Violins & Tambourines, Candy Canes & Magazines

Now it hasn't been that I haven't had anything to write.
I always have something to write.
But these last few weeks I've been a notebook kinda girl.
I've been writing and living the next chapter of my life.
In fact I would go as far as to say it's a brand new book.
It's an exciting time for me.
And don't get me wrong, I've had to experience some really shitty situations to arrive at this new, exciting point.
But I believe everything happens for a reason.
Things are on the up for me.
Perhaps the rabbit caught the fox?

Unread the words?

The advice I have been given is to write.
Pour it out onto a page and never read it.
My world has come undone.
All I can do is stare at the ceiling.
And wish, just wish i'd have done something different.
But I doubt it would change the final outcome.
I am done.
I am empty.
I have no faith.
I have no energy.
Love is nothing but a fantasy.
A lie.
Something fabricated.
Make believe.
No more real than fairys or goblins.
I won't be falling anymore.

To The Fox, From The Rabbit.

If I said I really,
Really,
Wanted to get to know you,
That would be an understatement,
I already know you are no good for me,
You are the fox,
I am the rabbit.

You start the butterfly riot in my stomach,
You let the moths flap their dusty wings against the chambers of my heart,
You invite me in with your pleasant words,
Your false promises,
You are the fox.

I want to take your thoughts,
Pour them into the largest wine glass I own,
And sip,
Very slowly,
I want to understand,
I want to become intoxicated,
You are the fox.

I want to light candles,
And bathe,
Bathe for hours,
Bathe for days,
In the secrets you've never had the courage to say out loud to the world,
You are the fox.

If I could,
I'd sing you a song,
If I could,
I'd write you a poem,
If I could,
I'd solve all of your problems.

But I can't,
So I won't,
Because I am just the rabbit,
And everyone knows what happens when a fox catches a rabbit.

Written in memory of Marco Simoncelli RIP #58

I was involved in a motorbike accident almost six weeks ago. No, I was not a pillion passenger. Yes, I was the one riding the motorbike. No, the accident was not my fault. Yes, the car driver did not see me.

I have loved engines and two wheels for as long as I can remember, it’s in my blood and after my Mother and Father separated, my Father just did whatever he wanted. This includes, keeping a Suzuki GSXR 600 in the front room, having framed photographs of his favourite racers on the walls and taking a Triumph engine apart on the dining room table. It never occurred to me that most Fathers didn’t take engines apart in the kitchen on the dinner table, I just thought it was something every Father did, just the norm, if you like. While my peers had a favourite team or favourite player, I had a favourite racer and a favourite bike. Ben Bostrom, Ducati 916 in red. Everybody else grew up with football or rugby, but in our house we had World Superbikes and the Isle Of Man TT.

Despite my passion for motorbikes and racing, it took me until fairly recently to pass my test. This is partly because in my late teens and early twenties I had boys, makeup and going out to occupy my time and partly because I made a deal with my Father. The deal was as follows; I had to be driving my car for over three years and be over twenty one, then he would give me his blessing to ride motorbikes, as this would, ‘help me live a bit longer’, his words, not mine. I passed my car test when I was eighteen, so I had by far kept my side of the deal.

Learning to ride a motorbike, for me, was much easier than learning to drive a car. In a car I just couldn’t get my head around gears and clutch control, maybe because I’m not technical and didn’t really understand how it worked, but on a motorbike, I took to it like a duck to water, I loved it. I passed my CBT in March and then my Direct Access in June. The world was my oyster and I was so proud of myself. There is something to be said for achieving something without the help of anyone else, on your own merit and with your own hard work, it makes success all the more sweeter.

My very first bike was a Suzuki SV650S on a 2007 plate, in blue, with beautiful white stripes embedded into the paint work, awesome loud exhaust and lovely little tail tidy. For me, it was my perfect first motorbike. A dream come true. Something I had wanted and worked towards since being a young girl, my very own motorbike, nobody could take it away from me, because it was mine. I just wanted to ride everywhere, all the time. I took my bike all over Snowdonia National Park, all around Manchester and off into Mid Wales. It wasn’t a ride out if I wasn’t hitting one hundred miles on each trip.

