The tale of two half-lives

I arrived in Sydney reeking of heartbreak and hopelessness. I was hurting, I needed to feel good about myself, and I thought Australia could give it to me. My impromptu trip to my second 'home' here on the Northern Beaches was an attempt to mend a broken heart, and in some ways it has done that. Time to myself, away from the everyday pressures of life, has given me time to process and come to terms with the loss of someone that my heart was desperately holding on to.

But despite the cathartic closure I have found, there still remains a niggling unsettledness in me and my time here. I couldn't put my finger on it for a while, but now I understand. For the past four years I have made my way to Australia, each year saving all my money and pining for the life I have made here.  For four years I have yearned and wished and clawed at Australia. But in those years, in trying to be here and too in being here, my life has remained static. I have travelled all these miles, year after year, and yet I have been standing still. And that is no way to live a life.

Actively avoiding romance and consciously being closed to non-Australian love, in order to avoid complications, has left me colder and harder than I have ever been. It's made me even more cynical, even more indignant and even more stubborn. And deep down I know what we all know: that everyone on this earth just wants to be loved. That I want to be loved too. In willfully thrusting myself into this sticky limbo-life, I have been keeping it out. What a ridiculous trade off to make.

I have been closing the door on love, in order to try and open a door to a life in Australia. But when that door to Australia opens, and I really, really look at it, I find that the room is empty - it has nothing to offer me. And so I am left with neither. Standing in a corridor of doors that won't open, all alone.

I'm not sure what I was looking for here. Maybe it was just something different to my life in the UK, maybe it was the idea of being on the other side of the world. Maybe it was an escape from the fact that I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, so pining after a country was easier than admitting I didn't have a fucking clue what to do next. Whatever the reason was, there is nothing left for me here.

I have never felt truly at home in the UK, and coming to terms with the fact that my home isn't in Australia either is scary. But it's better to know and be able to keep searching, than to accept a life that I don't truly love.

So now the time has come to move on, to close a chapter that has pretty much ruled my life since 2013, to accept that I can't find something that isn't there. The friends and memories I have made here are beautiful beyond words, and thinking about leaving this place behind breaks my heart, but Australia doesn't have what I need.

I cannot go on living two half lives, for two half lives do not make me whole.

And whilst I am truly sad to walk away from this part of my life, I am filled with excitement for the adventures that await in my search for 'home'.

JoJo

x

Seeing The Funny Side

Yesterday marked seven months since my accident, and although it sucks most of the time, there's also those moments when I can't help but laugh at the desperate hopelessness of everyday situations. Here are ten observations that have forced me to see the funny side.


1. Bathing - You can't shower in a boot because you aren't allowed to get them wet, and even if you were they are so chunky that you become about six inches off balance which would no doubt end in disaster in a small and slippery space. So I take baths. The first problem with this is actually getting in said bath with only one leg. I have now mastered the one-leg tricep-dip immersion technique (I have nearly drowned several times as my hands slipped on the wet sides of the bath, my dry leg acting as a weight above me, keeping me under, but I live to tell the tale). So once I've clumsily lowered myself into the bath and nearly drowned, I look around me for, say, the shampoo. The shampoo, which of course, is on the top shelf of the storage rack. I can't reach for it because my dry leg is wedged against the wall, stopping me from being able to move forward. So, out I come again, dripping wet, naked, on one foot standing up and reaching for the shampoo that seems just out of arms reach, the whole time my good leg threatening to slip beneath my unbalanced weight. I successfully retrieve the shampoo and go about my bathing business.

Getting out is much easier - I just have to push up on the sides of the bath, whilst simultaneously bringing my wet leg out and balancing on the side with my dry leg in the air to avoid weight bearing. Then I just try not to fall back in whilst standing up,try and get to the towel before all the water drips into my bandages and make a weird naked crutch race to my room, where I can begin the sweaty chaos of getting dressed with one elephant sized leg, which is conveniently just a liiiitle too big to get any of my clothes over.

2. Carrying Things - If having crutches has any perks, it's that you can't carry food, and therefore are forced into a diet. I make a cup of tea, realise that I can't carry it and sit on the kitchen floor irritably sipping amongst the crumbs and the smooshed peas of the cold tiles. I once tried to push the mug across the floor with gentle taps of my crutch, inspired by the great curling athletes of our time, but the tiles are uneven and my crutch is unsteady and I got about ten inches from my destination when it tipped over and stained the edge of the carpet.
I have become extremely good at fitting objects into pockets, bras, the boot and my gob, to enable me to move items from room to room. I tried carrying a shoulder bag but it just swung around perpetually hitting either me or the crutch and was very, very annoying.

