Wednesday 25 December 2013

A Blog About Boobies



Manfriend and I went to the beach last week, it was warm and lovely, I had my book, and an ice lolly. My only trouble in the world was my uneven tan. You see, I had white titties, whilst the rest of my torso was distinctly more bronzed.

I had been wearing a strapless bikini all week that created the illusion that my normally well behaved and pertly placed boobies were saggy, like bags of three week old sandwiches, festering in plastic ziplocks at the bottom of a child's rucksack.

Girls, I'm sure you'll agree with me when I say it is not a good look, so, like many other women would, I undid my bikini top and slipped it off, pleased at the prospect of no longer looking like a bad stencil. I started to read my book, enjoying that delicious feeling of sunshine on skin, completely content with my carefree life here in glorious Australia.

I was just lying there thinking things such as: 'Isn't everything lovely here? Isn't everyone so friendly here? Australia has just got living down', when I heard some giggles nearby. I am not stupid enough to think that teenage boys, no matter how liberal, would not giggle at a pair of bare tits, so I carried on with my book and waited for them to pass by.

The giggles continued. It is now quite loud, snorty laughing. Tell self not to be so self involved to think that it must be about me.
Then, a girls voice. "Oh my god, that's DISGUSTING". More laughing, becoming slightly more insecure..."What the FUCK, that is so wrong". And then...

 "PUT YO TITS AWAY LADY, IT'S DISGUSTING".

Literally feel my stomach fall to my butt,  feel as though I have been transported back in time to year nine when a  boy is pea-shooting chewing gum into my hair and my acne riddled face flairs to a shade of pink.

I quickly put my bikini back on, embarassed, and Manfriend gently asks me if they were talking to me. I turn around and see a group of about seven teenage girls laughing hysterically whilst one stands, hands on hips, looking in my direction with a look of pure satanism on her face.

I am a 22 year old, confident, intelligent young feminist but still I cannot explain how bloody, shitting, fucking AWFUL that made me feel. I'm not stupid, I know breasts are not disgusting - I mean, come on, the world has had an obsession with them since the beginning of the human race, when cave men drew great, voluptuous, bosomed women on stone. BUT I couldn't shake that feeling of complete and utter fear and paranoia, with just a dash of self loathing.

Manfriend did a lovely show of violently telling them to fuck off, (which I pretended I was above, but secretly wanted to kiss him so hard for being such a deliciously aggressive protector) and we left the beach shortly after.

I managed to not cry, although had I been with one of my girlfriends I would have wailed and cried big, fat, snotty tears for all the hurt I was feeling.

It got me thinking: As if women don't have it hard enough - we constantly see images of generally unattainable 'beauty' in the media, we are pretty much unfailingly judged initially on our looks by men, we are facing a 30% salary gap, strip clubs, sandwich jokes and fucking hell-on-earth underwear shopping - We now have to fight against our own gender as well?! Well that is a sick joke.

Who raises young women to be so judgmental, sharp and cutting? We should all be hanging out together, discussing how undeniably awesome we are, and how we are going to sternly kick the delicate balls of the patriarchy by proving how strong, clever and, yes, beautiful we are. Because if the world is going to objectify us sexually for 100,000 years, we are going to use it to our bloody advantage.

I have thought of hundreds of hindsight comebacks to those girls. Some of them include calling them 'butch' 'mean' and 'immature', but most of them are just to tell them they should be ashamed of themselves to so brashly thrust insecurity on someone else, especially another woman. Especially as they know how it feels to to be insecure and scared of whether you aesthetically meet the norm. Because they are, after all, teenage girls, living in a western world where being insecure about yourself is just another day to day occurrence, like taking a shit. It is intrinsically sewn into the seams of being female.

That's a bloody awful truth to consider, but it is the truth. So maybe if we were all nice to each other, we might be able to actually get some shit done this century.

All for now, 
JoJo xxx




Monday 9 December 2013

Inderdental Sandblasting and Accidental Undressing



Day 4 in Australia.

Amount of times have said "don't you have _____ here?" or "does everybody ____ here?" - 27
Amount of times have applied suncream - 10
Amount of mosquito bites - 2 - HURRAH
Amount of times have run frantically away from a flying insect - 46926
Amount of cockroaches in bathroom - 1
Amount of times have fallen off bed and hurt arse - 1

Having a delightful time here in Mona Vale.  Very nice to see Manfriend again, although unfortunately now have to shave armpits on regular basis. The house is lovely, family are brilliant and doggy is adorable.

The flight over was very long, although in some sort of sick, masochistic way I enjoyed it. Although 'Operation Defeat Jet Lag' was less than succesful.

My flight amounted to around 26 hours, leaving London Heathrow at 10pm stopping over in Singapore and then onto Sydney arriving at local time 7.30am.
I had a truly terrific plan to avoid the dreaded jet lag. I would stay awake for the first and longest leg of the journey, then sleep for the second leg and wake up just before landing - fresh and ready to meet my Manfriend whilst also being very, very sexy.

On the first leg of the journey I had three spare seats around me - yes three! Which would have been lovely to sleep on BUT NO! MUST.STAY.AWAKE.
Watched several films, drank severals Gins, ate a lot of free snacks and did some yoga at the back of the plane to distract self from cosy nest-like space around me. Managed to stay awake - result.