It’s difficult to explain to non-bikers the thrill of riding a motorbike, it’s difficult to convey the passion across to people who aren’t petrol heads or those who don’t have a need for speed. There are no words that will describe that feeling of not being able to change up any higher, having your right wrist pinned as far back as it will go and glancing down and clocking 130mph or more on your dash. You can not describe the feeling of getting the bike cranked over left, right, left, down small country lanes, the feeling of having your chest pressed to the tank, keeping your elbows tight by your side and getting as tucked in as possible just to go that bit faster. The noise and the smell your bike creates just adds to the whole experience. Just the thought of it brings a smile to my face and gives me butterflies in my stomach there is nothing that I would rather be doing.

But as everybody knows, riding a motorbike is dangerous. It is not the bike or the rider that makes it particularly unsafe, it is other road users, ninety five per cent of motorbike accidents are not the fault of the rider. Having come from a biking family, I know the risks involved, I know that I might end up injured and I am aware that one day I may go out for a ride and I might never come back, but this awareness does not make it any easier to deal with when it actually happens.

The day I had my accident I was heading to Oulton Park to watch qualifying and race one of the British Superbike triple header weekend. I had all my gear on, full race suit with back protector, Shoei Raid 2 helmet, gloves, Sidi boots, I would never dream of leaving my house without the correct protective equipment, there is just no point. I was heading towards a duel carriage way and was making my way through the town where I live. I do not speed in built up areas, I don’t in my car, so I don’t on the bike, there’s too much going on and every chance of a small child running into the road, so I always ride at the speed limit. I followed three cars for one and a half miles through the 30mph zone and then as I approached the duel carriage way, the road is long and straight and changes into a national speed limit zone, a perfect place to over take. I waited until nothing was coming in the opposite direction so that I could pull right out onto the opposite side of the road, mainly to be seen. Mirrors, indicators, life saver, pull out and go. I did everything right, to standard, I even had my thumb over my horn ready to beep if anyone did try and pull out on me. As I was side by side over taking the first car, he decided he was going to overtake too, (I later found out, he was trying to keep up with the car in front as he was in convoy and had no idea where he was going).

The whole incident must have taken less than ten seconds but it felt like ten minutes, anyone who has ever been in a road traffic accident will know what this feels like, it’s a very bizarre, strange feeling. When I realised that the driver of the car had not seen me I was instantly on my horn, to let him know I was there, expecting him to pull back in, he did not. I braked, he had forced me off the road and I ran onto the grass, I kept the bike upright, until I hit the gravelled entrance of somebody’s driveway and down me and the bike went. At my last glance I was doing 50mph, I wasn’t even speeding, because if I had of been speeding he would probably have missed me, it would have been close, but he would have missed me, as I went flying past him. I can very clearly remember my thought process as I dismounted my bike. In this order, number one, ‘my dad is going to kill me,’ number two, ‘my new beautiful bike,’ number three, ‘he hasn’t stopped,’ and number four, ‘ouch, this hurts’.

I did my best superman impression at 50mph down the road, and had to watch my bike do the same about three feet in front of me. I think, for me, the worst part was watching the damage take place to my bike. Something that was mine and that I’d wanted for so long being destroyed before my eyes. I remember lying on the tarmac and watching the car drive away, I turned over onto my back and dragged myself out of the road, I thought nobody had stopped. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t, I was so angry, how did he not see me? My leg hurt. I dragged myself over to the grass verge and lay on the ground, I needed to think.

A women came running over and placed her arm around me, only now I realised that seven cars and two motorbikes had stopped. I still had my helmet on at this point and was surrounded by people telling me that they had seen everything happen and the accident wasn’t my fault. I removed my gloves, then my helmet, despite everyone telling me not too, I knew I hadn’t hurt my neck, back or head. To my surprise the helmet wasn’t as damaged as I thought it would have been, the visor was ruined, but that was it and all I could feel was the pain in my left leg.

As I placed my helmet next to me I heard the usual gasps of, ‘Oh my god, it’s a girl,' and, 'it’s only a young girl.’ In case you hadn’t already guessed, yes, I am female and I am twenty four years old, I’m quite tall and slim, so I’m not your stereotypical motorbike rider, I don’t care. My gender shocks so many people when I take my helmet off and I have already had to deal with lots of discrimination because of it, but I am always very quick to remind people that women do now have the vote, so I see no reason for us not to be riding a motorbike. But I would like to mention that I have never received any prejudice from fellow bikers, which I think speaks for itself.

In the end, it turned out that the car driver did stop, he also had the audacity to approach me whilst I was sitting at the side of the road repeating, ‘look at my bike, it wasn’t my fault,’ like some sort of mantra. He said to me, ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.’ To which I couldn’t stop myself from saying, ‘You didn’t see me? You didn’t look! You could have fucking killed me!’