3.The time I was at a potential suitor's house and as I was coming out of the toilet and into a room full of people, my crutch slipped on the water dripping from my washed hands and I fell over. Properly. I wont elaborate on this, it's too painful to recall. Lets just say it's hard to get back up off the floor with crutches.

4. Watching a spider climb into my bandages and not being able to reach around to try and stop it due to lack of ankle movement. Feeling a paranoid tickling feeling in different areas of my foot, (including my healing wound) for hours later. Having thoughts of a million baby spiders hatching inside my wound and pooping in my blood. Update: spider has still not re-emerged.

5. Feeling that, although the crutches minimise food intake, I might get incredibly fat just lying/sitting around all day, and envisioning my future in a documentary in which they have to cut me out of my chair and use a crane to lift me out of my house due to extreme obesity.

6. Getting Drunk - Having nothing to do means getting drunk is a more frequent activity. Not super drunk - just tipsy enough to find things amusing. This is fine when done from the safety of my own (Mother's) home, but if I am taken on an outing that requires using my crutches after a few drinks, I am extremely unsteady. Luckily, no one imagines me to be drunk at midday on a Tuesday so, people assume I'm wobbly because of my injury, and not because I drank three double gin and tonics on an empty stomach and am now navigating my way back to the table with extra bad balance and battling through my own version of  The Beach montage, in which Leo is off his tits running through the jungle.

7. Dropping Things - If I drop something, or knock something off a counter, it's gone forever. I have found peace with the loss of many hairbands, snacks, coins. The risk of death whilst trying to balance and squat my way down to the floor is far too high. Now I just whisper "goodbye my friend, thanks for the memories" and move on with my life.

8. Social Life - My friends in Cardiff had already nicknamed me 'The Lone Wolf' for my flakiness and tendency to go off the grid for weeks at a time. But now I think they all suspect me dead. It's really hard to get about when you can't drive but also don't live in walking distance to public transport. "Have a drink for me" and "I'll catch you next time" are now saved templates in my messaging. Add to that the minimal phone signal at my house and I may as well be a myth. I will return to the real world next year, go on without me and await the Joey re-birth in 2017.

9. Dating - When your Tinder profile sells you as an active, enthusiastic outdoorsy type but in reality you can't walk, things get a bit awkward. Especially when a sit down date, looking at each other and eating is the most alien thing in the world to you. This results in me dribbling sauce on my chin and talking absolute shite nervously for an hour before awkwardly crutching off to the toilet and swearing under my breath at my complete, incomprehensible idiocy for thinking I could pull off a date in this state.

10. Jobs - Since I am apparently fit to work and therefore receive no disability benefits, I have pretty much been unemployed for seven months. I have applied for, and been offered no less than four jobs, all of which I have ultimately had to turn down because I have been told I need more surgery, or am unable to drive, or am too full of chemicals to be trusted in a work environment. Which leads me onto money. Oh money, I remember you, bits of paper and shiny coins deeming me able or unable to participate in the outside world, depending on that little minus sign on my bank app. I have become extremely thrifty in these trying times. I recently made bunting out of one of my dresses as a gift to a friend, because being naked seemed far more feasible thing than actually buying a present. I've lost all previous inhibitions about asking for more hot water for my pot of tea when I'm out. I am now getting pretty good at eating an entire meal stealthily out of my handbag when 'going out for lunch' -what's a bit of indigestion if I am able to save seven precious pounds? I'm about thirty more pounds into my overdraft from just lurking around cash points and hoping someone forgets to take their cash. Of course I'd have to shout after them for the sake of my crushing conscience, but hey, they might lob 2p at me in thanks/disgust.

Yes, it's been a bit shit, but seeing the funny side of it certainly helps. And other people having a laugh at my expense is somehow more comforting than sympathy. So big thanks to; Nia and Tess, who find me a constant source of comedy, Mum who nearly pissed herself when I dropped an entire bag of frozen peas on the floor and then nearly fell over them, Dad who calls a cripple and gives me a paralysing leg squeeze at every opportunity, and my nephew who calls me Jo-bot and tries to get me to chase him, all the time cackling at my pathetic inability to keep up. You all rock.

I will also take this opportunity to acknowledge a man who I once witnessed running, yes RUNNING on crutches. James Kitto, you are an inspiration to us all.

Out of the Darkness

Last night I didn't dream of falling, which is kind of a bloody big deal. I did, however, dream of being in a female insane asylum, where some lady's multiple personality actually turned into another person, its skinny body formed on her bottom bunk with lank hair and emaciated skin. But swings and roundabouts - I guess there's still some dark stuff lurking in there.