Got onto next plane which was decidedly less glamorous, spacious and fresh smelling than the last. Also much smaller seats. Spare seats replaced by one very large, very smelly, British man. Tried in vain to sleep - smelly man kept laughing at i-pod, making questionable noises from bottom area and seemed to have a bladder infection- constantly asking me to move so he could 'spend a penny'.

Arrived at Sydney in delirious hysteria. Also very ugly due to lack of sleep and make-up application (had given up on life and just wanted to be in a dark, quiet place for a long, long time). Could smell the distinct aroma of my personal body odour.

Walking through the arrivals gate I felt as though I was in some terribly romantic film, I glided down the ramp with my trolley of belongings and gazed into the crowd formed at the the end. Looked around for Manfriend briefly but then decided would be much more romantic if he were the one who saw me first, so airily wandered down trying not to focus on anyone in-particular.  Got to the bottom of ramp and into the group of greeters.... Hmm, actually quite hard to find people when you are so amongst them and also so five foot two. I was sure that Manfriend must have spotted me on the ramp of glory and so just waddled about a bit waiting for his approach.

Manfriend was at the wrong arrivals gate. 45 minutes later and I had wandered around a large amount, (whilst staying in the same arrivals section to ensure that we did not miss each other), gone outside three times (incase he had meant that he would meet me there), tried to call twice (but failed because I didn't know the code thingy) and then decided to set up camp on a chair.
Was just about to attempt to do something about my profound ugliness when I saw him. Relief! But also annoyance that I had not attended to my face earlier, as now felt the need to keep hiding face with hand under rouse of a yawn, in order to mask my spotty, pale skin.


The upshot is, I got jet lag, a few days when could not walk straight and one day when I fell of the bed and hurt my butt, but other than that I have come off
relatively un-scathed.

Oh, also went for my first surf in Aussie waters and nearly shat my pants, much more powerful than at home....
Amount of times bikini bottoms  came down to my knees -3
Amount of times I face planted the sand - 4
Pints of water involuntarily swallowed - 2

So apart from a great interdental sandblast and a few dodgy half-caught, half-fluked-through-fear waves I'd say it was pretty much a disaster. But I will try again! Wearing suitable clothing and a gumshield.

So here I am, enjoying the lovely weather, generally taking it easy and being undeniably happy and smug about my lovely life.

Will write again when have done something very embarrassing and inappropriate (tomorrow).

That's all for now
JoJo xxx


Saturday 2 November 2013

The Treacherous Encounters of a Clumsy Runner





I have started running again in the last few months. I am not a very well co-ordinated human being. I often  run into trouble (badum-tsch). Below I will discuss some of these issues.

1) When you pass other runners, what is the done thing? I feel like I should wave, or at least acknowledge them. I tried smiling but it made me really out of breath. One time I accidentally breathed too hard out of my nose from trying to smile, whilst in the midst of a cold, and a bit of snot flew out.

2) There are SO many spiders on my route around Roath park. I'm not even bothered by spiders but having to fiercely rub my face every 20 seconds because I have run through a bit of stray web and it is so unbearably tickle-y really knocks me off pace. Also, spider webs are invisible, so to everyone I pass I just resemble a sweaty schizophrenic with a tic.

3) Although I don't mind spiders, I did not enjoy looking down to change a song on my i-pod to then look up and to actually nearly be eating a fucking huge eight legged friend and to be covered in sticky flies. I genuinely had a full blown web covering my face. Luckily there wasn't anybody about at this point but I could have actually done a poo in my pants with fear. I'm not going to squeal if I see you in the bathroom, but I don't want to fucking eat you and have your babies hatch inside me, causing me to be the focus of a new elephant-man-esque documentary on Channel 4. I cut my run short and had a crazy long shower incessantly scraping at my skin and hair.

4) When you are not a runner, or even if you are a runner but you are not running at that very moment, you forget the little things that can really piss someone in mid-stride off. My pet hate is brady-bunch type families who take up the entire pathway, gayly pushing some blonde twat on a tricycle around and carelessly casting bread to the swans, with not a care in the world. Meanwhile I am coming up behind them trying awkwardly to change my pace and waiting for a gap in the five person barricade across my route. Running around them wouldn't be a problem if we weren't already fully instated in the rainy period, but now the grass verges pose as a poor man's Total-Wipeout, but with nice warm water replaced by the swampy turd of a dozen animals.

5) When I go running, I plait my hair, wash my face and use my profound ugliness sans-make-up as a reason to go burn some calories. The amount of girls I see running in a full face of make-up staggers me. Do they not sweat? Do they not wipe their faces? Do they not run through webs like I? Do they assume people to look intently at their faces in search of a blemish as they whizz past them? More to the point, do they care what some hunchbacked, smelly, swan feeding cretin thinks of their face? I actually saw a girl running with false eyelashes on just this week, one flailing slightly in the face of the wind and rain. She looked like if Marilyn Manson and Chucky had forged a love child out of their butts.