I was very lucky to have escaped my accident with just cartilage and tissue damage to my left knee, I was two feet away from colliding with a stone wall and I narrowly missed hitting a telegraph pole, an impact with either one of these things could have either killed me or at the very least, paralysed me. The ambulance crew, the doctors, the police and everybody at the scene have restored my faith in humanity, so many kind, good hearted people were worried and concerned about my wellbeing.

It took me a good few weeks to realise I could have lost my life that day, all because a car driver was not paying any attention to the road, he did not look in his mirrors for at least a mile, because if he did, he would have seen me and he certainly did not check his blind spot before making a manoeuvre. I can accept that if I ride a motorbike fast and hard I may lose my life in the process, but what I’m not okay with is somebody else’s ignorance and stupidity taking my life from me.
A week after my accident I took to twitter to promote ‘think bike, think biker’ because if only the car driver who caused my accident had looked in his mirrors he would have seen me and this would never have happened. Lots of high profile people retweeted me and if I only made one car driver ‘think bike, think biker’ then it’s an achievement, and I feel like I made a difference. I guess you could say it helped with the healing process.

Most people ask me; ‘when will you be getting back on the bike?’ ‘Will you ever ride again?’ ‘Have you been put off?’ And other such variations that involve me getting back on a motorbike. Usually my main response is of course; ‘as soon as I’m back to 100 per cent and the bikes fixed, yes I can’t wait’. Most people frown at this response.

But, unfortunately it has been six long weeks, I am still on crutches and I’m starting to wonder if it’s all really worth it. This whole incident has broken my heart, I’m a tough cookie, I’m obviously not your bog standard female, but this has been a huge thing for me. It has changed and altered my life much more than I could have ever expected. I honestly thought two weeks off work and I’ll be up and about. But that regrettably hasn’t been the case, my knee is much worse that I first assumed and physiotherapy is a long hard road, matching with that fact that I’m a really active person that never sits still, it’s been a real shock to the system.
I am ashamed to admit that this week was the first time I felt that I didn’t want to get back on a bike. I wanted to forget the whole thing happened and write it all off as a stupid drama and never ride again, maybe the critics were right, maybe I was too young and too female to ride a motorbike. Then I read this:

 ‘You live more for five minutes going fast on a bike than other people do in all of their life.’

Spoken by the late and great Marco Simoncelli, he tragically lost his life in the October of last year at Sepang racing in the MotoGP. He is right. I can’t possibly let one set back stop me, getting back on my bike will be my biggest achievement to date. This is because I’ll be saying a really big ‘fuck you,’ to all those people that say I shouldn’t really be riding again and I know that getting back on my bike will make me smile and it will make me happy, because Simoncelli is right. You’ve never lived until you’ve ridden a motorbike fast.

It’s a sinking but lifting feeling. Does that make sense?

I don’t believe in love. Not anymore. You reassure me, of course I shouldn’t believe in love, it’s perfectly logical for me to feel like that. But you tell me to wait, love will find me. It’s out there, waiting, ready to pounce and let me know that it is real and it does exist but only when I’m ready.


We have those playful arguments, you know the type, both of us want the floor, we both want to be heard, but we have to take turns. I delight in these. In those moments of light-hearted raised voices. In you always wanting to be right, and never being wrong, on most occasions, in most situations.

You challenge me and I restore your faith. We are so clear that our lives are so busy and so full and it’s refreshing and comforting to know that, to hear that. No expectations.

You walked into my life and I came crashing into yours.

You listen intently to my dreams of changing the world and I can’t shut up telling you about how I’m going to make something of myself with a confidence I’ve never had before. But then I tell you that it never happens for people like me, how could it? Why would it? You can’t wait to bite back, instantly, telling me that nothing ever happened on it’s own and that I’ve got to make it happen. I laugh out of control, you are so silly. But you have a point. You are talented. So very talented.

I’m the lucky one. Thanks for walking in. Take a seat and never leave.

Break Up Album Number One: The Queen Is Dead.

In all fairness I have never considered this album a breakup album.
Until now.
That is all.

Two Poems. About Love

To, The Missing Puzzle Piece, From, The Butterfly: Part One


Love storms the castle gates of common sense,
it scales the highest walls.
If completely crucial,
love will attempt to move mountains.

Love’s a feeling you can't explain,
an ache in your stomach,
a pounding in your chest.
Love’s the feeling of being sought.

