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i came, i saw, i left early

It's official. I've reached that stage in life where snuggling up at home dressed head to toe in pug paraphenalia (because apparently I'm harbouring quite the pug pyjama collection) has quite aggressively taken over heading out on the piss. Should I be worried that I've reached this stage at the ripe old age of 24? Hell no. To be honest, I'm more worried about this new found granny-status having a negative impact on my thighs cos the only shapes I'm throwing at 11pm on a Saturday night these days are triangular pizza slices into my mouth. Happiness quota exceeded.

so...tough mudder happened

I can't do a press up, I've never run more than 5k in one go, and I spent the night before in the pub...but despite pretty much every single odd - ya girl actually completed Tough Mudder this weekend. Can I get a hell yeah please because I am quite simply the weakest, puniest, most pathetically muscled human I've ever met. Period. Mikey actually laughed in my face and told me I was the 'antithesis of a tough mudder' when I signed up last year, which I hope gives you some indication as to the gravity of this situation. Furthermore, in an exciting turn of events, I spent the last 6 miles with a portion of my butt on show after my leggings took a bashing in Mud Mile. So yay for that. 

sugar-loading at patisserie valerie

There are few things in life I like more than being full of cake. Except, perhaps, being full of cake on a Tuesday afternoon when you're supposed to be at work but are eating all the calories in Brighton instead with your mum. Yeah, that probably tops it 🙏🍰☕️ What a totally IMMENSE way to spend an afternoon a few weeks ago, topped off by having the entire upstairs floor to ourselves meaning I could photograph the little cake babes from every-single-angle with no scowling onlookers. In. My. Element. So get that scrolling finger at the ready, bitch, cos I'm about to go full cakeboss on yo' ass.

life is better in pyjamas

Guess who has an entire week off work and is currently in a dressing gown and fluffy slippers, facemask on, hair in a towel, licking a bowl of melted nutella? OH YEAH, BABY, IT'S ME #inbetweenjobs #unemployedlife. So far today I have made myself breakfast, I've been to the gym, I've got Tay-Tay on full volume, I'm happily lapping up the remnants of mum's baking, and I'm genuinely feeling like if this is the only life I get to live - I'm fucking nailing it right now. 

the best and booziest of bank holidays

Is it even a bank holiday weekend if it's not full of friends, alcohol, frivolity and far far far far far too much food? And much to the surprise of a solid 100% of the UK population, we were even treated to some ACTUAL BLOODY SUNSHINE. Quelle bonheur, indeed. 

wingin’ it at biggin hill

The only thing better than a total nerd-out is an unexpected total nerd-out. Meaning that a very last-minute trip to Biggin Hill Airshow this weekend had me oohing, had me ahhing, had me wanting to ditch the plans I’d had for my life and fly for the RAF Red Arrows instead. If I told you I didn’t squeal and clap like that famous Will Smith GIF when the first plane went over, I would be lying. Yep, even I was surprised at quite how much I apparently like a good plane. Who knew!? The world works in mysterious ways. 

august feels

So it would appear The Great British Summer of 2017 is going for gold in the annual hide and seek championships because has anyone found her yet? And, like, why can't my hiding-the-fact-i-ate-three-scones-before-9am-today skills be quite so accomplished!? Life can be so unfair. But ARE WE DOWNHEARTED BY GLOOMY SKIES AND A LACK OF VITAMIN D?! Well, um, yes a little bit - but that's nothing a little (read: a fucking lot) of gin can't sort out. 

kindness is free, sprinkle that shit everywhere

I wouldn't blame you for thinking that little else went on in my head apart from Justin Bieber, Leo di Caprio, brunch, and cocktails on a continuous rolling loop. Which, to be completely honest, isn't too far from the truth BUT - on the odd occasion the loop skips and a spot frees up for me to think about something else...I've been revelling in the joys of being a more positive paula. Not all the time, mind, I'm not superwoman and after 1 hours sleep coupled with period pain all day on Thursday my new-found-posi-patience was really being put to the test, but in general, I've been drinking a lotta positivi-tea and am starting to feel the good karma returned. 

st tropez and lotsa vino

One thing that always becomes shockingly apparent on holiday is that my love of France knows no bounds. Like, for real there is no metaphorical or literal boundary to my enthusiasm, gusto and gratitude for everything French. I mean, it might be something to do with them producing more than 246 varieties of cheese, or their attitude to wine that can be summed up simply as ‘...want some?’, but nothing in the world makes me happier than a warm summer evening in the south of france (except, perhaps, picking up chocolate eggs in tesco for half the price following easter cos y'know - the only thing better than cadburys in egg-form is half price cardburys in egg-form. Everyone knows that). 

lazy days on the côte d'azur

My parents have always told me that I have no grey area. I either love something, or absolutely hate it. It's the best roast dinner I've ever eaten, or categorically the absolute worst. I am so in love with Justin Bieber that I cannot even fathom how to think about anything else / Tess Daly is the most tragic thing that has ever happened to prime time TV. I'm pretty black and white, even if it's not always strictly true (I'm pretty sure the burger-van burger I ate when drunk at a festival at 2 in the morning was probably not the best burger I'd ever eaten, but that didn't stop me telling anyone that would listen that night how effing incredible it was and not shutting up about it for 3 weeks afterwards). 

gin drinking in southern france

So far this holiday has consisted of a lot of swimming, a lot of sunbathing, a worrying amount of food, a hell of a lot of gin and very, very, very little room for anything else. Of the surplus outfits I painstakingly rolled up in my suitcase back in England little over a week ago, I have lived practically single-handedly in two; a white bikini and a black bikini. Hallelujah.