6) Sprints. Good god sprints. I have been incorporating sprints into my runs as wise people tell me they help burn fat for longer. The sprints aren't the problem really, a good crescendo on my i-pod and I am Forest Gump with the world flying by in my peripheral vision, my cheeks wobbling in the wind. It is when that sprint is over and I realise how fucking tired I have made myself. I feel like I am having an aneurysm but know I still have six kilometers  to go. My legs slow to a pace in which I imagine slugs see me as no big competition in the race to the next tree. Then, by the time I have finally recovered, another sprint is mere seconds away. The injustices of life.

7) Wolf Whisling. This truly is beyond me. Anyone who has ever seen me exercise will tell you that I am a formidable looking beast in the act of exertion. My face goes unfathomably red, highlighting the inevitable lurking acne on my chin further. My thin hair clings to my neck and face in a sweaty clump and often my unfortunate hairline is laid bare for all to see. I have the look of a pained animal on my face, which in my head looks like heroic determination. Nobody in their right mind would wolf whistle me. But they do! They bloody do, the bastards! It makes no sense to me. Men have a strange assumption about women who exercise. Years of music videos and 90's gym scenes have led them to believe that they should be attracted to a woman running. How they have been misled. Also, it puts me off, I've run through many a sludgy puddle, water splashing up to my face, following the shocking disbelief on hearing a whistle of apparent appreciation from some spotty teenagers in a polo.

If you have any suggestions on how to remedy any of these issues I would be very grateful for your feedback. Maybe a comedy horn to toot to indicate that I need to get by? Maybe a little flag I can raise by pressing a button on my i-pod, which reads " hello fellow runner"? Maybe a plastic face shield to avoid web-face?  I could be a running Mr.Gadget.

I do actually enjoy running, and have, over the weeks seen great improvement in my tone and cardiovascular abilities. It gives me a sense of pride and achievement. So I will continue to run, regardless of the obstacle course it creates for a clumsy soul like myself. No matter how slowly you are going, you are still lapping the person on the couch.


That's all for now
Jojo xxx

Tuesday 8 October 2013

Feeling Like Hagrid in a Child's Swimming Costume

suspected reaction to mirror today


I am not someone who enjoys shopping. I am not someone who enjoys being among large groups of shuffling people all desperate to spend their hard earned cash on something that they will no longer like in 2 months time.

BUT. I do adore underwear. I love how it can make you feel, even if no-one else gets to see it.
So, this morning, I decided to brave the city in search of a beautiful lingerie set. I'm quite picky when it comes to underwear, I like subtle-sexy, not tacky-sexy, (bright pink/red and black is a combo I will never understand). It needs to be comfortable, flattering, supportive and make me want to walk to the shops in nothing but my kegs and a pair of heels.

I knew from the off that I wasn't going to bother even flirting with the idea of the flimsy Topshop bras that seem to be made of 30 year old hanky material, and that although Primark and Newlook may be affordable and have a great range, I wanted something that was going to last more than a month without the under-wiring stabbing into me with the vigour of a sado-masichistic dungeon.

So I was prepared to spend some money on a good, sexy bra that would stand the test of time. I went to several mid-range shops including Calvin Klein, Beaux Avenue and John Lewis, all of which were successful in making me feel like the disregarded, unloved lumpy pillow in the spare room.

I am not a big girl by any stretch of the imagination but it's really quite ridiculous the amount of pants that made me feel I had reached middle age over night. Things didn't sit in the right place, the pants always seemed to be either too high or too minimal - parts of my body showing that only my shower and my toilet should ever see. It really was a stressful activity. Especially with the inane "Was that set any good?" "Can I get you a different size?" ( A different size body? Oh yes that would be fabulous, and a completely different shape please as well if you've got it? This one just isn't doing it for me).

I have never felt so completely repulsed by myself as I have done today. What is it about changing rooms?! Is it because you pick something so perfectly delicate and beautiful off the shelf, and when placed on the canvas that is your body it looks like an ugly bit of 1980's architecture? Is it because I am a 32D  and the bra's simply weren't created with anything over an A cup in mind? Is it because I ate today?

I must have tried on 20 sets, all equally divine on the shop floor. I was sure I was going to feel that sexy, confident glow in each and every one of them, my biggest worry would be deciding which I would spend my money on. And when the first one made me look like a busty beer wench, I wasn't going to be deterred. The 4th set of pants, when worn on top of my own, made me look at least five times wobblier, the light and angle of the mirror focusing my eyes around my middle. It was okay, I thought, I WILL find the right set. After around the 15th set I walked out of a shop defeated, I think I even physically raised my head to the heavens in defeat. But I pulled myself together and went back in, determined to not lose this battle.

However, set 20 was the final straw - I nearly cried putting my tights back on for the 22nd time and left. Enough was enough. below is a list of the things underwear made me feel like today:

1) Middle Aged (I'm talking post 12 babies and with a biscuit addiction)
2) Rotund
3) Hagrid (why does everything look so tiny in comparison to me? I'm sure I have not had an Alice in Wonderland-type encounter and grown to 5 times my normal size)
4) Defeated
5) 1980's bad architecture
6) Unsexy
7) Confused at how I ever managed to purchase a single set of underwear ever before now.
8) Deluded (do I just have a very flattering mirror and a very blind boyfriend?)
9) Frustrated
10) Large
11) Worried

And I am sure that I have a better figure than lots of women out there, and I know that I think that lots of my friends that are bigger than me look beautiful in underwear, but today, today was a NIGHTMARE.

