thinking that we have to make the first day of the New Year really count for something. The New Year a new me. So at 9am on the first of January 2017 I relieved myself of that last beer I took upstairs and went back to bed and watched Come Dine With Me. That different enough for you? I was quite pleased when I finally got up that I had managed to be so Indie, what next? The world was my Oyster. Twitter flagged up Katie Hopkins on LBC, how better to start the new year than to listen to Katie Hopkins on the radio. Research purposes only of course. I laughed myself silly for 2 hours and then tweeted @KTHopkins, she didn’t even reply to be mean to me. [Insert sad smiley here]




The day is not over, I have absolved myself thus far by at least writing this. I can now curl up on the sofa and watch The Devil Wears Prada feeling moderately satisfied that I have ticked at least one thing off my list; before my son returns and sprawls his 6ft 4 hungover body on the sofa and asks for cuddles and scrambled eggs.