The Rain In Spain….

Here in the UK we get used to a bit of wet weather. After all, unlike Spain, where the rain falls mainly on the plain, it falls mainly on us individuals here in England. And believe me, there is a lot of it to fall. A few weeks ago our town centre flooded so badly that they closed the roads (don’t get me wrong, there wasn’t that much water, we just don’t seem to be able to cope with even a few more drops than normal, and adverse weather conditions send me the country into a tizzy).

It’s something we are brought up with; a bit like baby food I guess. Kids put up with it until they get teeth, because otherwise they would starve. Well people in Britain put up with rain, because we don’t really have much choice. We all feel pretty strongly about the fact that we hate it, but as we are so conditioned to water falling from the sky, we don’t do anything as drastic as to emigrate very often.

But it’s getting a bit much. In fact, the freak weather of this entire year is really starting to bother me. In April, when I was in California, Blighty was struck with an unseasonably early warm spell. This was the only summer we were going to have apparently. And I missed it.

Then we had the ‘summer’, when it consistently rained for four months, and then it came to October. The start of October was actually on one day, hotter than Istanbul and Morocco according to the excited man on the news, and now we are in mid-November and the temperature hasn’t dropped much lower than ten degrees yet. Every week on the weather forecast they tell us that there will be snow by the end of the week, and it never comes. I nervously go out to the car in the morning hoping that there isn’t a thick layer of frost on the glass, as I have my morning routine down and any slight change could delay me by ten minutes, causing me to be late for work.  Don’t get me wrong, I hate the cold and the snow. I hate when you can’t feel your fingers and when you suddenly remember the reason you considered buying those expensive boots (waterproof) but went with cheap ones. Your feet now smell like a damp kitchen cloth and you are always slightly soggy. But it felt a bit weird at the end of November when Em and I decided to go to the supermarket after dark (I mean post 8pm, the sun actually set this week just after 4) and it was warm enough for me to not wear a coat or any snuggly winter accessories. It’s just plain wrong!

Now we are a few days from Christmas the temperature has dropped enough for me to park the car in the garage for fear of having to scrape the ice off it (my least favourite job), but I haven’t worn my coat much and my mittens are forlornly waiting in the bottom of my hand bag (along with a load of other crap like tiger balm and a key whose purpose I am unsure of) for a cold snap!

Is anywhere else in the world experiencing weird weather conditions?

For the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Eleven Pipers Piping.

And Susie Lindau. Merry Christmas Susie and thanks for keeping me amused in 2011 🙂

My Eleven Pipers Piping post has to be Weak at the Knees, a post I wrote about the dying out phenomenon of a girl going weak at the knees.

Three more sleeps!

Calendar Wars

The calendar is a modern tool designed to plan our lives, and organise our families. It lets you input social events and schedule engagements so that family life runs smoothly with little disruption.

Or so you think.
I overheard a discussion in the office this week between two of the men folk that I share an office with about plans for the weekend. The point of discussion was the calendar. One was commenting to the other how he couldn’t do something or other because his other half was busy, and although he knew nothing about it, it was legal and binding, as it was ON THE CALENDAR.
Ex-boyfriend and I used to have the same arguments. No, we didn’t have children, but we did have two constantly ravenous kittens that destroyed the house room by room if left alone for more than a few hours. Therefore at the weekends, one person was required to look after them, or at least ensure they were fed so they didn’t bring offerings of wildlife into my clean house. We couldn’t ask the neighbours to pop in and feed them you see, as these two had evil personalities and resorted to pooing on the laminate if they knew that one of us wasn’t going to be back. It was like they felt in the air that their rightful owners were abandoning them, and decided to repay us by defecating on the floor. Luckily we didn’t have carpets I suppose. So inviting someone else around to feed them was like asking them to muck out the horses; something no one will willingly agree to, and that you wouldn’t want to put anyone through anyway. The other issue was that we only had one car (my car) and that was also a bone of contention. If ex-boyfriend wanted to borrow said car, he had to consult the calendar to see if I was doing anything that would mean he would have to get the train. Being trapped in the middle of nowhere was just about bearable if there was food and I had no plans, but if nicking the car for football and leaving me stranded with somewhere to go was afoot, I would not be best pleased.
The rules of the calendar are this:
The calendar has the final word. If plans are not written on the calendar and another person writes plans on the calendar, the latter wins the battle and the former must assume all duties like feeding the cats / babysitting the children etc.
The calendar can be written on as far in advance as the writer likes, and must be consulted before any plans are made.
Any attempts of crossing out an opponent on the calendar game is seen as grave cheating, and is punishable by death (or the cancelling of their plans).
So the calendar becomes the Holy Grail and the law of the land. I know I’ve had the conversation before when planning a weekend away without the ex-boyfriend, where he had informed me he was away, using the car and not able to feed the terror squad and I responded “is it on the calendar?” in that really irritating voice, knowing full well that my plans were not on the calendar and having to rush home to update it and therefore win the calendar name.