This is a post that talks about how sometimes, you just feel like shit. And tomorrow, I may wake up and feel like Rosie Huntington-Whitely. But today, just like everyone else does from time to time, I feel like shit.


Also I miss my boyfriend. WAHHHH.


That's all for now
JoJo
xxx



Thursday 3 October 2013

The Inevitable Goodbye


Last night I took my Manfriend to the airport. He is now in the air somewhere heading back to Australia. It's a strange feeling, that letting go of someone feeling. It made me feel anxious all day, my heart doing double time, then half time then triple time on an inconsistent  loop. It made me feel sick and uneasy and breathless.

I of course indulged in the cliche of being the teary girlfriend at the airport bidding farewell to her lover. I think I did it quite well, although refusing to let go may have been a bit much.
The physical act of  letting go of someone had the equal effect on my metaphorical brain. I felt something tear inside and it brought on the automatic desperation to try and hold it together, grasping at the sides of the fraying material in vain.
It was that feeling of helplessness that got me the most, the walking back to the car and knowing there was nothing to do but to accept the defeat of the air rushing into the now broken vacuum where once there was impermeable love and safety.

And I woke up today feeling out of place, feeling a bit wonky and unsettled. This feeling I'm sure will grow in time. I am in anticipation of missing someone, knowing that it's dark sticky residue is creeping round my bedroom door, slowly working it's way towards my toes that are sticking out of my bed, and will soon enough consume me entirely, so that it's heavy and hard to walk.

But it's not all doom and gloom, I am lucky enough to have the capacity to feel like this on letting someone go. I am lucky enough to have loved and be loved in return, in a way that is so reckless and risky. But not reckless or risky at all, because I had faith in it's safety and strength. So I'm winning really, in some backwards kind of way.

I moved up to Cardiff at the start of September and have got a nice little job in a bar with lovely colleagues and managers. In fact I am going out with them tonight on my self-named "Heartbreak Bender" which will be lovely. So for now I'm just going to keep saving my pennies and making new pals and missing my man.

That's all for now,
JoJo xxx

Saturday 31 August 2013

Paddling Into The Unknown


It seems that 22 is a bit of a learning curve. There's been a lot of goings on this year, both good and bad. There's been a lot of movements, and a lot of big decisions being made.

People are getting engaged, having babies and getting big jobs, Jesus - my big brother got married a few weeks a ago - WHAT THE SHIT?! I don't feel old enough to be witnessing this stuff.

My beautiful nephew
People all around me are making big grown-up choices, shifting their lives and the lives of those around them into new places and perspectives. I quite frankly was not prepared for being shifted in this manner, although I'm sure I will get used to my new positioning. I guess when everyone is growing up around you, it's hard to not hold onto the past. I guess when everyone is growing up around you it makes you realise you've been reluctant to do the same.

It's hard to come to terms with change sometimes, although we all know it is an inevitable and constant part of life. I guess I hadn't really stepped back and looked at it all before, but I've made some big decisions too.

I finally let go of something that had been lurking in my head for years and years, crowding and casting shadows on all of the the good things in there. Something that didn't let me see how happy I was without it, something that kept me pining over it and wanting it. It wasn't that I didn't want to let it go, I just couldn't.

But there isn't space for it in there anymore, it was pushed out by all the beautiful things I've been blessed to have in my life in recent times. And although I was in a kind of mourning for it at first, almost missing the pain it brought me, I can now see all those amazing things so much more clearly.

I've finally let my guard down when it comes to love. The fear of not having control has melted away. The nervousness that came with putting my heart in someone else's hands has become a downright willingness to pass it over. Where I was always apprehensive, I now have a confidence that staggers me. I'm even bloody going to Australia just to keep a hold of it. I'm currently in the process of filling out my years visa and buying my flight out to Sydney to be with my Manfriend, which is a somewhat surreal experience. For the girl who wouldn't consider planning even two months ahead when it came to love, it's a pretty big deal.

So here I am, paddling into the unknown, putting my faith in something invisible and hoping it works out, kind of knowing it will work out.

And so, maybe 22 is a learning curve, maybe it's a scary grown-up time, but maybe it's pretty fucking cool too.

At my Brother's wedding



Saturday 10 August 2013

Tired of Tourists - The Customer Service Downturn

It's getting to that part of the Summer season here in Pembrokeshire. We've past those dull June days full of unfulfilled expectancy, we have boldly embraced those first busy weeks in July with un-repellable gleeful-helpfulness. However, it is now getting to the middle of August and all of us who work within the tourism trade are now undeniably murderous. The sight of the first customer in the morning fills us with a dark and devious hatred. Even the bubbliest of personalities has become dry and cynical.

I don't understand how so many rude people came to be in this world. Or how they came to reproduce, making more potent mini-models of themselves. 'Please' and 'Thank You' is a basic, am I right? (I am right). If one more person whines about car parking I'll take it upon myself to ensure that their vehicle is no longer road worthy.

