I’m plummeting again. Sinking into dark waters and I can’t see the surface. I’m not afraid to admit that. I browse back through old photographs and busy Facebook posts from another life. It reminds me of a brighter, more beautiful person. Someone free of ugly thoughts that made an effort every single day to look glamorous and was so busy every moment was precious. A glittery, giggling fairy that had no bad words. Who gave everyone the benefit of the doubt and believed everyone had a true inner beauty.

Just a naive young girl. Poked and prodded for far too long and terrified to loose those she loved. I’m jealous of a familiar creativity. The busy, shining, fast, living little girl. She turned ugly, bitter, terrified and alone. She stopped wearing glitter on her eyes or nice clothes. She started to forget how to live, breathe properly. She forgot to eat and kiss and smile and felt ruined.

It comes in huge waves. But it’s different this time. I’m running out of steam. I want to apologise for the things I’ve done to my Mother. For heartbreak I’ve caused her. The trauma, the addictions, the escape attempts, the screaming. The self destructive behaviour I’m convinced will kill me. I’m sorry to Noah for being the wild woman and driving myself into the ground with my madness. For not simply being a better Mother by just being content and comfortable. I could never do it.

I was once blessed with a radiance that has slipped from me. I need to wake up, realise it’s just a nightmare and be freed. I tried waking myself a while ago. It landed me in big trouble. I just can’t grasp it. Whatever the fuck it is. Its a fingertip out of reach and always will be. So I’ve given up smiling. Stopped pretending to be okay with not being content. Stopped pretending I’m not a shadow of the magic I once felt. I fear I’m on the edge of insanity.

It’s gone and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up.

I need to feel. Something. Anything. I need to get out of here.



March 2016

Every night I curl up in bed with him and fail to explain exactly how I feel, but every night I stroke his hair, hold in to my breast, rock his small body and attempt it. Religiously before I sleep I promise I’ll never ever leave him and apologise for my faults. 

 I’m sad this evening but it’s a positive sadness. I can appreciate not being wholly content. Wheres the beauty in that? How could I possibly manage to thrive if I was? I’m a selfish individual. I panic about my selfishness but not about how I’ve perceived. I met a man last night. A beautiful Scottish composer staying with my parents for a masters interview in Leeds. I invited him up after Noah was asleep and we sat next to the fire and spoke of travelling stories, inspirational music, his life and partner back home and cats. I truly enjoyed his company. I sit listening to his EP and sob a little. It’s exhausted today, pretty unwell and the beauty of it pushes me over the edge.

 I’m starting to flutter again. Strength varies and tonight I’m not so strong. Tomorrow will be so much brighter. I’m truly privileged to have indulged in the magical people I have over the year. I realise I’m waffling and sometimes forget the actual meaning of what I’m trying to write. What the point is to it. 

 I call it passion writing. If someone sat me down and told me to write something, I’d find it near enough impossible. It’s a way to vent. Words pass through me in a storm like fashion and I can’t capture anything. Nothing sounds right and I want to burn the paper. To sit and scribble away with only the notepad in front of you on your own accord. It’s a mindful way of detaching from your mind and watching the words appear, arranged in such a way to explain a second of exact feeling. You wonder how they got there. I’m not a writer and perhaps foolish to make myself so vulnerable. To give such private thoughts to the whole world. To have hundreds of people read your mind in such an intense personal way. I find it solely therapeutic. Be pure, honest and true and there is nothing to loose. 

My body grows heavy and I find myself gazing around the living room. I’m exhausted. I have a complicated relationship with this house. Some days I refuse to go home and others it’s the only place on earth I feel grounded.


Hearing the sounds of a fiddle behind my shut eyes makes me smile like an excited child. Folk music never fails to send a burning frenzy down my body. I need to dance to it. It reminds me of snotty noses, cold finger tips and spreading glitter across muddy fields and bonfires as a young girl. 

It was Mother’s day and Ashley and Sammy made us dinner. He presented me with a present he’s bought me in Chiang Mai. The holiday he’d asked my future sister in law to be his wife. I write in it now, turquoise and gold dot work with brown painted leaves and a silver elephant marking the center. It’s hand crafted and beautiful. I day dream of the person that created it and wondered if they’d wondered of me. Who was to receive and finally use their finished creation.

My aim tonight is to stop pushing so many personal goals ahead and I’ll get so much more done. I need to spend more minutes being there. In the second and appreciating and enjoying my boy. Instead of faffing over lists and plans. I love him eternally and can be lost in his wide grin, playful nature and feisty instinct. I am my own worst enemy and without him, I wouldn’t be a good person. But I have my little savior and I am. A good person and Mother. 

I stood again on this familiar doorstep watching the lights in a daze of thought. As silly as it sounds I feel lifted here, powerful, looking forward to the foggy street lights.

I think too much, panic daily and my nature is to be driven. I care a lot less for my appearance and only bother in the evenings but mentally I’m fierce. I’m stronger than ever but none with my boy. 

Working for Manorlands Hospice has changed my opinion on day to day. People enter the office having lost lovers, Mothers and children. I feel them. I’ve never had to deal with death on such a close level before but I really, really feel them. I have experienced a reason to help, to be passionate. So why with all that can’t I climb Mount Kilimanjaro and run 26.2 miles if I feel the way I do? If I complete this alive there isn’t an end to my potential. I want to prove the capability of human, pure care to Noah.