When I wrote my last post, I found myself at what is sometimes referred to as 'the bottom'. The overwhelming feeling of being alone was suffocating. Luckily for me I have some beautiful humans in my life, who rolled their sleeves up, pulled their hair back and dove head-first into the thick, bitter, syrupy darkness I was sinking in, and helped me to swim to the surface, all the time showing me  that the 'me' I thought was gone, had simply got a little lost. The boot is now off and I've been told to apply a little weight through the foot, with about another month to go before I'll be walking. The end is still a little way off, but knowing this is the last leg of the race is very encouraging. 

Looking forward, I will be moving JoJo Goes Public to a snazzy new website with all my old posts on as well as new ones, so keep an eye out that. I will also be working from home, writing blogs and other copy for small businesses, whilst laying the foundations for my dream job as an outdoor activity instructor - something that I was once told to forget after the accident, but am now reassured I can still achieve (with a bit of patience and hard work getting my foot back to normal). So, things are suddenly a lot less dreary than they seemed not so long ago. It's amazing what a few encouraging words and a change in perspective can do. 

So, this is just a short post to say thank-you to everyone who sent nice messages or called or wrote me a letter or sent a card. It was pretty special to receive such a supportive response for what could have seemed a very self-indulgent post. It was really reassuring to know how many people had felt exactly the same way, and how they had come out on the sunnier side of it.

Thank you to my wonderful friends who understood my crazy, desperate mood was my way of communicating that I felt lost and alone, and for not just ignoring it because it might have been an uncomfortable beast to square up to. Thanks for knowing how much I hate to admit I'm struggling, and how far down I had sunk to write a whole bloody blog post about it. Thanks for understanding that I have once again left my heart in Australia, and how much harder this injury has been because of that.

The roller-coaster of the last two months is not one I want to ride again, but it is no doubt a testament to all the incredible people I have around me, holding me up when my wonky foot can't.

I'm looking forward to a year of regaining my strength and working towards a happy and fulfilling future, as well as attempting to repay all the kindness shown to me in this strange and challenging time.

JoJo 

x 

The Tears Begin

It's a warm but overcast morning here in Manly, Australia. I've just waddled back from an early coffee date with my beautiful friend, Ellie, and I find myself with those tickly tears in the backs of my eyes. Waiting in the wings.

It's nine days until I leave for home, you see. It's a terrifying feeling, this one. I've built a life here now - with friends who understand the new version of my self, who have seen me shift and move and transcend into my current state.
When I get home no-one will have this context. Maybe no-one will quite understand it, or me, or us any more.

How am I supposed to fit back into my old life? I'm not the same shape that I was. Shit, I'm not even in the same bloody puzzle.

The last few months have been a truly special time for me. I have explored a bit of this beautiful country. I have laughed until it hurt, almost everyday. I've moved to a busier, more exciting part of town and have been lucky enough to be surrounded by incredible people, who have offered me love and friendship, regardless of my ever-looming expiry date here.

I have found myself in friendships that I genuinely believe will last a lifetime. With people who I feel I was destined to meet. People who have supported me and helped me to heal. Never failing to love me or to offer me a bed for the night when things have been hard.
But more than that. People who see the real me - past the 'I'm okay, everything is fine' pretences. Beyond the self depreciative digs and the distraction techniques. People who have the ability look into my soul, to see all my secrets when they look into my eyes. And when I know that they're onto me, I instantly start to heal.

I know that when I get home everything will be fine. Everything will shuffle and slide back into place eventually. But maybe that's what I'm scared of - returning to the life I left. To feeling cramped and lost and uncertain. To feeling like the world was just going to swallow me up without even leaving a mark.

I want to do something good. I want to leave evidence of my existence. I don't want to feel my fate is to be only vaguely successful. I want to grow in my writing, I want to explore and expose myself to things that can enrich me and inspire me.
I know it's down to me, and that hard work is what leads to such successes, but I often felt I was being washed beneath the waves of the world in the UK. Like London's fiery snarl and Wales' drowning stillness would quietly extinguish me and all my hopes and aspirations.

When I graduated I sat in a hotel room with some of my best friends and we played a game. Someone asks a question - for example - 'who is most likely to become famous?' and then everyone closes their eyes and points at the person they think matches the criteria. Then everyone opens their eyes and you all laugh and it's just great to be alive, isn't it?

We are playing this game and someone says  'who do you think will be the least successful?' (which, to be honest, I was kind of horrified at. Bit of a mood killer don't you think?). So I closed my eyes and pointed to myself. I opened them to see everyone else had pointed at me too.

I laughed it off, but I wanted to cry. Graduation was supposed to be the best day of my life. I'd worked so hard to get there, and now here were all my friends, expecting me to fail. Those people were, and still are, incredible friends to me and I know that there was no malice in their actions, it was just an unfortunate situation. But I think I lost a lot of confidence in that moment. I think I became instantly terrified to fail. And still am. I still wish no-one had asked that sharp question and I still desperately wish I had opened my eyes to a different scenario.

