The quest for Truth

I was naive

I’ve been seeing a counsellor recently, just to make sense of why I feel the way I feel sometimes. It’s true that trauma from your past breeds poor mental health, but rather naively I thought seeing a counsellor would make me happy.

I was wrong, but I’m glad about it. Seeing a counsellor has helped me become a more reflective person, not a happier one.

You see, people who lack direction, hope or any kind of sense of being often, like I do, feel a great sense of worry and nothingness. Therefore we seek negative and toxic relationships/friendships/outlets that are easy and allow us to feel something other than nothing.

This is all too common amongst the youth of today who resort to social media, which is poison, to try and seek a collective culture of people who feel similar to them. Social media is emblazoned with enough images of war, poverty, corruption and outright negativity and hate to last a lifetime. Coupled with being in an environment with inflation rocketing and wages stagnating, of course young people are going to be sad. But I digress.

Seeing my counsellor has made me think about things differently in the quest for my own ‘Truth’ to give purpose and direction, as well as providing a productive outlet and a bit of impartial guidance. We delved deep into my past and a lot of things started to make sense. I was using toxicity to feel as it was what I was used too.

I’m not saying that going to a therapist is the key to making you happy. I’m an optimistic nihilist and I can confirm that is not what a therapist or counsellor does. I’m talking through different reflective exercises, you learn that happiness is most felt upon reflection. You are able to connect little dots that provide a sort of contemplation of how you felt in that time or stage of your life.

I can confirm the last time I was truly a bit more content was after my first year of uni in the summer break. After that I used different mechanisms in order to feel something other than nothing. But I don’t regret anything; I am a more reflective, considerate person as a result. Hopefully dear old Plato would approve in these efforts to reach some kind of transcendence.

In order to improve your state of living, working out your Being in relation to the spaces you frequent (relationships/work life/places you go) and trying to point towards different ‘Truths’ (points of meaning) in your life is a good reflective practice to start and end each day.

Try this: write down all the things, good or bad, that happened during the day and how they made you feel. Once that’s done, cross out the bad points and write opposite feelings and how, rationally in that situation, they could be achieved.

You may not achieve ultimate happiness, but eventually you just may master your own feelings.



Why the mean so much to me

Last night I watched a career defining moment for a band, if not British music.

Architects, a metal band from the south, headlined in front of 10,000 people at Alexandra Palace.

To see 10,000 people screaming some quite incredible music back to a band who could only have ever dreamed of this even two years ago was incredible. I guess it’s testament to the way music brings people together.

Just over two years ago, when Tom, their chief song writer, friend and brother passed, things looked like they’d have to be wrapped up. But with the addition of Sylosis guitarist Josh, and a togetherness and unity amongst fan base and artist, they pushed on. They released a new single, played Reading and Leeds, and fought emotion to deliver a quite incredible resurgence in the face of adversity.

Using the emotion and channelling it into power, love, unity and music, they have moved from headlining 4000 capacity venues, to 10,000 capacity venues in two years.

They’ve used music as a platform to battle racism, sexism, homophobia and hate. They’ve promoted the fantastic charity ‘Sea Shepherd’. They’ve earned admirers, none less than Jeremy Corbyn who extended his admiration before their performance last night.

Dan, Tom’s twin, could have decided to give everything up after his passing. But he didn’t. He got married, is expecting a child and above all, is carrying on flying the flag for his fallen brother.

But don’t take this gushing of admiration for fighting for change and uniting in love from just me. Last night, I was in a room of 10,000 people who agreed.

Sponsored Walk

an update

Okay, so Charlie and I FINALLY have a date. The 17th of March is when we shall be undertaking our epic little journey in the name of charity. Without breaks, it would take us 17 hours and 23 minutes. Heck.

Chances are we will take numerous breaks, so I am hoping we will make it in 18 hours. London to Brighton is roughly 52 miles along the quickest walking route (according to Google Maps, haha).

In metric, that’s damned near 84Km. Ouch.

We’ll be starting from Trafalgar at 6am, until midnight the same day. Saturday, 17th March. Charlie is as fit as a flea, and myself less so, so I’m counting on him to march onward and inspire me to do the same. It’s going to be hard, but for a very good cause.

Please follow the link here and be generous ❤

That’s all folks.


Much love xo





You and I are made of them

It’s desperately strange. We are all made of the remnants of stars gone by. The most incomprehensible force of nature.

Each of our atoms was fused and forged by the hugest death imaginable. How whack is that?

Our bones, eyes, teeth, gall bladder, clitorises, testes and dare I say even our consciousness is formed by, essentially, death. And this death gave birth to an innumerable amount of life.

I like to think that the evil in this world, and indeed the universe, was a product of anti-matter thrown out by post-death black holes. Yes, even Hitler was a product of star death, but maybe made of more ‘anti’ matter as it were. (Look none of this is scientifically accurate but bare with me). The essence of this matter makes up your being and ultimately implodes, like all evil tends to do.

But you and I are made of stars and will always be made of stars. Keep this in mind and smile.

You are atoms of hydrogen sky-forged into hundreds of millions of others, and one day your own supernova will result in your biological matter making up countless other lives too, so you will live on in the veins of others.

With this in mind, live as wholly good as you can without causing detriment to others, because your essence, your life force, will influence the others your atoms take anchor in.

Much love xo

Gender Neutrality

Why I want to bring my kids up as gender neutral

Whether you like it or not, you are born with a biological set of genitals. Whether they are the V or the D, you have them. That defines you biological gender (until you decide you want to change that). But as a wee baby, you’re more concerned with shitting and sucking milk out of breasts/bottles than what the below bits are.