Love is strange and magnificent,
innocent, yet very rude.
It shares, will always care.
Love can make you jump, shout and fly.

Love’s a smile that will never leave you.
A connection, a rush,
A need, a want, a have.
Love means nothing else matters, ever.

Love can not be discontinued,
it can be fought against,
it can not be beaten.
Love will always overcome all.

Love will never fail to surprise you.



To, The Missing Puzzle Piece, From, The Butterfly: Part Two

The promise of love, ripped apart at the seams.
Broken and torn, lost.

I need a match,
The walk home was long.
It was late.
I’m going to start
a fire or fall
in love tonight.
Either will hurt
just as much as the other.

Hello, ring, ring,
love was on the line, ring,
you wasted too much time. Ring.
It hung up…
Instead reality took the call.

Me? Oh yes, me?
I’m in the business of misery.
Net profits are higher than last years,
Turnover is excellent.

Romance and Stage Encounters.

Shaking. Sweating. Worst experience of my life.
The best thing I ever did.
I couldn't look up.
You weren't there.
Lights. Clapping. The sound of my own voice.
Being proud. Smiles. Still shaking.
You weren't there.
My heart splits at the seams a little bit more whenever I realise we sit in the friendzone.
Why will you not be attracted to me?
Where is the lust?
The need?
The desire?
You weren't there.
I miss you.
If that is even possible.
Heart on the wrist.
Silly girl.
I'd know if you sent them.
Silly, silly girl.

How To Survive A Relationship: In Ten Simple Steps

Step one, the first meeting. We’ve all been here, the first glance. The moment when your eyes meet across the room and your heart skips a beat. You flutter your eyelashes and there is an instant connection. Every cliché imaginable starts to collide into one intense moment of perfection, heavily fuelled by your Saturday night alcohol intake. Stolen glances turn into a shy and difficult: ‘Hello’. Briefly followed by each others introduction yelled over the music. A few uncomfortable moments, then you get his phone number and he gets yours, a few more awkward moments and then you get his full name and again, he gets yours.
That’s right, his full name, does his surname match perfectly with your first name? Because lets be honest here, if it doesn’t, this isn’t going any further.
You then spend the rest of your night trying to look like a sex kitten, imagining your wedding to Mr. Perfect and trying desperately hard not to be the drunken idiot you actually are.


Step two, the wait. You’ve got his number, you’ve got his name, so now you play the waiting game. It’s a well known fact that women play games with men, never allowing them to have the upper hand in any situation and always keeping the ball firmly in our female court, always on our terms. Whether we want to or even intend on playing games or not, inevitability we always do.
We never want to make the first move, we want him to like us enough, to use the initiative, to contact us first, usually by text message. We never want to seem too keen, or too needy, or too desperate, despite the fact we’re already mentally planning the wedding complete with seating plan and flower arrangements.
while we’re waiting for THAT text message, we find the need to research him on every social networking website that has ever been invented, which almost certainty opens a whole new can of worms.
“I can’t believe it! His favourite band is Bon Jovi too! No way! He loves watching back to back soap episodes on a Sunday with a hangover, just like me! We are made for each other! He has got to be the one! But hang on, what’s that written on his wall? He’s left three x’s, she’s not prettier than me! But it does say he’s single…”
This is no overreaction… Well actually yes, yes it is, and worryingly, most of us are guilty of these unreasonable and ridiculous thoughts. All over some man we’ve only met once and hasn’t sent THAT text yet. We just need to calm down and maybe make contact first?
Or maybe he’s seen the pictures on Facebook of Vicky’s Hen Party in 2008, the ones with the tequila, and the toilet and the sick? Possibly time to expect an AA meeting as a first date if he does get in touch!

Step three, the first date. So you’ve done it, snagged a date with Mr. Perfect from Saturday night. He’s managed to see past the drunken photos and the potential stalking but this is where the nightmare really begins.
What do you wear? Something smart and sexy. But not too sexy, or too short, so no, the latest Ann Summers outfit won’t do, just yet. But nothing too smart, you want causal, but not so causal it looks like you haven’t made the effort, but not too much effort.
Where do you meet? Is it to be coffee in a cute and indie cafe or maybe cocktails in a chic and trendy bar? Somewhere preferably not too noisy, you want to be able to talk, and somewhere not too busy, you do want to be able to get a drink when necessary. And not forgetting the golden dating rule, somewhere that you don’t usually frequent, just in case you run into somebody you’d rather not, i.e. the ex.
Questions such as: what happens if you can’t remember what he looks like? Or, the horror of, what if you don’t fancy him? Should have both been answered already by the inappropriate social media stalking.
But once you’ve made it through all these struggles and it turns out that Mr. Perfect is just as perfect as you remembered (you lucky, lucky girl!) another big stumbling block gets in your way and tries to ruin everything…
The bill. Who pays the bill? In a perfect world, if the date hasn’t gone well you should probably split it, you’re not going to see him again and splitting it seems the only fair thing to do. If the date has gone wonderfully and he offers to pay, excellent, ring the bell for date number two. Ding! Ding!
But the problems start when he expects you to pay. Get out of there fast, leave via the bathroom window if you must and never look back. You deserve to be treated like a Queen, and as we all know, the Queen never carries cash.