But maybe that confidence will come back in time. Maybe I'll become confident in my writing and my abilities to succeed. Maybe I'll be brave enough to take a risk and maybe that will pay off. Maybe.

Australia has not been the best year of my life. In fact, there have been some very dark times here for me. Times that made me wonder if I'd ever really be happy again. Times that have changed me forever. But it has seen me grow and evolve and toughen up. It's seen me become more independent and resistant. It's seen me learn what it is to 'bounce back', and that, really, there's no 'bouncing' involved - it's more like dragging the limp weight of your body up a cliff.

However, Australia has also brought me love and friendship and adventure. It's brought me excitement and light and happiness. I guess it's brought me exactly what I needed. And I will never forget the kindness of others I have experienced here. It literally takes my breath away to think how god damn lucky I have been to encounter the people I have. I will be eternally grateful to them.

I am sincerely heartbroken to leave, but so grateful that I ever got to  be here.

And the next chapter begins.

All for now,

JoJo 

x

What I Left Behind

It has been over four months since I left the UK. That is quite hard to believe when I say it out loud.

It seems like time has kind of frozen - that if I returned home right now, everything would be as I left it.
I imagine my handsome Dad in the kitchen of his flat in Roath making a beef stew, secretly nibbling on biscuits as the rain throws itself with reckless abandon at the windows.
I imagine my beautiful Mum at the breakfast bar of her house in Tenby, talking to me whilst I pour my cereal or drop tea bags into mugs.
I imagine my nephew staring into my eyes, his own like saucers of never ending love and innocence, his podgy hands and arms held up to me, with a smile spreading across his perfect cheeks.

But the reality is quite different. By the time I get home things will have changed. They already have changed, and I've got over six months before my return.
My Dad is no longer snacking on biscuits but is back into training, and the sun is streaming through the windows in the morning, like a bird spreading it's wings to full span.
My mum has just accepted an offer on her house and is probably starting to pack bits and pieces away into boxes, welcoming in the next chapter of her life. She will be saying goodbye to the home that has housed so many of our everyday yet incredible memories.
My Nephew will have grown inches taller, will have new mannerisms and habits. He will hardly remember me as a physical being, but rather a face on a screen that he is forced to interact with every few weeks. The familiarity that he once associated with me will be so far forgotten by the time I next see him. He will be talking and drawing and doing so much more.

My Grandparents will be a year older, they too might remember a little less or see a little less or hurt a little more, the aches and pains of age slowly but surely growing stronger.

These are the things that scare me the most. The things that I have no control over. The inevitable things that I was forced to consider before I left. The things that didn't stop me from leaving them behind.

And although writing them down (so that they are quite literally staring back at me from the screen) brings that sour taste to my throat and that tingling wetness to my eyes, I know that I have done the right thing in going on my little adventure. It hasn't been easy, but I am really, truly happy now. I have some great friends, and I am starting to see a little more of this beautiful country, that I had no previous interest in before I got here.

I am saving to go to India in August. I will be heading to Rajasthan first, I hope to move around a bit for a month or so and then return to Australia again in October, before flying back home in November.

I can't say that I have loved every second of this journey, or that I would do it all the same if I had another shot at it. But I have found happiness here regardless of the obstacles that have confronted me. And for that, I am very proud of myself.

I miss my family and my truly incredible friends more than I could ever have anticipated, but I know that their love surrounds me and protects me wherever I go.

That's all for now,

JoJo xxx

How You Piss Your Waitress Off

Don't Push Me...

I've worked in hospitality on and off since the age of 12, when I flooded the cafe I was washing dishes in. Since that time I have developed a seasoned hatred for people who do the things that I will list below. I am sure that I am not alone in this. Here is a list of things that your waitress/server/chef will think you are an entitled fucking moron for doing:

1) Asking to swap ridiculous things. For example (in a stupid voice of your choice) "Guhhhh, can I swap the lettuce for some steak?", "I want to swap my half a tomato for two sausages". Also this type of request will induce a good eye roll: "I'll have the steak, medium rare, but more on the medium side with no blood but pink in the middle, but not so it's tough".
THE MENU IS THE MENU. THE CHEF KNOWS HOW TO COOK A STEAK. GO HOME AND COOK YOUR OWN STEAK IF YOU'RE THAT BOTHERED ABOUT IT.

