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Gals on tour: Castagniers Edition


Question: what do you get if you take 3 French uni grads and stick them in a villa in the South of France for 3 days? Answer: 6 different types of cheese, one sunburnt backside, some serious #freethenipple and one hell of a lot of red wine. 

italy, ya sexy piece of ass


Moment of appreciation please for the fact that way back in March, I managed to board a flight, set foot in 4 different countries and make actual functioning(ish) conversation with other humans...all while battling a fully fledged and very persistent prosecco-pong hangover. Moral of the story: never, ever kid yourself that staying for 'one drink' after the company update is a justifiable action the night before a 6am flight. I took this one for the team so you don't have to. It's a genuine miracle I managed to take photographs of anything other than my sad, sorry little self, but here we go; photos from San Remo, Monaco, Nice, Bussana Vecchia, and a few other places that were equally fit af but less easy to remember the name of.

bring it all back to you, baby


If getting S Club 7 lyrics tattooed on your forehead wasn't such a certified career-killer, I would 100% be getting this S Club 7 lyric tattooed on my forehead. Humour me for a second here and ignore the visions of 7 year old you singing it into a hairbrush (covered in glitter with crimped hair, obviously) and actually let this little beauty sink in: the only person in this whole entire world that you ever have to answer to, either now or in the distant future, is YOURSELF (repeating this for the people in the back: YOUR👏BLOODY👏SELF👏). I don't mean to be dramatic, but I truly believe this lyric has the ability to change your life more than any 6 month self-discovery yoga retreat in the Himalayas ever could. Really really.

Gals on tour: Canterbury Edition


GREAT NEWS, guys. The Gals on Tour series saw its second (and very long overdue) installment last weekend when myself Mills, Fran and Lydia said goodbye to our troubles and headed to Canters. We proceeded to spend 5% of our weekend exploring what Canterbury had to offer (expensive tea, cobbled streets, babein' architecture) and the other 95% drinking wine in our airbnb and stuffing our faces with thai, bolognaise, copious amounts of chocolate, sweets and pancakes. 

GRL PWR


First things first: shout out to best friends who spend their entire weekend rolling around like a fat shit with you when life gets too much, who help you eat through more than 6,000 daily calories completely devoid of judgement, who spoon you in the middle of the night without even realising it and, most importantly, who stand behind you in every decision you make even if it involves being dragged around hobbycraft looking for plaster of paris because you've decided you want to make hand sculptures (don't ask - it's been a weird weekend). Laughter really is the best medicine and between the tears and mini mental breakdowns, Lydia - you've been a shining beacon of light, laughter, atrocious smells and questionable fashion choices. I would be a lot thinner without you, but also miserable as fuck. 💛 you a LOT. 

grateful heart #1


I don't even know where to start with this post so I'll just go from the beginning (but keep it as short as poss, don't worry huns - i got u).

So, I've been doing a LOT of self-help reading recently and as part of my attempted ascent to the Positive Vibes Only Zone I decided to start a gratitude journal. With no expectations whatsoever and, to be quite honest, a feeling that gratitude journalling was a bit of wanky exercise to undertake; I assumed I'd give it up in a few days, relegate the notebook back to bottom-drawer status, and return to instastalking instead. Like, who tf sits down and spends precious time writing down that they're grateful for Zac Efron's face anyway?! (...)

a pretty wonderful wednesday


There are a million reasons why I love the shit out of my mum, but by far the most important one is that she can always be relied upon to pour a very large glass of wine at the end of a long day (or a short day for that matter because whatever the question, fermented grapes are probably the answer). It's a de-stressing reflex action that I have enthusiastically enjoyed with her on numerous occasions over the years and one for which she deserves the utmost credit. For real, I have struggled to find another human who embodies the ideology of "wine not?" quite so effortlessly and wholeheartedly as she. If I ever doubt for a second that I'm my mother's daughter, a quick peek in the fridge on a Monday Friday night brings it right back in all its pinot-y, sauvignon blanc-y, glory. 

happy tears > sad tears


It's become frighteningly apparent recently that the only thing I know with any degree of certainty...is that I have absolutely no fucking idea what I'm doing. Which makes it very, very, very nice to know that there are some truly beautiful little people in my life capable of doing some truly beautiful little things. Namely, this little care package that arrived unannounced on my doorstep last Friday from the babe to end all babes that is Mary-Kate Zhoweveryouspellit. I'm getting teary again just typing this so I'll leave you with the reminder that not all heroes wear capes - sometimes heroes really do come in the form of polish pals with a penchant for brunch. MK you are a marvel, thank you for being the absolutely cracking pair of tits person that you are.

2017: it's been emotional


2017; while I can't deny you've been blissfully wonderful for the most part (i.e: the most tanned I have ever and probably will ever be, the taking of my NY virginity, a very boozy birthday weekend in the New Forest)...my god, you've been pretty fucking shite at times too, ahem, mental health I am glaring at you cough cough. I'm hoping and praying that 2018 is a little kinder to my brain while remaining just as full to the brim of gin. So, that said, my New Year's Rezzie's are looking like this:

leave a little sparkle


I hope you had the merriest, minciest and mulled winiest of Christmasses. I also hope that your day was filled with so much bubbly that you barely remember the Queen's speech and fell asleep on the sofa at 4pm because same, hun. 

indulging my inner upper-east sider


One of the things I love most about my relationship with Mikey is the way we've learnt to compromise on the things we disagree on. It goes a little something like this: Mikey doesn't want to do something, I want to do something = we do the thing that I want to do and Mikey just shuts up and gets on with it. Usually with the promise of beer and/or letting him watch the football in peace.