Victory!!

Do you have calendar war in your house?

For the Tenth Day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Ten Lords a Leaping. I was unsure who to bestow my ten lords a leaping award on, and then I remembered someone who has been an avid supporter of my writing since day one. She reads, comments and emails me telling me how much she likes my writing, and I have become quite fond of her. Oh, and she’s another thing I love from Canada… they are coming out of my ears. Maybe I should just move there! Sandra Bell Kirchman – you are my Ten Lords a Leaping!

My Ten Lords a Leaping isn’t actually a post today, but a ‘good things come in threes’.  My blog went live on the Huffington Post yesterday (good thing 1), I got featured in the homepage of Bloggers.com as an editor’s pick (yay!! Good thing 2) which I only realised when my inbox was flooded with notifications of people adding me as friends and voting for me ( a thought crossed my mind.. who’s entered me for idiot of the year??!) and last night I got a text saying “What are you doing tomorrow night?” I responded with the standard, “Not a lot, prepping for Christmas” and got a message back informing me that I now had 2 tickets to see Rihanna. Tonight! Emma and I are very excited, and I am very very grateful and feel totally spoilt. Christmas has come early for me, and I feel lucky to have been given such a generous gift. And so does Emma :).

4 more sleeps till the big day. Merry Christmas, one and all!

My Guilty Pleasure

My dear friend Jules is an advocate of Guilty Pleasures, and so I thought I would share another of mine. You may have read about my slight love for Milli Vanilli (if you don’t know, please YouTube them. Their shoulder pads will simply change your life).

So in the spirit of slightly embarrassing guilty pleasures I decided to share one of mine. I have been harbouring this secret for a good decade, and although I was aware of my guilty pleasure, my nearest and dearest were yet to realise.

Macauley Culkin. I love the little dude. Sure., I know he is 31 so only six years older than me, and was dating Mila Kunis (God damn her, she gets all the good ones!) but I love him when he was six. Not in a paedophile in a playground way people, like a wanting to grab him by his chubby little cheeks and give him a hug. Whenever he is on the TV I can’t help but “aaaaaaw!” because he is simply adorable. Why did he have to grow up?!

I’ve always loved him. One of my favourite childhood films is Uncle Buck (I also love John Candy and always will) but the best one is My Girl. I sob with all my heart when Thomas J gets stung by wasps and dies after going back to rescue Veda’s mood ring, and I think it will always affect me in the same way. Tears roll down my cheeks and my sister looks at me and says “Why are you crying AGAIN? You knew it would happen!”

I know, I knew it would happen. I could have chosen not to watch the film, opting for Cars instead (less of a tear jerker). But I love to watch his cute little face hidden behind those Harry Potter glasses.

Macauley Culkin (aged 6 – 12) I will always love you. And I don’t care who knows!

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

Nine Ladies Dancing! This ‘award’ has to go to one of the most motivational ladies I know, the one and only Megan. She is a fantastic chica, and I love nothing more than to stalk her on Pinterest and read her spirited messages (yeah Megan, I’ve been doing that!).

My eight maids a milking blogger was: Miss Vix.

Seven Swans a Swimming: Sam at That Place in My Head.

Six Geese a Layin: Live, Nerd, Die, Repeat

My five gold rings was: Dazzle Rebel.

My four calling birds favourite was: Go Guilty Pleasures.

My three french hens fav was: The Byronic Man

My two turtle doves were: Brooke and McKenzie

My partridge in a pear tree was: The Redneck Princess

The nine ladies dancing post I think you should check out is: You’re The One That I Want and is, in essence, a massive rant on girls waiting for Prince Charming.