2) 20 minutes before opening time: *marches into the shop* "Are you open? No?!" *huffs* "Well can you just quickly make something up for me? Just quickly? I drove all the way here? I know you don't have all the ingredients but can you just put this, this and this into a bowl please?".
NO. We are not open yet, if we make you something, other people will think we are open, in fact someone has just seen you and has walked in behind you. I WANT YOU TO DIE.

3) When a restaurant/cafe/bar is incredibly busy and clearly understaffed, it is not okay to stand at the front of the queue pondering over your decision with complete disregard for the customers waiting behind you. You had 20 minutes in the queue to decide, you should know what you want. If you don't know what you want I would recommend you step aside for someone else to order until you are ready. And to avoid a head injury.

4) When something that you want is sold out there is really nothing to be gained by aggressively whining and complaining about the fact that it's the only thing on the menu you want/like. There is literally nothing I, or anyone else, can do about there being none of it left.  I have apologised that there is none left, but it really is not my fault, and staring at me angrily and not saying anything will not make that thing spontaneously exist in front of me. Go home.

5) Similar to number 2: Don't come in 5 minutes after closing and ask us to make something for you. It's hard for us to say no, and if we do say no and you get shitty with us, I would genuinely fear for your life on your walk home.  We are closed, it is not my fault that you were going to be on time but then you forgot your purse so you had to go back home. It certainly is not my fault that you got our opening hours wrong and thought you had time to spare, and I genuinely do not give a shit that you have been looking forward to it all day. While you have been drinking wine with your friends in your fancy beach side apartment, I have been sweating my tits off since the early hours, getting burned, complained at, and have needed a piss since 11am. I would very much like to go home, have a shower and put a big, curly straw into a wine bottle.

6) When you order something, and then when it arrives, deciding you don't fancy it and coming back and complaining, saying you ordered something else. You made your order, I WROTE IT DOWN, I checked it back with you, I even explained a little about the dish to make sure you knew that it was a bit spicy/creamy/small and now you are making me look like a dick in front of my colleagues and my boss. You ordered it, you don't like it, tough shit - it's yours. But as my boss is here I have smile at you, apologise and get a new meal made up for you. You respond with a huffy thank you and that completely transparent sheepishness that shows me that you know what you did, but that you are too much of a spineless, spoilt brat to admit it.

7) Not saying 'please' and 'thank you'. It is literally the easiest thing to do in the world. Don't look down on me because I'm serving you. I don't look down on you because your lip job clearly didn't go as you'd planned and your husband is sleeping with his secretary. So just be nice, yeah?

8) Coming to the counter, completely ignoring me when I greet you, and instead calling after my boss whilst he is working. 'Hi Ben! Hi Ben! Ben! Hi! How's it going?'. He doesn't care - you are literally paying for his car and his wife's new dress. You are a walking fifty dollar/pound note to him. NOW, tell me what you want and give me the money so I can do my job.

9) You come in once a week and you expect me to remember your name and your order. We serve over 200 people a day. Your face means nothing to me, and I have absolutely no idea what 'the usual' is. I'm sure you are a lovely person, but trying to act like a celebrity in  a salad bar is quite sad. Just come in and order what you want. Like a normal human being.

10) Telling me there's a few tables that need clearing when the shop resembles a fire evacuation in a high school with a large special needs department. I am painfully aware of the fact that I would benefit from becoming a cross between an octopus and Inspector Gadget, but I can only do one thing at a time.

11) If we can't do something gluten free/vegan/nut free, don't give me that look that is usually reserved for a rotting carcass infested with maggots. I didn't write the menu, I don't cook the food and, although I empathise with you, I really don't have any patience reserved for listening to you angrily complain about the injustices of your life with IBS.

On the whole I like customers, and they are pleasant and considerate and understanding. It's just that the minority of arseholes can really give me the shits.

Also, a tip wouldn't go a miss 

That's all for now, 

JoJo

xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

The Dangers Of Arse Wiping With False Nails

So Christmas 2012 has been and gone. 2013 doesn't even seem like a real year. It's as though we are all living in some extremely boring sci-fi film. This would all make sense considering the amount of disfiguring attributes so many women seem to be sporting as of late. I just don't get it. I have issues with a selection of women's "enhancements"...

...The first and foremost of these being fucking horrificly ugly, camel-esque, False Eyelashes. They are truly vomit-worthy. I literally do not know anybody who looks good with them. They are tacky and obvious and just pointless. Everyone has eyelashes. Be good to them and they wont crust off in the wind. Take your make-up off once in a while.
Also, I have come to discover that you GLUE them on. GLUE. ON YOUR EYES. This is clearly madness. It's got to be some sort of viral sci-fi mind infection. There is no sense in it. It's like Chlamydia- even the most unexpected, self respecting women are popping up with them. They truly remind me of some sort of drag-queen cartoon camel. So what if you don't have luscious long eyelashes? I'm sure you have other great features to compensate for it. Plus, I hardly think any man is observant enough to notice your stubby singed lashes in the first place. Chances are his eyes are elsewhere.

