A GIFT FOR YOU

Just before Christmas, Penguin Random House sent me two copies of a book. One for me and one for one of my readers.

Not one to normally frequent the Self-Help section in bookshops (there’s nothing wrong with doing that by the way, it’s just not where I personally seek solace) this is one that I otherwise probably wouldn’t have discovered. It is a sort of dip-in-and-out-of book with the aim of setting you on the road to mindfulness, painted in soothing pictures and calming words. I don’t want to say too much about it as the best gifts are given as a surprise, but I believe this this book should go to someone in need of a break, who enjoys the beauty of print and needs a little help in taking some time out for themselves at the moment.

So if you know someone who you think deserves this as a new year treat – whether they have just gone through a major break up or if they just need assistance in stopping for more than a coffee – then comment below/Facebook/Tweet/Email me with their name, why you think they deserve a copy of the book and I’ll be in touch with details about sending it on its merry way. The catch? I’ll give it until the 25th January when I’ll choose a winner at random. Oh, and your nominated reader needs to live in the UK.

Help someone beat their blues this January.

Good luck!

The Holiday

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On a recent, very relaxing trip to Greece, mum and I found ourselves delightfully sandwiched between Malia bound mischief makers on the flights there and back. Cracking.

The heat that was radiating between the bombshells and reemsters hit me harder than the humidity on arrival in Crete and they were practically bouncing off the walls with the excitement of their impending “MEGALOLZ”. On the way back however, it was a completely different story. The sexual tension was still paramount but they were absolutely ruined. Hair extensions were sandy, suncream had clearly not been a priority in thirty degree heat and the “Bang Tidy Becky” t shirts were looking somewhat weathered.

I’m not going to lie, I judged them. And I would’ve judged them as a seventeen year old too. But do I have the right to? And what was I judging them for?

Three years at uni were spent mainly going out and getting hideously drunk. Every festival I’ve ever been to; obliterated. Pretty much every Friday and Saturday night; hammered. I’ve held a friends hair back on a street corner before and have definitely fallen over in public. I, too, have kissed randoms in clubs and can think of one or two nights with a DJ I’d rather forget. So why do young holiday makers get such a bad wrap for what they do when we’re all doing it at home, more often and probably twenty times as hard? Is it because we aren’t doing it in hot pants and a “Military Men Only” vest that it’s deemed okay?

For me, there’s just something a little different about going abroad and doing as you please (aside from it being pretty disrespectful to the locals). On visiting a small town close to Malia, all I could see behind the coloured lights were vulnerable British girls, teetering around in heels, clearly inebriated on too much Ouzo. I know it shouldnt be the case but the dark streets scared me; if a girl were to be separated from her friends for a second, she would be lost and alone. And that’s when I realised: I wasn’t judging them for having fun, I was judging them for putting themselves in danger. I just think that if you’re old enough to go abroad, you should be old enough to keep your wits about you AND have fun. Something I just wasn’t seeing.

You’re probably thinking I’m old as shit. And I sort of feel it as I write this. But if that’s the case, I’ve been as old as shit since the age of sixteen. My friends and I have always joked about how gutted we are that we’ve missed out on a holiday where you drink so much your fanny falls out. But since that trip to Greece, I’ve reassured them that it’s okay: we didn’t miss the boat, we, in fact, jumped right off of it.

So on the dawn of a fresh set of GCSE results, I’m pretty sure there’ll be a few more departures to Greece over the next few days with one thing in mind. I just hope they know how to take care of themselves.

And judging by the number of youngsters I’ve seen sheepishly buying condoms in Boots, they’re definitely playing it safe.

Safe and hopelessly optimistic.

Happy holiday!