The perils of shopping in a brain fog

  I just went grocery shopping, only I have an awful lot of fuckshittery going on in my life at the moment and my brain appears to be mostly made up of angry bitey squirrels who keep forgetting to take their Ritalin. That ^^ photo is of what we are, apparently, having for tea tonight. In my defence, m’lud – my hair does need a wash (although there are two unopened bottles of that very same shampoo on my bathroom shelf already), the Monty Bojangles truffles are like cocoa-based crack and were on offer at a ridiculous £1 per box (I’d have cleared them out of all their stock but I was a bit worried they might stage an intervention), and Terry Pratchett never needs an excuse. You know how people keep trying to develop phone apps that stop you making embarrassing calls when you’re drunk (and boy could I have done with one of those in my single years)? They need to put a scanner on the door of Tesco that checks your levels of mental hysteria before letting you into the shop. On the other hand, I might be drowning rather than waving but at least I’ll go out in a suffocating wave of Discworldly, chocolately goodness. Violet x CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW SEX, DEATH, ROCK’N’ROLL ON...

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Bottoms up!

  I’m a bit late with this blog post, but it’s been Christmas and the festive season invariably means LOSING MY MARBLES and my dear old friend resident idiot Mad has been in residence for a lot of it. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I was inspired by a friend’s post on Facebook to start what I can only describe as ‘a bum gallery’. For that is what it is. Bums, bums everywhere – and every one a fabulous example of how we’re all pretty much the same under our clothes. I’m using the project to raise money for Sane, a mental health charity that works hard to not only de-stigmatise mental health, but to fund research into its causes and potential treatments. Read more about it here, and please do send me your arse!* CLICK THROUGH TO THE BOTTOM LINE PHOTO GALLERY (opens in same page). *a phrase I really didn’t think I’d ever get to write publicly CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW SEX, DEATH, ROCK’N’ROLL ON...

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No one likes mental soup.

  I am a certified Mentalist. As in, my brain does not know how to work properly and therefore tries to fuck me over on a pretty much daily basis. Most of my friends are Mentalists too, because Mentalism loves company. ‘Normal’ people have no idea what to do with us, see – they read all the ‘How To Talk to a Mentalist’ memes that go around and they try their best, but they never quite get it right, bless their non-freakish cotton socks. Me, I like talking to people who understand. The evidence, m’lud – a conversation I had yesterday...

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