Secondly, Scouse-Brows. I genuinely thought this was a joke. I thought "Desperate Scousewives" was a spoof. When I realised that it was real life I felt I could at least feel safe in the more humble area of Pembrokeshire. But no. They are here. THEY ARE HERE. And they are growing, both in numbers and in size. They are like cockroaches on your forehead.
In my humble opinion, they are a sure fire way to make yourself look like a tacksville-tramp. They also guarantee to distract from any other part of your face. Which, if you have some sort of horrific ailment/elephantitis/puss-covered acne - is great. Although, I fear I'd rather any of those things to having, what appears to be two large, hairy shits above my eyes.

Thirdly, Gem Covered Nails. These are both unsightly and, quite frankly, a health risk. Forget gun laws, there needs to be restrictions on these claws. My worry is this: how on earth are you supposed to wipe your arse without injuring yourself? What if you lose a gem mid-wipe? That's surely very worrying.
Also. Masturbation?
Also. Sexual foreplay?
Also. touching anything?
Also. why do you want to look like the witch from snow white? You know the one- with the warts and the long jewelled nails? Maybe I am just far too uncool and I have failed to notice that chav/hillbilly is the new black, and that TopShop are currently unloading crates full of velour tracksuits and ra-ra skirts. Ooh and maybe white-leather thigh boots have made a comeback? Maybe.

Now, New Years is fast approaching and I will make the same resolution I have done for the last six years; to be more ladylike.
I understand that I am 21 and I need to be wearing make-up every now and again. And that shorts are just not suitable winter wear. I must stop leaving my leg hair to grow and properly commit to using a hairbrush on a daily basis.
However; with this in mind, I will continue to despise the above... accessories? feminine aesthetic additives? Halloween-chic adornments? forever and always. And I think there is not a single woman in the world who isn't more beautiful without them.

Happy New Year everyone, I hope 2013 doesn't result in alien takeover and that you all make it the year for your success.



That's all for now
Jojo xxx

Distance

Distance is a tricky thing. It can be largely immeasurable in some circumstances. For example, someone can be a long way away but you may feel very close to them still. In another sense someone can be nearby and yet you feel undoubtedly detached and out of touch/reach with them.

My pals Grace and Esme live at opposite ends of the country to me and yet I feel incredibly close to them. Like we are in each others atmospheres still. It's as though as long as we are in each others minds and thoughts the distance just evaporates between us. That's how I feel anyway. I may not know the day to day goings on but I do know that if anything important should happen the miles and motorways would be irrelevant. 

 It's more of a hunger, I suppose, when things are romantically involved. It's a more dangerous feeling. A fear of being lost or forgotten, of distance changing what you built. 

It's funny how complex it can become missing someone. It's almost as though they are a figment of your imagination. There is nothing physical left of them. Only memories of their existence stand as evidence and even those can seem to fade and change and dissolve in your mind. 

When I think about someone who I have lost I can imagine them in my mind in a sort of passive way, but when I try to think about what their hair looked like that day, or try to picture their whole face, it goes blurry. I worry that one day all I will have left will be echo's of memories that were never renewed. Left to lose their colour like a picture in sunlight.

Sometimes you can feel the distance growing. Like you are connected by crepe paper and it's slowly tearing and falling away. And you know it's all too fragile to be reckless with. It's too flimsy to grab onto and pull back at. That's the worst kind of distance. The distance that chokes you up. When you can feel it happening but you can't save it. No matter how much it means to you.

Sometimes distance makes you miss someone more. Other times it can sap your energy and you become too tired. Too bored of it and too aware of the affect it can have on you. Like your brain tells you from experience that it isn't worth the mental head-work of ploughing through the day thinking about that person and wishing they were with you. 

Mostly I wish there wasn't distance at all. Mostly I wish I could have everyone near me. Mostly I wish death didn't happen, or at least that I were more prepared for it. 

But I suppose, regardless of what I wish or hope or feel there is very little I can do about the outcome. In the end, distance kind of does at it pleases regardless of how it makes you feel. Like a selfish ex-boyfriend or the Welsh weather or my bank balance.

That's all for now,

Jojo xxx

Struggle Street

It is eleven months until my proposed leaving date for my year of exploration around the world, and, after having worked seven days a week all through the Summer and now six nights a week through winter, I am still somehow in the depths of a rather bulky overdraft. I understand that having a free overdraft is the best loan I'll ever get and that I shouldn't be stressing about it but I just want to be in the black and to be saving towards something. Negative money doesn't spur me on so much, as I am only working to get back to zero at the moment.