And with every person who asks me exactly how many fish they will catch, ignoring my insistence that I cannot predict the amount of fish in the sea, I sharpen my gutting knife a little more. The look of an enraged rhino shining in my eyes.

Customer service in Pembrokeshire reaches an all time low in this mid-season slump, as cashiers, sales assistants and waitresses the county over start counting down the days until all these remarkably irritating turds fuck off back home.

The cracks are starting to show on the other side too.  Previously Brady-bunch-esque families, who have come to the coast for a gloriously idyllic four week holiday together, are now visibly irritable, snapping at each other and refusing to share ice-cream.

Tourists are always coming on the boat saying how lucky we are to live here. We are, we are really privileged to live alongside this powerful and beautiful sea, to be nestled into the acres of green grass and tree's, and to have the sand beneath our feet in a matter of minutes, should the fancy take us. But the sad part is that, in those rare, warm and sunny moments, we have to share that beauty with gobby, littering brats and mouthy mums in swimming costumes two sizes too small for them. The beach becomes a seasons worth of Jeremy Kyle characters.
Or, even worse, we have to work through it. I'm lucky enough to be working outside, but for most of the locals here, the summer sun  is just a glare through the shop window, and the beach just a walk in the evening.

Myself and other locals on one of the many beach cleans that take place over the year


There's something not right there. The locals, who endure the wind, the rain (and there IS wind and rain, trust me) and the painfully slow nine months of the year, then have to be trapped inside for the three vaguely warmer months, ensuring that those (who probably come from much drier areas, where there is shit to do all year round) who are visiting have the most enjoyable stay possible.

What kind of buggering injustice is that?! WHO MAKES THE RULES HERE? I will not stand for it a year longer. So I'm going to Australia with my Manfriend. Ssssseeeeeeyyyaaaa!

In other, much more exciting news:

My Brother is getting married tomorrow! TOMORROW! It's very exciting and is going to be a really happy day, with lots of champagne one hopes. I love him dearly and am wholly proud (if not surprised) of the man he has become. Big love.

That's all for now


Jojo 







Thursday 27 June 2013

My Cornish Love Affair

Having spent a week away from the shire, I have returned with a renewed perspective and that lovely bubble of excitement that comes with having discovered somewhere that you instantly fall in love, and feel at home with.

My Manfriend and I arrived in St.Merryn, Cornwall, on Friday at about midday following a 4am start in Tenby. The sun was out and the coast was beckoning.  We went for a surf, me at Treyarnon, a smaller kook-friendly cove and Manfriend at Constantine, where the waves were breaking above slabs of rocks on high tide. It was so nice to be in the water somewhere different, especially where it's a fair few degrees warmer and a hell of a lot clearer. I felt instantly content, catching fun little waves with a few friendly locals and watching the light slowly dim in the warm horizon.



We stayed in a campsite that is really pushing its luck calling itself a campsite. I mean really. Hagrid would not have looked out of place here. In fact there was a man that looked decidedly like a three way cross between a wizard, Hagrid and Father Christmas. Still, that didn't bother me. Something about those rugged, 'roughing-it' places appeal to me largely.

Meeting a young couple who have run away to live in some overgrown field together, and who are so blissfully happy that it is almost visibly seeping and spilling out of them, made me really think about the beautiful synergy of love and simplicity. It's a no brainer really, isn't it?

It's all the extra bits that make love complicated. It's the past and the future and the circumstances that make it hard. It's never the love itself. Love is far too pure to ever infect something. It's the poison of external factors that cause the pain.

This week away made me a mix of contentment and melancholy - a kind of reminiscent drizzle of warmth, mixed with a little regret that it was only a passing experience. But meeting a couple who have come through hard times made me realise how relationships, platonic or romantic, have this incredible ability to bounce back. To hit somewhere dark and cold and hard, and then ricochet back up into the sunlight and the warmth with startling speed.

My best friend Biki and I often argue, in our own little secret code of jibes and subtle mood changes. We get sick to death of each other and each have traits that infuriate the other to the point of wanting to slap each other across the face. But it's normally after we have reached that climax of irritation that our friendship peaks again.

I think this happens in all relationships and friendships, you are so completely blinded by the blurry, dusty frustrations of minor details and little niggles that you can't see what's in front of you. Then, when you get to the top of that mountain, you get a glimpse above those clouds and you see that person's love and kindness, their hilarity, humility and endearing qualities. You knew they were there, but they haven't looked quite so striking in a while. That's when you realise that if you let this person slip out of your life, your view wont be half as beautiful. So, as it's falling down the mountain, building speed with every rotation, you swoop down with all of your energy to catch it, to hold it and to keep it safe. Because you remember how perfect it is after all.

Tryeyarnon Bay
 After five days in beautiful Cornwall, having met some of my Manfriends lovely pals, drinking far too much Cornish Rattler cider, and catching up with the gorgeous Esme from Newquay, I feel a great and unexpected sense of disappointment to be home. Not to be in this house as such, but to be back in the area. That old shadow and heaviness has returned, the one I used to get when I was in college, when I felt like there was so much more, but that I couldn't quite reach it yet. I'm starting to feel suffocated here. It's time for me to move on soon I think. But that's okay, exciting plans are in place.