Step four, the fourth date. You’ve had drinks, you’ve seen a movie or two and you’ve even had a romantic stroll around various parks and woodland, now it’s the fourth date and it’s time to seal the deal.
It’s the make or break date, you’ll be spending the night together, in bed, attempting to have sex and it’s now or never! If it doesn’t happen now, or in the very near future, you’ll be destined to end up in the friends zone, and judging by how well it’s going, neither of you want that!
Don’t forget to be wise before the big night, if you don’t want to discuss contraception with him just yet, make sure you carry condoms with you because you can guarantee he’ll forget to bring them, or if he does remember he might not want to use them, if this situation arises, you should take sex off the cards right there and then. Respect yourself and your body above all else.

Step five, the morning after the night before. You did it. You did the deed, and now you’ve woken up. Now here is the bag of mixed emotions you probably weren’t expecting. Was I good enough? Of course you were, you’re amazing.
Will he still like me now he’s seen me naked? Do you think he noticed that scar/bruise/red mark? The lights were probably out and you were probably hiding under the covers so he probably didn’t see that much. But don’t forget, he probably doesn’t know what day it is either, let alone noticing that tiny scar to the left of your belly button!
What happens now? What do I say to him? Just relax, hopefully these questions will be answered by the warm loving arm he places tenderly around your waist and with the gentle kiss he places on your forehead.

Step six, the honeymoon period. The best part, the peak of the relationship, he becomes glued to your side and the two of you are inseparable.
You can’t get enough of each other. You spend all your time cuddled up on the sofa watching movies, eating out together, spending lazy days naked in bed and having sex all the time. You are simply blind to each others faults. Nothing and nobody else matters. Life is wonderful.
You get to meet the parents and grin stupidly at each other when both sets of parents agree you’re a fantastic couple.
Time not spent together is time spent on the phone in long conversations with each other or sending and receiving loved up texting messages, the modern day love letters. You get butterflies every time your mobile phone beeps and it’s him. You’ve never been happier and you’ve never been more convinced that your Mr. Perfect is the one!

Step seven, the first serious argument. The relationship has been so perfect for such a long time now, something had to give, and usually it’s something unbelievably stupid, like leaving the seat up on the toilet, for the tenth time in a row, or for the ladies, leaving your long hair clogging up the drain in the shower.
But the first serious argument can leave you deflated, extremely unhappy and very angry. You may not even have contact with Mr. Perfect for several days now depending on how serious the first serious argument was.
But never fear, as soon as someone gives in and it’s been decided that the whole thing was just really silly and won’t ever happen again, make up sex steps in and solves everything. Then before you know it, it’s a hop, skip and a jump and you’re quickly back to step six in no time.

Step eight, the big move. You’ve bitten the bullet and decided it’s time to move in together, he’s moved into yours or you’ve moved into his or maybe you’ve found somewhere new. Either way, these are challenging times for you both, as people and for your relationship, nothing can prepare you for the turmoil of living with someone else, especially someone of the opposite sex that you’re in a loving relationship with.
Decisions on whose belongings live where, whose furniture do you want to keep, paying the mortgage, and how to split the bills start to make your relationship very unromantic and if you’re not careful the fun can start to fade away.
Changes in your sex life will begin to appear, the urgency to have sex completely disappears, because now you see Mr. Perfect every night and wake up next to him every morning. While the notion of this is romantic in the early days, he will probably snores, or sleep walks or sleep talks, or just generally move around a lot in his sleep, which will makes you angry in the long run, especially when these things wake you up, every, single, night, and he can just seemingly snooze through an earthquake.