5 more sleeps till the fat man with the sack visits! Are you excited?

What Time Is It?

What time is it? Its hammer time! Well, no it’s not really, but it’s pretty much Santa Time. I’ve read some fantastic blogs this week about the world’s worst Christmas songs, but I thought it a good idea to break from the crowd and do a rundown of Christmas films. We all have the ones we love (more on that later) but there are some truly terrible ones out there that we insist on watching. They may not be Christmas themed, but these three remind me of Christmas, and are terrible!

1)      The 12 Dogs of Christmas – I’m all for a Christmas film and I can even sit through some of the terrible ones, but a film about a girl who uses dogs to teach people about the true meaning of Christmas? Ah come aaawn! Stick to A Christmas Carol, and if you need to dumb it down a little, the Muppets version is a pretty good one.

2)      Bridge over the River Kwai – I’m cringing as I write this as my granddad will be so disappointed, but this and Platoon! Drive me insane. My granddad used to put them on after dinner on Christmas day, and fall asleep within the first five minutes, with the remote shoved up the arm of his jumper or somewhere as inaccessible, leaving us to miserably watch it when Robbie the Reindeer was on the other channel.

But there are some super good ones; too many to mention, so here are my top three:

1)      It’s a Wonderful Life – I never saw this till a boyfriend spent Christmas with us a few years back and insisted I watch it, as it was a family tradition for him. Like Forest Gump, I was so disappointed I had never seen it before! It’s a true heart-warming film, where a man attempts to commit suicide on Christmas Eve (ok, bear with) and is rescued by a guardian angel who shows him what life would have been like in his town without him.

2)      Raymond Briggs The Snowman – I hope this is one you can get the world over, it’s just so beautiful. I liked to think as a child that one day my snowman would come to life and take me flying over the city, but I think I slept through him knocking at my door. I particularly like the way that there are no words in the film.

3)      I’m leaving the best to last.. if you know me at all you will know what this one is….
ELF!!! I absolutely adore it.Buddy, on New York “Its just like Santa’s workshop!! Except it smells like mushrooms, and everyone looks like they want to hurt me….

“SANTA! OH MY GOD! SANTA’S COMING! I KNOW HIM! I KNOW HIM!”

“The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.”

I was a bit slack over the weekend with my 12 days of Christmas, so it’s a bumper one today!

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

Eight Maids A Milking! And my eight maids a milking recommendation is Miss Vix. Our minds are regularly twinned and we often write about the same thing on the same day. She was one of the first blogs I subscribed to, and I love her!

Seven Swans a Swimming: Sam at That Place in My Head. She might be across the world, but she is super fun and I think we have a bit of an affinity with each other.

Six Geese a Layin: Live, Nerd, Die, Repeat – I adore these posts!!

My five gold rings was: Dazzle Rebel.

My four calling birds favourite was: Go Guilty Pleasures.

My three french hens fav was: The Byronic Man

My two turtle doves were: Brooke and McKenzie

My partridge in a pear tree was: The Redneck Princess

The eighth maids a milking post I think you should check out is: Why You Shouldn’t Trust The Internet. Or perhaps, why I shouldn’t be so gullible.

My seven swans a swimming would have been:A Classy Lady Needs A Classy Hat! Yes, that is me. There is no hope.

And my six geese a laying should be:Great Phrases for Office Use. Something to keep you amused in the week before Christmas!

Its my last week of work today and Im getting geared up for the festivities. My Mum got me a real tree and its standing on the wrapped up hoover box (imaginative way to make it taller) surrounded by pressies for my family. Im getting excited!

How is your Christmas prep going?

Here To Lend A Hand

Two decades ago I was a Brownie. I don’t know how widespread this is, but in the UK the Brownies are pretty popular and little girls from 5 – 10 dress up in mustard yellow and cowpat brown and trudge off once a week to a chilly church hall somewhere to do good. It wasn’t really a choice but something that everyone did.  To not be one you were missing out on quite a social event every Friday night, so both me and Little Bean went off to slowly freeze in the hall.

“We’re Brownie Guides, we’re Brownie Guides we’re here to lend a hand. To love our God and serve our Queen and help our homes and land. We’ve Brownie friends, we’ve Brownie friends in North, South East and West. We’re joined together in our wish, to try to do our best!”