For the time being I am extremely grateful for my beautiful Mother, who loves me endlessly, unconditionally and relentlessly, she is a good pal of mine and I am so grateful for all that she does. I am grateful for my incredible friends and of course for my gorgeous Manfriend, who still makes me crumble at the sight of him on the regs.

St. Merryn, I will be back. You've got a little piece of me already.

That's all for now


Jojo xxx


Friday 24 May 2013

Accidental Nudism




The last couple of weeks have seemed to slip right past me. It's very nearly June, and the weather is glorious! I haven't taken my flip flops off and my bikini has nearly lost all its colour already. NAAAT.

Bloody Nora it's grim here in our little corner of the British Isles. 25 mile per hour winds and intermittent showers is not what I want when I have just left my job in a warm, clean office to go on a smelly boat to gut fish seven days a week.

In other news I publicly revealed myself last week. No it was not some feminist protest, it was not a moment of impulsive exhibitionism, it was not even a mating call. It was, in fact, a regretful accident.

It all began with a rather optimistic morning, following a possibly misleading number on my weighing scales (I say it was misleading because I hadn't eaten anything yet and had had a poo not long before).

I smiled and cooed with glee at the numbers between my toes and decided that I was one hot mama, skinnier than an Olsen twin with food poisoning. I strutted to my bedroom (ignoring the slight jiggle in my tushy) and flung my wardrobe doors open with reckless, joyous abandon. I didn't have to pause for a second to consider the glorious item I was to pluck from it, but I pretended to my invisible audience that it was just another morning, no different to any other.

My beautiful, navy, size six, high waisted pencil skirt smiled at me on its hanger and I hastily grabbed some underwear before sucking in and zipping up. It was tight, I'll admit that, but come on! It's size six. For a girl with a reasonable bra size, a six is never really going to allow for silly things like breathing.

I gazed adoringly at my reflection, the tightness of it was even holding me in a little more. I slipped on my heels, waddled down my stairs with restricted movement and climbed into my car. I headed off for my visit to Tenby Museum for a PR meeting. I managed to find a free parking space in town (winning), got my bag together and stepped out of the car.

I felt it first when my second leg was coming out of the car, I felt it again a second time when I walked away from the car. I suppose I fully acknowledged that rippling, tearing sound a little too late. By too late I mean that the back of my skirt had ripped from midway down my calf to above my tummy, also taking the waistband in its trail of devastation, before falling onto the concrete below.

I was stood in the middle of Tenby in a shirt and my greying cotton pants.

I looked down at my skirt on the road, gathered around my shoes and blowing slightly in the wind. Fear swirled around me like a hot syrupy blanket. I grabbed the material from the floor and ran with it back to my car (only a few paces, but what seemed like a mile) and fumbled desperately in my bag for my keys, opened the car and threw myself in, shutting the door behind me.

I swore with shock at the steering wheel, and then laughed hysterically before realising that I was already late for my meeting and driving home to get changed.

I'm sure someone must have seen me, but thankfully I sped away fast enough to hear any guffaws. So there you go, a sneak preview into the life of a glamorous Public Relations officer.

It's bank holiday! Hooray! I have £5 in my bank and don't get paid until next week! Poooo!
A quiet weekend of pumicing my feet and doing my hand washing it is.

That's all for now, 
Jojo 
xxx



Friday 3 May 2013

Let The Madness Begin Again


It's May, we've had three sunny day's, and I've handed my notice in at my two jobs in public relations, in order to get covered in fish guts on the boats again this summer.

I did try to be career-conscious for a while there, but I couldn't resist the temptation of that bobbing island of Summer sun and camaraderie that is The Four Brothers fishing boat on Saundersfoot harbour.

There's loads of time to be a career woman. I have opportunities not to be missed at this time in my life. I'm twenty two, with oodles of aspirations but no hurry to be ambitious about them yet. I've met a nice man who happens to live in one of the most glorious places on this earth and I'd be an absolute spanner not to make the most of it.

So that's that, my stint at offices and business jargon, bum licking and irritating colleagues, excel and press releases is, for now anyway, over. It's bloody brilliant.
I have to be fair here and say that I was extremely lucky in that I had two really lovely bosses who were supportive, attentive and most importantly, understanding of my decision to leave.

The summer is drawing near with opportunity in the passenger seat. It leaves me with an anxious-excited cocktail in my stomach. It makes me look at myself and think:  "shit! you're doing this you crazy bitch".

I've made progress in myself - I've become less fiercely independent and more comfortable with handing either the map or the steering wheel over to someone else.
Not that it doesn't come with the obligatory panic and self questioning, but I think if you hand your little heart over to someone, it's always going to bring that element of pant-soiling fear with it.

I'm so looking forward to being on the boat everyday, soaking up the sun and watching the seals and porpoise make their appearances in the water below.
I'm less looking forward to long hours, shit pay, stinking of fish - which is by the way,  incredibly hard to get rid of for when I want to switch from stinky fisher-woman to sexy, sultry girlfriend-goddess-, mentally challenged tourists and their spawn, my skippers repetitive jokes, the general chaos and the obligatory hooks in arms, legs, breasts and cheeks from some little twat lurching his fishing-rod around in fear when a fish hooks on (THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE COME FISHING YOU ABOMINABLE LITTLE TURD).