People all around me are off doing exciting things, whilst I'm here making very little progress, feeling a little left behind with it all. Tess is in Tanzania, Vicky has moved to Cardiff starting a new chapter of her life, Snakey is living in France,  the man I like is off doing things in Europe.
I am in New Hedges, with a tip stealing boss and a wetsuit with a hole in the ass. There's something enormously saddening about that.

This week I've been thinking about couples. Couples who are ready to commit. Most of my friends (and ex-boyfriends) will know that commitment isn't exactly my forte. Don't get me wrong, I am very loyal, but I get claustrophobic. I get this itchy feeling that I'm in too deep when I'm only just paddling. I crave freedom, I need air.

It's starting to worry me recently, am I destined to be alone? There have been many wonderful men in my life whom I haven't been ready to commit to, despite being attracted to them and trusting them. Is it something learned?

It seems some people jump from relationship to relationship without a second thought. I have no qualms with that, as they all seem very happy, I just have to really take my time before I can even consider belonging to someone. Maybe that's the problem- that I think of it as possession rather than just being happy with someone. Or, more likely, it's a product of a 'broken home' with divorced parents and a mother who is just a little more than wary when it comes to men. It probably doesn't help that both my dad and brother have pretty dodgy fidelity records too.

Either way, I would like to be able to imagine being with anyone for a long period of time. Because, ultimately, I want that for myself. I want to start a family one day with a man I love, in a house with a mortgage and bills and council tax. It's the in between bit that's the problem.

Maybe it's a matter of it becoming part of me without my noticing. Maybe it is a maturity thing. Maybe I need to grow up a little before commitment becomes a breeze.

I suppose all this has come to mind because there's always been one person I've assigned that role of big commitment to. Now it seems less likely that this will happen- life has gotten in the way and time changes things quicker than the wind in winter.

Things don't seem the same as they were even two months ago, and it scares me to think I've been flippant with something of such magnitude. I have always lived thinking what will be will be. It all happens for a reason. Everything that everyone does will all make sense in the end. But now I'm feeling there are such things as grave mistakes and I have started to understand that regret can haunt people for a lifetime. This will make little sense to lots of you, but anonymity often creates a roundabout way of explaining things.

On a lighter note. I have met someone that I enjoy spending time with, who I can have a real giggle with and who makes me feel beautiful first thing in the morning. That's not a bad find I reckon. Although it would be nice if I could pick someone who stays in the country for longer than a month at a time.

That's the irony of things like that I suppose. Something out there is laughing at me for protecting my heart for so long only to open it up for guaranteed instability. I was sadder than expected saying goodbye today. Took myself by surprise.

In other news I got some freelance work recently, I wrote words for this and really enjoyed it:

In the Moment by Garmin from Garmin EMEA on Vimeo.

I now have some press releases locally to write and work in China- doing website content and blogs etc for a company out there. Which is all very lovely, as exciting media-related jobs in Wales seem few and far between and I need to stay here for cheap rent so I can save for my trip.

So if you know of anyone who wants press releases, ad's, PR, portfolio writing, copy writing or any of that lot doing, give me a thought, eh? Struggling writer and all that. Sounds romantic but is really just a bit skanky. Could do with having at least one pair of jeans/trousers this winter. My pins are getting chilly in shorts.

That's all for now,
Jojo xxx

Becoming Feral

Waterwynch has my heart. It is a small beach down the road from my house, you have to do a little off road navigation to get there so it's often empty. I love having it to myself.
Something about it remedies me. The sound of the small waves falling onto the pebbles on a high tide like tonight is just delicious - the crinkling and shuffling of all the stones being jangled around by the water's undercurrent, sucking back with the pull of the moon.

When the tide is out I usually walk to the cave on the right, it's tucked into this tiny bay, snuggled up to the cliffs. I love how the sea looks from inside the cave; the mouth of it opening out onto the powerful light of the water. I like to climb here too. Nothing too ambitious, I just like moving up high and scaling the edges of my favourite place, seeing it from every possible angle.

Tonight it is a light evening. The sun is low, creating a syrupy blanket of soft light on the water and cliffs. The waves are kissing the pebbles right up close to the stone path that leads back up to reality. My body absorbs the views and sounds and textures as much as it can, they settle something inside me.

Whilst I am here I can think.
I don't come here very often any more. Mostly because it feels like a sacred place to me. I rarely bring people here. I'm protective of it. Like it is a part of me. Like if someone comes here the sea will whisper my secrets back with each lulling of the waves. It feels personal here, intimate.