Step nine, the breakdown of the relationship. Everything’s been heading downhill for a while now. You argue a lot, you can’t remember the last time you had sex and step six feels like it took place in another life.
If Mr Perfect, or even yourself for that matter, is going to be unfaithful, now would be the ideal time to do it, you’re feeling low, unloved and you need some form of ego boost. The social networking websites step in again to play a part. The messages will begin to appear from long lost friends and ex-partners and it finally feels like everything between the two of you is slipping away.
You’re clutching at straws but you’re not quiet ready to give up on your relationship just yet.

Step ten, the break up. So you’ve reached that point, they call it a break up because it’s broken. This is an extremely painful time for both parties.
The house and all of our possessions needs to be divided up equally and fairly. But there is nothing that takes into account the mental impact the break up is having on you or him.
You’re currently dealing with lots of different emotions, maybe anger, well defiantly anger if someone else was involved. You’ll be experiencing sadness because of all the time and effort you’ve put into your relationship has amounted to nothing. You’ll be feeling disappointment that all of those plans you made together for the future will never come true, and continue to be merely just a dream.
A break up is really soul destroying at the time but don’t worry because everything happens for a reason and you’ll pick yourself up, dust yourself off and realise he just wasn’t Mr. Perfect in the first place.

See you back at step one, to start all over again!

FEAR

I normally write when something happens in my life.
I write to vent, to provide answers, to have a release.
But with this, I don't know what to write.
It's numbing.
It hurts.
There is no answer.
Sometimes you have to admit defeat.
To bow out.
And leave.

Being Miserable

I have spent many a night awake late, watching the sun come up, sat on my sofa and writing, writing words that will never matter, words that no one will read. I feel like I’ve spent a life time chasing, chasing something that isn’t really there.
I know my faults.
They by far outweigh my good points.
And I hate it when somebody enters your life just to turn around and walk out again.
I’m very unsure.
Unsure as to how I feel.
Unsure as to how he might feel.
We can be romantic and imagine all the beautiful things in life were made for us.
But sometimes reality is harsh.
And sometimes it’s better to accept said harsh reality, than to day dream about romance and beauty.
Finding out that I was out of my depth is my turning point.
He’s way out of my league.
How could I even begin to compare to fast cars, champagne and cheap thrills?
I am from a council estate in the North West, in a town that no-one has ever heard of.
The most I could ever wish for is a diamond ring and a couple of vows.
There is much misery in being a nobody.
But there is also so much security in never having anything to achieve.

Reflection is such a beautiful thing.

What is romance without a little lust?
What is love without a little hate?
What are you without a little me?

Sometimes it worries me that I have always had a better relationship with the written word than anything else in my life.
It worries me that my top priorities are motorbikes, music and words.
Does this make me so different?
Does it make me so wrong?
Will I ever change?
Probably not.
Why can I write/type better than I can actually say it?
Why doesn’t my brain allow me to process the words to my mouth?
Why is it only ever to my hands?
Am I missing something?
As always there are too many questions,
And never enough answers.
So I sat there and cried.
I let the salty wet tears fall from my eyes.
I wept about the house I didn’t want to be in.
The situation that has slowly encompassed me.
I sobbed because actually, yes, I did have self belief
I knew I could do it.
I always have.
I have just never allowed myself to believe that, it’s the old notion of daring to dream.
But on this occasion, I shed tears because for the first time in my life,
Somebody outside of my family, who doesn’t have to be biased, who doesn’t have to keep me happy, who doesn’t even know me.
Somebody else believed in me too.
Just knew that inside of me, I had what it took, that I could do it.
I don’t think you could ever guess how valuable that tiny hint of belief is.
It will keep me going when the world is eating me alive.
It will keep my pen pressed to my notebook when my mind is empty.
It will do it’s best to keep the fire burning on twelve hour shifts.
Belief is a brilliant thing.

To The Gentleman Sat At Table 22 (And To Anyone Else Who Has Ever Been A Twat In A Restaurant Without Good Reason).

My name is Laura and I'm an Assistant Manager for a high street chain of Italian restaurants.