I vow to this year not take on the fishermans curse of spending all day flogging my guts out for my percentage only to spunk it up the wall on drinks that evening. I will save like a good girl.
This year should be a little easier as I went out most nights last year in order to increase my chances of "bumping into" the man I was interested in. It paid off mind, he fell down a flight of concrete steps and was easily lure-able. Carrying a dead weight up the beach to my den was pretty hard work though.

This summer I will work and work and save and save and surf and surf and maybe have a few cheeky beers to reward myself for all my hard work.

And after all that's done I'll be off. This county is beautiful, but my god it can be suffocating. It often feels like treading water here: a sense of panic and self awareness, relentlessly making you kick your little legs faster in order to avoid drowning in its cliques and subtle confrontations.

That's all for now
Jojo xxx








Friday 12 April 2013

I'm a Big, Big Girl In a Big, Big World - And I'm Shitting My Pants.


Decisions - Sometimes they are easy to make, a flippant side-thought that interrupts your newspaper or afternoon daydreams.
Other times they are a lot harder to figure out. Especially when it comes down to you knowing what you want.

These types of decisions can really eat you up inside, churning around in your stomach and your head, pulling at loose fibres of doubt and worry as they go, collecting together and becoming a much bigger beast than you initially suspected them to be. Outsiders may see your decision as straightforward or obvious, but to you it can be a colossal web of dependencies and variables.

I can be my own worst enemy when it comes to these sorts of decisions - the ones that are big but should be fairly simple- my brain works at double speed at the best of times, add a decision and you can at least triple that. I end up looking so far inside my mind that I can't see anything any more, just fuzz.

I am currently faced with a few big decisions. People would suggest I do what makes me happy, but that is ignorance at it's pinnacle. There are always external factors to consider: family, friends and career being just a few. If you fail to consider these factors then you are a selfish, morally bankrupt human being and deserve to be alone and unloved.

I had some advice yesterday, which was to think about the decision for a minute, then forget about it and let my conciousness do the work. I'm finding it hard though - I'm feeling the pressure and weight of it on my back, the niggling scratch of it on my mind and the pressure on the delicate glass of my heart.

I have made decisions in my life that I thought were astronomically important, but these seem to shrink them down to the size of quails eggs in comparison. Maybe I'm magnifying it beyond what is necessary.
I guess I'm very aware of how much of myself I am putting in the line up : my heart, my pride, my glorious naivety to "world-crashing-down-around-me" type feelings. I'm also aware of who else will feel the repercussions of my decisions. That's probably the half of it.

But maybe this is all part of life's cycle, maybe this is a right of passage of becoming a grown-up.

I've never been a scaredy-cat. Never once. But I feel like one right now.

That's all for now, JoJo xxx







Sunday 24 March 2013

Kegging Strangers and Crab Dancing



I ventured out into the abyss that is Tenby on a Saturday night last night, with my compardre Becklesworth. I'd had such a shitty week in work and I just didn't want to leave my bed. BUT! I got my act together and got into the spirit of weekend celebration.

And I wasn't disappointed.
Sophisticated Intentions

The evening consisted of screaming laughter, moonwalking, stealing sunglasses (resulting in virtual blindness), jager bombs, press-ups and a LOT of crab dancing(darting back and for sideways, whilst making pincer shapes with hands - a new personal favourite).

I also managed to keg a complete stranger on my way to the loo.
I was on my own walking to the toilets to relieve myself, when my legs decided to cease to work completely.I felt myself falling so grabbed onto the closest thing around me, which turned out to be a man. Well, a man's trousers. As I fell I pulled on the trousers and brought them down with me as I sideways face-planted the sticky carpet.
Needless to say I soon realised that I had stripped a complete stranger down to his hairy bollocks in the middle of the Sands. He scrabbled to keep his boxers up whilst I got an up-the-skirt type view of his undercarriage. Having ventured off the dancefloor alone, I had no one to cry with laughter with about the whole debacle. I gave a short, awkward shout-laugh and got up and out of the way in record speed.

I scurried, un-gracefully, in through the front door at about half three and made the most perfect poached egg I've ever experienced. I also tried to eat it lying down in bed, resulting in a yolky, crusty mess of eyebrows this morning. Never mind, I tried.

Creepy Crabby
My entire body aches, I feel as though I've fought seven ninjas consecutively, whilst wearing ankle weights and chain mail.
I gagged, quite frankly, an embarrassing amount of times whilst brushing my teeth, and my bowels have been on a planet of their own, making me reminiscent of a victim of norovirus and swine-flu combined (sorry).


There were good men out last night - in that they weren't creeping all over the place on the whole.
Everyone seemed to be out to act like plebs and have a giggle with their pals, which resulted in a very pleasant evening for girls in relationships throughout the club.

There's nothing worse than a creep lurking around you with "come to bed eyes" resembling that of a mass murderer with a penchant for chloroform and clingfilm.

Although today was a write off (and my boyfriend may dump me on the basis that I've gone into details about my bowel movements on the internet), I had a bloody good night, and was reminded that Pembs has some true characters that you just can't find elsewhere.


Cheeeeers Beyyyyys.