What I do not understand is why those biological ‘parts’ predestine how parents bring up children. Boys MUST wear blue, play with action figures, cars and lego. Girls wear pink, play with ‘dolls’ (essentially the same as action figures, which might i add for both sets, have no genitalia), and are encouraged to be creative. Only last century has this colour scheme been adopted, it was actually the reverse beforehand. This ‘gendered play’ causes each to lose out on vital parts that the other have. Archetypally, ‘boys’ are taught to be vocational or less creative, focus on strength and resilience and stoicism, whereas ‘girls’ must be creative, caring, and wholesome.

Bollocks to this. Like her or not (let’s face it, she was fucking vile), but didn’t Thatcher exhibit these generalised ‘male’ tropes and in her terrible reign actually act on a lot of her policies? She wasn’t adopting a male approach, she was raising the bar for her own (terrible, evil) self. What about another leader, Justin Trudeau, who genuinely feels this ‘feminine’ compassion for marginilised groups of people and the pain they are faced with? Or in Luxembourg, whose leader has an openly gay relationship with his first husband?

I wish to bring my own up without gendered play. Same colours, same toys, same treatment. If my ‘daughter’ wants to be a spiderman, a construction worker, a politician, a banker, a pilot, a ‘boy’ or any other of the vast spectrum of everything, then you go ahead. Equally, if my ‘son’ wants to be an beautician, a princess, the next RuPaul (who might I add is utterly wonderful and has some great quotes, and his show about drag queens is actually hilarious), a childcare professional or a ‘girl’, then be my guest.

The reason depression in men is so high is that from birth they are taught to hide sadness or fear, ‘man up’ and get on, and explode to breaking point because ‘only women’ talk about their problems. I’ve seen this in my Dad far too much. Using anger as a release to inflict suffering on everyone else. Just talk about it Dad, it’s okay. The figure of male suicide is scary, and for under 40’s it is the biggest killer. Yet it goes unnoticed.

It’s getting worse for women too. Why? My theory is that as women are further marginalised, subjected to ridiculous male created beauty standards and glass ceilings in nearly every profession and are therefore subjected to tonnes of painful internalisation of outward pressures. I don’t wish for any child of mine to have to be subjected to a voice inside your head that isolates and subjects you to the point of telling yourself you aren’t good enough because of your ‘gender’ or sexuality.

In short, whatever poor human ends up wishing to actually mate with me to the point of having a little us, they will grow up firmly believing that their ‘gender’ is irrelevant and they can be whomever they want. If they want to change their ‘gender’ from one to another, I will happily support it if they were convinced it would make them content with living in this every increasing dark world. As long as it isn’t detrimental to anyone else or the environment, I’ll be a happy sperm donor. Be the next drag queen, be the next spiderman.


Dating Tips

Top tips for your dating woes

There comes a time you’ve got to admit you’re shit at dating. However, with these handy tips, you may just end up wooing the person of your dreams:

  • Bring them a gift. This can be a deal maker from the first date. Bring them mince pies like I did, convince them that the correct pronunciation is ‘MINKIE PIE’ and tell everyone around very loudly of this new information. Scream ‘MINKIE PIE’ at your impressed date and throw them around the store in a furore of pastry madness.
  • To impress your date, show top table manners. Pull out their chair and take the seat right next to them. Stroke their palm up and down and whisper softly in their ear, ‘checkmate’. Refuse to move until they do.
  • Compliment them. This is an essential so often done wrong. Tell them they look like your mum. Tell them you like how they have a nice leg. Look at their teeth and ask if they chew tobacco. Put your hand in their mouth and tell them it feels warm. Take off your shirt, swing it wildly around your head and scream ‘LIGHT THE BEACONS’ so they know you want to mate with them
  • Tell them they are interesting. I did this. Tell them you’re so interested in them. Hold their gaze and say ‘hmm, how interesting’ as you’re getting up right now and walking out the cafe.
  • Don’t call them your exes name. Once is kinda excusable. Twice is criminal. Three times is downright rude. Four times, you got a problem. Five times, you’re crying. Six times, I’m sobbing uncontrollably into my croissant screaming ‘COME BACK TO ME JULIA’ and holding the nearest stranger as you reminisce about weekends in the quantocks navigating the canal ways.
  • And, finally and most importantly, never be yourself. Never act comfortable in your own skin. Look mildly terrified and avert eye contact at all times. Look at his crotch. Scream if they talk. Be on high alert. Send someone else if you have too! Going outside is scary!

Twat of the week

Toby Young

I’m going to start doing a new thing on here; it’s called Twat of the week.

This week, it’s Toby Young. Here we have a man who has ridiculed and demonised pretty much every demographic appointed as director of the office for students. He has made some vulgar comments about people. Such as:

‘Danny Boyle’s Wife’s got huge knockers.’ He was actually mistakenly referring to his daughter, a minor;

‘What happened to Winkleman’s breasts, put on some weight girlie.’

My favourite twat moment from good old Toby was when he described wheelchair accessible ramps, at universities, which he is now accountable too, as forms of ghastly inclusivity. General homophobia and classism also belong to this pious mans dialect.

So, without further ado;

Toby Young.

With your face, like a disappointed caravan.

Like a lonely flannel.

Like jam in the crevice of a train seat.

Like hair in jelly.

Like a pair of sad trousers.

Like a wrinkled paper bag.

You, are a twat.