I usually come to Waterwynch when I'm feeling a little low. Today I'm feeling a little lost. The months following the end of university have been fun, I've worked hard at a job I adore. But there has been something else. An underlying itch, a niggle, an undercurrent. It's asking "what next?".

Other people are asking that too. My parents, my grandparents, my friends, and I suppose I have been as well.

But I just don't know the answer. I don't want to go to a job that I don't have a passion for and end up turning grey inside. I don't want the money and the pencil skirts and that sinking feeling when my alarm goes off every morning.
I want to explore, to see the world. I want to explore my abilities as a writer, decide what it is exactly that I want to do, I want to get to know new friends, see new opportunities and paths. And I don't want to jump into something just because it is what people would want or what is expected of me.

If I'm completely honest with myself I know what's keeping me here in a tiny town with little job opportunities, gossip and extortionate drink prices. It's the sea.  I want to be in it. All of the time; preferably on a board but happily just swimming.
It's gotten so under my skin this year. I ache when I'm away from it, it frustrates me if  I can't get to it and it has started to bother me when there aren't waves.

And I know I can't flounce around being romantic about the sea forever, getting more and more feral as my money runs out, but I want that for now (not the feral part). I will be a responsible young adult and make big decisions and pay council tax one day, but I have the rest of my life to be a grown up. So I am going to enjoy being excited about nature for a while. It could be a lot worse. I could be into hard drugs and dangerous men.

And at graduation when everyone is talking about internships and jobs and their new lives I will be proud of my pals and their achievments, knowing I will one day have mine.

That's all for now,
Jojo xxx

The Rules of Small Town Socialising

Since being back in Tenby I have noticed that the behaviour of locals in a social environment are quite peculiar. I have compiled a list of rules, created by me through observation of the folk of this beautiful little town.

THE RULES

1) You absolute must have an opinion on everyone regardless of whether you've ever met them or not. Small Towns without opinions become barren and tumbleweed starts to...well, tumble.

2) You must drink excessively at least three times a week in order to not disappear off the social ladder. In fact, you must actively encourage alcoholism. The Small Town relies on such revelry to sustain it's ecosystem.

3) You must work your little butt off all week long doing hideous shifts for below minimum wage only to shit it up the wall at an overpriced pub, talking the same conversations on rotation to the same selection of locals.

4) You must be hideously two-faced in order to successfully intergrate.

5) Actually, that's not fair. You could be genuinely nice to everyone. But you must accept that people will choose to dislike you anyway and will probably start rumours about you.

6) Settle with the fact that tourists and customers will talk to you like you are thick as shit. Don't you dare mention your degree/ promotion/ trade. That will make you look stuck up.

7) Face facts: If you are so much as seen breathing near a member of the opposite sex people will assume you are shagging.

8) Grit your teeth and smile whilst handing over £8 to get into what can only be described as a urine-odoured pit disguised as a club. Then joyfully hand over £5 for a measly drink in a grimy plastic cup. Dance to 90's music blasting from a shoddy CD player and cheer when the 'DJ' announces that "Stereophonics' 1000 Trees is next!!" .

9) Observe jumped up boys/ 'lads' mindlessly scrap with anything that moves, throwing punches like a drunk baby with autism. The next day you must claim that you were there/involved/saw someone's jaw snap.

10) Let people who buy their entire wardrobe from New Look snigger at you in your flip flops, tee and shorts. You are a fashion disaster and they are pioneering fashionista's, remember?

11) Become pals with someone in the toilet queue only to overhear them later saying that your hair is shit and that you are a horrific person. You are a horrific person, your hair is shit, but you did hear them do a wet fart through the cubicle door so it's all cool.

12) Men are worth more than your dignity. Shamelessly drape yourself over at least four different men and stare daggers at anyone who so much as catches eye contact with them.

13) Don't even think about talking to anyone who has snogged/shagged/texted/waved at anyone you know. In fact to save confusion just stay mute for the night. These places are so incestual it's the best way to avoid a  vodka diet coke on your chops.

14) Do not be fooled into thinking that Small Town men are less bitchy than the girls. Boy can these guys gossip and stir the pot. Think Queens with homophobia.

15) If you do manage to find someone you are allowed to fancy, come to terms with the fact that complete strangers have the right to ask you if you are a couple/shagging/what it's like. In order for the Small Town cycle to continue it is imperative that everyone knows your business.

Now, reading this you may think I hate living here. But, despite all these ridiculously laughable unspoken rules and habits, I love it here. I love knowing everyone when I walk in a pub. I love wearing flip flops out. I love finding out which school mate is pregnant. I love seeing the same people every time I'm out. There's something communal about it, it feels safe. If you get paraletic and collapse into the gutter, someone will find you and put you in a cab home, or know your mums number to call her.

Ciao for now

Jojo xxx