The reason I got thinking about the Brownies is I sat in traffic on my way to work this morning and I stopped outside a lovely old house. It cast my mind back to knocking on the door with my Mum a good twenty years ago, all excited to earn my reading badge. I had to visit this little old lady once a week and read to her, and after a certain amount of hours I got my badge, for my Mum to sew on my sash with all my other shiny ones. It made me a little sad as there was a shiny Audi on the drive, and she was frail twenty years ago so probably isn’t there anymore. She was such a nice old lady.

The Brownies seem to me to be one of these cons for young girls. The concept is quite competitive and therefore gets everyone interested; the more badges you get on your sash, the better than the next girl you become. The kids are divided into tribes (I was an elf with visions of being a pixie. No such luck) and therefore more competition is added, with prizes to winning teams in ‘fun’ games. Parents think it’s like church, when actually it’s more like dodgeball. Vicious. The con is that really you are just acting as unpaid help all over the place (I know, helping people out!) but the amount of cups of tea I had to make and ironing that I had to do for my Mum to earn one particular badge makes me think that actually I was doing a maid a disservice, as I was taking away valuable work! Not that we would ever have had a maid. My friend’s family had a cleaner once a week when I was a child, and her mum was always hilarious with it. The girls would have to clean their rooms and she would run the hoover round the morning before the maid came, so that she didn’t think they were messy. I think all the maid had to do was put some bleach down the loo, spray polish in the air so that it was fragrantly clean and then put her feet up on the coffee table and watch morning tv while dunking biscuits in her coffee. For ten pounds an hour.

Once a year, we went off to brownie camp. We were divided into different tribes and given different duties (cooking, cleaning, bed making etc). We went to a tiny village hall, in the little village where The Holiday was filmed, and for three nights we lived in a little community, trekking round the woods and building things in a wholesome and helpful fashion.

I don’t remember liking it very much.

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On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

Five Gold Rings! And Dazzle Rebel. His voice is so cool. Go forth, and listen!

My four calling birds favourite was: Go Guilty Pleasures.

My three french hens fav was: The Byronic Man

My two turtle doves were: Brooke and McKenzie

My partridge in a pear tree was: The Redneck Princess

The five gold rings post of mine is: Wanderlust and Itchy Feet ; a post on how my inbox tempts me with travel goodies!

Happy Friday!

‘Belle xxx

Now You See Me… Now You Don’t!

I’ve been having a bit of a conundrum of late; how come my comments keep disappearing? I’ve been meandering around loads of posts and leaving my tuppence worth on the end, and they vanish off into the abyss like a cowboy into the horizon, never to be seen again.
I was starting to think it was me. You know, like Bruce Willis in the Sixth Sense; he can’t understand why everyone is ignoring him until the end when it turns out that he is actually dead?

I’m not dead.

I was reassured at the presence of life in my body when I popped over to Piglet in Portugal‘s blog (another one that I love to read) and found that she had posted the same in I Am Spam! Neither of us are spam, so I decided to look into it further. I emailed a couple of people that I have blogging relationships with to determine if they had a) cut me from their lives or b) not got my comments. I also investigated via Twitter by asking around, and it seems the majority of you think I am giving you the silent treatment! Why I am not, im still as yappy as ever.

I have contacted WordPress to investigate the problem, but for the mean time I’m practically exploding with things to say!

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On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

Four calling birds. My four calling birds winner is none other than Jules at Go Guilty Pleasures. Like having a doppelganger on a different continent, this lovely lady never fails to amuse me and is helping me out over at Tinkering in the Kitchen too. Check her out, and I defy you not to be completely crushed by her adorable dog, Uncle Jesse. Awww!!

My three french hens fav was: The Byronic Man

My two turtle doves were: Brooke and McKenzie

My partridge in a pear tree was: The Redneck Princess

The four calling birds post of mine is: Ageing Female: Handle With Care ; I wrote it well over a year ago when I was facing 25 with impending doom. Now I can’t see what all my fuss was about! I’m closer to 26 and I still look like a fourteen year old, so less of the drama for my next birthday!

Read my guest post over at Wordshaker Magazine too!