That's all for now, Jojo xxx











Sunday 3 March 2013

Signs of Life


I'm glad Spring seems to be making an appearance. I feel we've all been waiting an exponentially long time for it to show up. But still, better late than never. Winter has been so punishing - probably because it's been the first winter I've spent in Pembrokeshire for three years. One season seems to have consumed about nine months, time seems to have slowed and turned to stalactites, not budging an inch.

But now there is a hint of something really lovely in the air. Today was bright and fresh and warm in the sun (but bloody Baltic everywhere else), the sky was blue and there were people, yes people, around. Real life human beings, also out doing things in the world. The deafening silence of Tenby seemed so far away - it's unusual to find much more than an 80 year old, pissing through the gap in the bar stool  in a pub here, let alone anyone wandering the outdoors.

My Manfriend and I went to Bosherston Lily Ponds today, partly to celebrate me finally being able to drive again and partly to get out of our surrounding area. The walk to Broadhaven was lively and serene at the same time. The calm, clear water of the lily ponds contrasting with children running along the narrow, root-ingrained, paths.

Just one day of sunlight has cheered me up endlessly. It's the kind of weather that makes you realise you were sad before, but you never even noticed. It makes you realise you've become so accustomed to the lingering unsettledness  in your life that you've started to regard it as normality.

Today made me think of the months to come, the warming up period before the Summer, the few cheeky sunbathing days in March and April and the words "bikini body" slowly seeping into women's conciousness across the country. The Spring/Summer collections will be nudging their way into high street shops.


Spring is the beginning of so many things: the daffodil, the lambs, the storing away of the ugg boots, low carb diets, long walks on the beach, bikini shopping ( it takes at least three months to decide on the bikini that I will wear for the entire Summer), pedicures, spring cleaning, bikini waxes, summer wetsuits and mid year makeovers.

I personally cannot wait for there to be daylight for more than eight hours a day, to not have to store a big fluffy jumper in the office for when I first get in, to wear sunglasses and ditch the bulky coats. It makes me feel positive and happy and grateful. It makes me remember that there are good times to come, with really good people.

In the last year I've lost contact with two really important people in my life, and no amount of sunshine will make that pain subside, but it will serve as a reminder of all the amazing people I still have around me, covering me in love and kindness and trust. I am a very lucky girl indeed.

Bring on the Summer sun!



Sunday 27 January 2013

Bloody Hell - I'm a Grown Up


Bloody hell, I'm turning 22 next weekend. Being 22 is a very boring age I imagine. 21 is supposed to be the wild year, the last of your youth. I spent most of mine being too poor to do anything, but also spent a lot of time on or in the sea, so swings and roundabouts I suppose.
Being 22 has connotations of getting a grip on your life, of putting a solid plan into place. The only thing with making plans, I've found, is that they have a way of jinxing you. You can be sure that just as soon as you've made a great plan, something or someone will come along to throw it off course a bit.

I suppose that is true to my 'plan'. I've been trying to save to go away travelling, but money has seriously been playing for the other team. My van broke so many times in the last year that I have downright given up on it, it sits on my drive like a little blue turd, reminding me of the freedom it could offer me. But NO, just like you should when you think about getting back with an ex, I must remember the stress it caused me, the ill treatment and the inconvenience it brought to my life. I am positively better off without it. But it is so cute....

I now am finding myself having to compromise with my dream year away, swapping time in a more expensive area (such as south America) for more time in a cheaper area (such as India). This is definitely not the end of the world, for all I know it will all work out perfectly. But I planned it all so well. I gave myself so much time. And still it all seems to be crumbling away, with me scrambling at the bottom, helplessly trying to hold it all together, catching bits of rubble and getting dust in my eyes.

I was about to give up on plans all together, but then I thought of a world without plans. I imagine that without plans, a lot of us would accidentally dwindle away our time and one day wake up, wishing we had done so much more.

The thing is, sometimes the distractions from the the plan are a little too appealing. Are a little too easy to snuggle up with for a minute. And sometimes you are the distraction from someone else's plan, and all that you want is for them to put it off just a bit longer.

I always imagined that when I was in my twenties, I would have it all figured out, be living in some exotic country, writing or doing something outdoorsy - blissfully happy and alive. After uni I found my self severely knocked back with reality. I'd always believed that if you wanted something enough you could get it, you could do it or you could be it. Uni taught me a lot about that not being true. About reaching capacity. I learnt that I am not spectacular in one thing, but alright at a few things. That I didn't have the drive or ability to be a first class honours student. Post uni I've realised that no matter how big my will, I cannot create jobs and money and opportunities, I can merely give the whole thing my best shot.

I feel like I've been running with my eyes closed over a deadly assault course, having no expertise on the challenge, more just hoping for the best. I've definitely landed in the lava or fallen off the tight rope a few times, and I think that has thrown me back a bit. It sucks a bit of life out of you.

But there are some positives! I am going to be 22, with a good grade in a good degree, with great friends and family, a boyfriend that is as weird as me, a job (finally) and a plan that WILL eventually come to fruition. Wouldn't mind a lottery win though.

This year I pledge to work bloody hard, be bloody nice and snog bloody lots.

Samsara is Nirvana

That's all for now

Jojo xxx