An Extended Introduction.

Let’s start at a vague beginning. I’ve been wondering where this beginning will be, prior to a lot of what will follow, I had be considering writing a blog about my dating app exploits. I seemed to have a fantastic radar for the strange and emotionally crippled members of the male species, so have amassed some rather interesting stories that would make your skin crawl and maybe even shed a tear of laughter at my utter oblivity to finding ‘the one’. (Don’t worry there will still be quite a few of these…)

A bit of a back story about me, I am currently a 26 years ripe lady (I’m still not okay with referring to myself as that), I had a brilliant childhood with two fantastic, creative and bloody hard-working parents and an equally brilliant older sister. Nothing strange to see here. And as these may be referenced in future chapters, I have had two previous relationships. One was my childhood sweetheart, a lovely boy whom I went backpacking around the world on a ‘gap aaaah’ previous to starting university and the second one being a ‘lesson’ in what I dread my future daughters ever get themselves involved in. Again, nothing strange to see here. Sounds exactly like the stories of basically every girl my age in the Western world.

I’ve just written this sentence 5 times, it’s scary how easily I have written the previous paragraphs, but when it’s time for the meat of the story, I’m getting a lump in my throat – you might have to bare with me as I am now realising how hard this story will be to tell. I suppose this is my version of therapy, I have to admit I have a bit of a complex about talking about my feelings without making inappropriate jokes, and I will get straight to it because I don’t really feel like leaving the main part of this story as a cliffhanger – a little too Eastenders for me.

My father was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer in September 2015, he was 65 years old and the most caring, intelligent and loving father and husband we could ever have wished for. I was 24 years old and in the middle of my final year of my Masters degree. This is the story.




The beginning of my oversharing.

I have to admit, I have started and abruptly forgotten about more blogs than I can count. I have collectively written enough mumbo jumbo on my iPhone notes to be sufficient for a very badly constructive novel and I am alike most other self-entitled members of my generations and think that somebody might actually be interested in reading about my life.

I’m going to remain anonymous to ensure I don’t curb the truth of any of what I am planning to overshare on here. As I sat here, finishing off the huge bar of chocolate that I have been opening the fridge door and staring at for weeks, my friend has just left the house to go to the gym. In truth, I was waiting for them to leave so I could eat it guilt free and then I will probably complain upon their return that my cellulite is not reaching my calves and that life is so unfair.

I am edging closer to 30 and I am finally ready to start opening up. I am going to start from the beginning of what I think might be a remotely interesting story.