A Passion For Flashin’

When I was fifteen, my Mum bought me a Polaroid camera. I loved it. Suddenly I went from this shy little wall flower to a girl who was constantly in your face trying to get you from the best angle so a square little disk of history would come shooting out of the mouth of my machine. I was never allowed to touch my Dad’s SLR camera as a little girl (even though Little Bean was the accident prone one and not me) so I used to just lovingly stroke the strap which I still remember as being green and grey, and dream of all the creations I could make. I’ve always been a bit like that you see. They say that you either use the right or left side of your brain (I forget which way round it is) and that one is creative and the other is analytical; well I use the creative side a bit much. In fact, I think that the analytical side withered and died a long time ago, due to my neglect. Saying that though, one of the guys at work gave up a long time trying to show me how to do a clever excel graph that ports information from all sorts of places and then puts it in a dynamic chart with a drop down menu.  I had a look at it again the other day and nearly gave him a heart attack when I presented him with my fantastic graph, that I had finally understood after literally hours of peering at my computer and uttering.. “eh??”.

But back to the camera. Once I was in possession of this, I was delighted. I took photos of everything I could find, popping up from nowhere and photographing my family. I still have a selection of eight photos that I took of my first boyfriend looking perplexed at what I was doing, and they still make me laugh. My favourite thing was waiting to watch the inky shapes appear out of nowhere, forming silhouettes out of the darkness of the shot like evolution. I loved it.

This is potentially what made me choose to study photography at A level. I was enthralled by the entire process and would spend hours with my friend Jo in the darkroom watching the shapes develop from white to through grey to black; pulling them out of the chemicals at just the right moment or risking losing the shots forever into a murky grey grave.

Nowadays you can’t get cheap Polaroid films but I still have that massive old camera in its box, gathering dust as a reminder of something that brought me endless happiness.

Was there something that drove your passion? Do you still have it?

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.

The Byronic Man is my metaphorical three French hens. His dry wit never fails to put a grin on my face and I am often found uttering “right? RIGHT!” at some of his posts. He is truly one great writer. Go read!

My two calling birds were:Brooke & McKenzie

And my partridge in a pear tree was: The Redneck Princess

The post I think you should revisit of mine today is: The Squirrel all about the day that I saved the squirrel from my Dad.

Hope you have all made a dent in your Christmas shopping!

Belle xx

Brucey Bonus!

In my mooching around the internet this weekend I came across two funny things. The first is titled Girlfriend Application. The rules are apparently that you must answer 70% correct and I have seen it a few places around the internet. I had great fun having a bash at them, but there are some that just totally stumped me. Saying that though, I think I could just about scrape 70%. There’s hope for me yet Granddad!

The second made me laugh, especially the pregnancy one. I got this from Fun 87 and its hilarious!!

Enjoy!!

Belle xx

We Fear Change

I fear change. First boyfriend used to mock me with this fact when anything out of the ordinary happened, uttering in a voice not dissimilar to Gollum “Ooooooh, we fears change!” and often adding a “My Pretty” on the end. Oh hah bloody hah! But it’s true. I have realised this more and more as I get older and accept some of my weaknesses, and I truly am guilty of having a massive strop and panic in my head when something out of the ordinary happens. It normally causes me to end up in hot, angry little tears as my emotions bubble to the surface. Don’t judge me. I am a girl, and sometimes I get REALLY girly. I know the guys at work still haven’t got used to me saying “please ignore the crying. I’m just a bit cross”.

So it comes as no surprise that dashing to the supermarket yesterday, I had a minor meltdown. What is it with supermarkets redesigning and changing their layout? Surely it’s more pleasing to a customer to go into the store and know where everything is, rather than going to where the bananas normally are and walking slap bang into a massive great Costa. (Yeah, like we don’t have enough coffee shops in town). Usability it is not. It’s more to get you so confused that you go in for the ingredients to lasagne and come out with some really expensive steak, a two for one offer on cereal that you don’t eat, three leeks and a shed load of loo roll. And you can’t make dinner out of that, can you?