I have ten GCSEs A-C, I have five A-levels A-C, I have an NVQ Level 3.
And I’m in my third year of a Creative Writing Degree with the Open University, which I am studying for whilst working a forty eight hour contract at the above job.
I am by no means stupid, dim-witted or dense.
Please don’t treat me that way.
The next time you decide to visit my store and act like a twat, I am likely to tell you how rude, obnoxious and insufferable you are being.
And I won’t be polite about it.
I didn’t do that tonight because I didn’t want you to complain to my Head Office and I certainly don’t want to lose my job.
But on reflection, just because I am waiting on your table, bringing you drinks and taking your order, that does not mean you have the right to treat me as if I am something unsightly you have just stood in.
I am a person too.
With feelings… Believe it or not.
I may be smiling at you and being super polite, but that is my job.
I find it extremely loathsome that you find it acceptable to talk over me when I’m trying to take your order and your credit card payment.
Did you know that saying ‘Please’ and ‘Thank You’ will cost you nothing?
In fact I’d prefer you to use manners with me, than for you to leave me the spare change rattling around in your back pocket.
Tipping your waiter/waitress is a whole different kettle of fish.
If he or she has gone above and beyond to make your evening as perfect as possible for you and your party, you should tip away. Eight to ten percent is acceptable but to be honest as long as it’s a decent cash tip, your server won’t mind, and you have probably just left more than the hourly rate, so everyone is happy.
But whatever you do, never, ever tip on the credit card machine, ever. Your server will get taxed on the tip you leave, and the company will take a bit too. Not cool.
And one more thing…
If you come into my restaurant with a voucher or a fucking code for a free pizza, you’re probably not as rich as you’re making out to be.
Get a fucking life.
If you want to pretend to be someone you are not, please go somewhere else.
Thank you.

Dearest...

I was just wondering if you'd found your way here yet?
With a click, click, click.
Do my words get your attention?
Your words make me melt.
One hundred million people want your attention.
I don't know why you gave it to me.
Waiting patiently until the next time our eyes met across crowded rooms.
You stop my breath.
I make you smile.
Just give me a sign.
Let me know you're there.
Your favourite Smiths song.
I love cliche.

i thought i knew what to say.

turns out i don't.

I'm still eighteen in the heart, just not the bones.

I think of you and I smile.
I grin from ear to ear.
You make me happy.
The happiest I’ve ever been.
We take things slow.
We don’t like to rush.
We talk and text.
Text and talk.
We wait for the moment.
The moment things all change.
Innocence lost.
Passion explodes.
We look into each others eyes.
We smile.
We say goodbye.
The moment never arrives.

So why are you, still with him?

He only calls you up when he wants something.
Like a wasp that's lost its sting.
I think he'd look good on a windscreen.

He'll hang you out like the bed sheets on the line to dry.
You've gotta be strong, be tall, be thick, be false.
Don't let him crucify.

So why are you, still with him?
I wanna see that he's played with your heart for the last time,
But we both know that is just a dream of mine.

He's running rings round you,
Whilst you shop for yours.
When it rains it fucking pours,
The weather never changes in your town.
The 'Life Of Riley' is one he occupies.
I'm not obsessing and i'm not a spy,
I've better things to do with my spare time, honest.


So why are you, still with him?
I wanna see that he's stayed in your bed for the last time,
But we both know that is just a dream of mine.






I can not take credit for these words.
They are not mine.
I could never write something as powerful or as skillful as the above.
Sometimes somebody else's words just fit better.
Thanks once more to @What_Liam_Said

Sometimes it's the little things...

@Laurachivers what we do doesn't seem important when events take a turn for the worse - but we're happy if we gave you any reason to smile x -- Liam Fray (@What_Liam_Said)

The rule of three...

Nothing hurts more than love,

Nothing will ever cut you deeper,
Nothing leaves a scar like love.
To the boy I thought I loved at fourteen.
To the boy I kissed at sixteen.
To the boy that made me smile at twenty four.
Why don’t you see me?
Why don’t you care?
Why are you not listening to me?

Fifty Shades Of Grey?

So I just had a little look to see what all the fuss was about.
I'm disappointed.
The novelist in me has ripped it to pieces.
In fact if Mr. Grey cocked his head to one side just one more time, i'd have been forced to snap his neck.
No, really...
Men do not cock their necks.
That's a woman's game.
We do it to be cute...
And when something confuses us...
Speaking of women...
The frisky female inside of me wasn't turned on either...
Maybe I am not the lonely housewife I once thought I was.
Maybe it takes more than just a few dirty words to turn me on.
Maybe i've had better sex than Mr. Grey?
But in conclusion I feel I have discovered a wonderful captive audience.
Now all I need to do is write about an average looking young girl, with hardly any bedroom experience and an extremely attractive American male who is amazing in bed and has a love for all things filthy.
The kind of man that would pin you down and fuck you.
This should, in theory, make me a multi millionaire.
Now where to find a twisted plot such as this?

You are like a long lost lover

I havent posted anything for quite a while. This is because im having a love affair with my notebook. That and my life has become a dirty fantasy that i dont ever want to share. But im back to reality now and the funs over. I read somewhere that working full time ruins yoour life. I agree. You know i never wanted to fall in love. It was never up there on my top 10 things to do list. Which needs up dating by the way. Nailed all 10 things on that list. Love isnt something i want to spend time with. Or believe. My mind was always too busy being blown by other things. Like music.

The wrong things, that felt so right.

why is it everything that is bad for you taste so good?
why do you want to do bad things?
why must we play with our emotions?
You are the drug.
I am the user.
You are lust.
I am love.
You are the King.
I am the Queen.

Be(lie)ve

Lets discuss music.
And kiss.
Lets talk about books.
And kiss.
Read me a poem.
And then kiss.
Spend the night debating travel.
And kiss.

We can all dream.

Now I can see that you, you weren't the one for me...

Do you remember the time we made out in the back row of the cinema?
And the time you left me waiting in the rain for an hour?
Do you remember the first time we kissed?
And the time you cancelled our date 4 hours before it started?
Do you remember the time you gave me the support I needed at the hospital?
And the time you let me down at the pub?
You say you've changed.
We all change with time and age.
But i don't think i'm too quick to believe you've ditched your friends for love.
Life continues to be crazy
And the answers don't come easy.
My heart says one thing.
My head the other.
I'm inbetween the ages.
Not quite old enough to be a mother, a wife.
But too old to be going out everynight and living the dream.
I will always take my regrets with me.
And hide in my secrets.

social media ruins relationships

i don't think i'm so willing to hand my loving heart over while social media is collecting the broken and cracked ones.
i'm not really sure what i'm going to do now.
but all bets are off.
and the cat is mine.
i thought you where the best thing since sliced bread.
but now i think you're finding it hard to keep up with chlamydia.
its true what they say about love.
and life.
a sinking ship.
a dead end job.
a nightmare.
i need to regroup and make some decisions.
but my heart isn't young anymore.
and since the last few attempts, the band aids do not stick anymore.

when you need space

i'm feeling very lost at the moment.
like i'm sort of wandering around.
with no aim or goal.
I don't know what I should be doing or where or I should be going.
I'm feeling pretty sad
Might just take off again.

I want to do bad things with you...

'Love is just a lyric in a childrens rhyme'

'He never contemplated bumping into you,
how's your mother now and what have you been up to?
Just to see you sets him off,
a chance encounter with someone he loved so dearly.'

'I've often heard it said, "you can't be friends once you've been to bed,"
Just to see you sets me off.
A chance encouncter with someone I loved so dearly'

A free ride on a guilt trip...

Just writing, you know?

First blog of 2012.
And when will people stop saying 'Happy New Year'!?
Maybe when they start to say 'Happy Birthday' or 'Merry Christmas' again.

I really don't want to recap 2011 in any sort of way, shape or form.
I just want to look to 2012 as a new start.
But to be honest the last 14 days have been a little...well not as expected shall we say.

But let's leave every little technicality behind and just write.
I still love to write.

The latest idea I had for a book was kinda brutal but I think i'll just write it anyway.

Coldplay - Christmas Lights

We'd spent hours walking up and down the South Bank.
Laughing, smiling and pretending we where having fun.
Where we really just pretending?
The night we drank tequila.
The night I ruined it all.
Life goes on.
But every moment we spent together won't ever be forgotten.
Watching Glastonbury and singing our hearts out whilst drinking Mexican beers in an empty pub.
I'm willing to allow the happiness gloss over the bad times.
I'll still take it all with me.

Kids In Glass Houses - Lovely Bones

Do you remember the night you sang this?
To me?
Remember?
I swear it was me you where searching for in the crowd.
Singing as if every line was written for me.
Being so head strong, wanting all of the world to be mine.

Kelly Clarkson - Since You'd Been Gone

'He only dated you because you where the hottest girl at the time'
How could you even try and reply to that?
William, it was really nothing.
I fell for that boy, hook, line and sinker.
He was posh.
He was indie.
He was innocent.
He didn't even like blow jobs, or just oral sex for that matter, giving or taking.
I'd certainly never heard of it.
I wore sexy lingerie, i mean it was hot, white and red, frills and cherries.
You would.
I invested in Ann Summers secret weapon, Pleasure Gel.
And yet nothing.
He turned round and told me he'd not been into me for months, which was strange because our relationship only lasted a grand total for four months.