To make it worse, they have these people in bright yellow “here to help the redesign” t-shirts. As you know from my recent HMV rant, these people are not to be trusted as they don’t actually help. But in sheer desperation to get out of hell on earth and back into my warm flat (complete with joggy bums) I asked. “Excuse me, where’s the pesto now?” the answer I got did not bode well. “What’s pesto?” I quickly told him not to worry and scurried off to scour the pasta aisle again, but he was desperate to help and trailed me, offering someone else’s services. It didn’t get better from there, as every one of the five items I had popped in for had been moved. I ended up leaving, ready to tear my hair out, with fur of the five items, and once firmly back in the car realised that item five was my earl grey tea bags. NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree!

So to add to my first day of Christmas choice yesterday (The Redneck Princess), my two turtle-dove choice for the second day of Christmas are two turtle doves, Brooke & McKenzie! These two little Christmas treats keep me giggling on gloomy days with dating disasters and men from their past, and are also in my top five things from Canada (watch out for my third Canadian bloggy friend soon!) I also love maple syrup and Toronto, bringing me up to five :).

My second blog post of mine I think you should revisit is I CAN Haz Inner Peace. It’s about my disastrous attempts at a slightly hippie yoga class in an attempt to get beach fit and flexible like a gymnast. As usual, epic fail.

Happy 13th of December!

Belle xx

Culinary Master? Kitchen Disaster!

This weekend I intended to spend some time making the flat all festive-smelling by baking lots of delicious Christmas treats. I was thinking a new batch of truffles (take 2, success), some mince pies, mini cheesecakes and a roast rack of lamb for my family on Sunday, all to get them feeling merry.

It never turns out the way you planned it, does it? On Saturday I sat in front of Christmas films and tried to make some little boxes to give my truffles in. I had visions of cute little boxes tied with a bow that I could put amongst the Christmas tree pines and label individually, for a sneaky treat on Christmas Day. What it resulted in was me feeling frazzled with tiny bits of cut card everywhere, and sellotape in my hair. At which point the Little Princess turned up and with a direct hit that only my favourite four year old could muster she said “There’s paper ALL OVER THE FLOOR!” Ten out of ten for observation.

Having had zero sleep for the past two nights, I decided to get an early night on Saturday. I took some Night Nurse (it’s always because of the Night Nurse!) and woke at 11 the following morning, aware that I had invited my family round for dinner in an hour, but with the muzzy head of someone who had drank a whole bottle of gin the night before. God help me.

I raced around the kitchen, fully aware that I had under half an hour to prep the lamb and roast potatoes and make the cheesecakes, as well as tidying the flat and hoover up the biscuit crumbs the littlest of the rascals had deposited all over my carpet the night before. I also had last nights makeup on and wanted to create a serene air of “Oh I just threw this together!”

I started with the cheesecakes. Easy peasy. Tub of butter needed melting and rather than faff with doing it on the hob I stuck it in the microwave. Now most butters come in plastic containers, but oh no, this one had an aluminium label, cue actual sparks from the microwave and an acrid burning smell.

Then I whizzed the mangoes and cheese together to make the topping,  forgetting to put the little lid on and therefore covering myself with cheese mix, all the while looking like an extra from Dawn of the Dead (especially since I dyed my hair back to slightly purple!).

Covered in cheese, I hoovered round the lounge, make the mince pies, got dressed ans made myself look alive in time for the arrival of my family. Result!

When they had gone I decided to make the mince pies, as it was on the list. The first batch went fine but I got the second out and decided they needed five minutes longer. Two hours later I woke up to a lovely sugary smell all round the house as the second round of mince pies merrily burned away in the oven.

I had had enough! I didn’t even bother trying to get them out of the muffin tray, sticking the whole lot straight in the bin and vowing to buy them next year.

How is your Christmas planning going?

I have received the Versatile Blogger Award a few times recently, but I have done a few of these before and am running out of things to say! So I thought than rather than respond to this I would do a 12 Days of Christmas style thing, naming 12 of my favourite bloggers, and 12 of my favourite posts that I have written :).

So, on the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a Partridge in a Pear Tree! And…

The Redneck Princess

The Redneck Princess is in my top things that Canada ever gave me, and she makes me happy when I am feeling grumpy. I love her ‘f**k it all’ attitude and I think you will too!!

Sleeping to Dream is the post of mine I think you should read. I wrote it over a year ago about the sleep walking and sleep talking experiences of me and my friends, and after rereading it the other night it really made me chuckle!

Happy December 12th 🙂

Belle x