I’m still decided if it’s ‘selfish fundraising’. As it’s for my own well being as well as the hospice. Who knows. I’m just trying to be a good Mother and a happy person. And apparently this is how I’ve decided I’ll accomplish this, to help somehow, anyhow. Next year I may skydive or maybe Everest. Who knows. 

But for now it’s goodnight. This notepad really is beautiful. 



Mother, Dreamer, Changer.

E x


‘Oh it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you.’

Were curled up on our huge beanbag in front of the open fire. Our faces hot, breathing quiet and slow, both mesmerized by the glowing mountain of scarlet coal in the hearth. The playful licks of colour and wild energy almost convinces me it’s a living creature. We start to dose and wake up peacefully an hour later. Even in his sleep he clings to me like a baby monkey, terrified if without such extreme skin contact I may disappear. We have this ordeal every week when he returns from his fathers.  I’m pinned down showered in kisses and told all the exciting things he’s been up to. Oh so much to say! I turn everything off and we retire to bed.


He notices the stars through my mesh curtain and we sing to them. We hide under the sheets from the monsters and compete for the quietest ‘I love you’. Right now, after three carnage, wonderful, yet very long days, I’m Mama again, for my lion cub has returned.

I point to the constellation that makes up orion’s belt and explained how it was my Sandhya and her two best friends. How we sat on the side of a mountain top and she explained the stars. She is one and will never be separated from her dearest two. I’ll now always see her in the sky. That sweet, young, curious girl. I cuddles her as I did the other Nepalese women and fell asleep in their arms like my long lost family. An elder lady platted my dreadlocks and sang me old lullabies. This book still smells of the campfire.. I can hear the singing..

Max was playing the melodica, David breathing the mountain air are visibly transforming into a wild man back in his home village. I radiated happiness. Every pore of my body screaming to me, glowing. We stopped for lunch before performing at the first school. Immediately, the music began. Henni carefully caressing the strings of her violin, David matching her on guitar, Mark vocally bringing everything together and dear Max molding the sounds with a beat on the cajon. Villagers gathered and I indulged in the beauty of it. The sun kissing my shoulders and people curiously peering, moving closer. This magical musical travelling group. Every second was music. My surreal journey. For me, after this terrifying year, this journey was so much more. It was a trip to cure the mind and soul as well as seeing Max and to experience his life. It was worth more than he’ll ever understand.

I kiss his rosy pouted lips and every inch of his face and roll over to encourage sleep. He buries his face into my half dreaded mess of hair and curls himself into my back. He’s happy to be back in our haven. In bed, watching the stars, just me and my cub. His breathing deepens, he’s gone. I think back to my time away. It was only a week but that short period combined with my own thoughts I’m sure has changed things for the better. Even when I’m irritated, upset, stressed, I still feel that stronger happiness so close. It’s more relevant and things truly are incredible. I feel mindful and it’s working. Appreciation, positive, even food tastes better. The ticking seconds are sweeter, because you can feel them. Less worry for future days or previous mistakes. These thoughts are pointless. Just to be.

After lunch my magnificant new performing friends danced, sang and performed their way up the mountain. Stopping to give sweets to the young and cigarettes to the old. They played infront of schools, new friends and villagers. Children circled us giggling at the slapstick style and homemade props. A family of mice that are stuck in their homes after the earthquake and have to dig their way out to find food. The reaction was heartwarming and my face hurt from smiling.

We stopped for a smoke and some tea after the first performance and eventually started out trek. The first day was difficult as I was travel sick. After hours of vomiting, shaking and generally nearly reaching the end of my life, I held on and managed to not dizzily fall to my death off the side of the cliffs. I made it almost unharmed. I’ve been for walks or to the gym whilst being ill but this was a different scale.

All along the way we continuously stopped for tea and cigarettes. We played and danced and played. I fell in love with my trekkers, with the mountains, the villagers but most importantly I fell back in love with myself. It grew darker and the climb got steeper until we couldn’t see our own feet.No lights and on these tiny trails we began to climb faster desperate to rest. The last leg was the hardest. David took my hard and whispered he was already too drunk and needed a guide, using my illness as an excuse.  We made it to the first nights stop and the entire village had gathered around a campfire for us to entertain. We drank rakshi wine and smoked weed, sang and connected. Not only with the people, but with the earth I dug my toes into, the way of living and the air in my lungs. I was comfortable here. Materialess.

We ate chicken and rice and I took a moment out to sit alone under the sky. Bar one house light it was pitch black and the illuminated sky was indescribable, it shined right into my soul causing tears to roll down my cheeks. There aren’t words for how I felt that night.
Earlier that day I shed another small tear. In last year’s earthquake the villages in these Himalayan foothills were completely shattered. In another school we performed at there was a group of men digging the foundations of a new school building. People help neighbors and everyone joins in. A family home takes ten years to build by villagers. In sixty seconds hundreds of homes were destroyed and lives taken.

In the foundations of this building a small boy, probably Noah’s age played in the holes in the ground. Being brought up here he knew not to go near the side of the mountain edge. My son clumsily not be trusted. I imagine Noah here. How he’d run and dance with the school children and simply adore the play. I suddenly need him here, at my breast, arms linked tight around my neck.

On the first night I nearly adopted a young girl called Dawa Dolma Tamong, a six year old diamond that drew pictures for me and taught me to write in Nepalese in this book. She wore my scarf and we danced like fairies around the fire. Whilst we danced there was a shudder. An earthquake. I looked across that vast valley and what little light there was from neighboring villages disappeared. Dawa shot to my side and Sandhya translated that she was terrified. Last year she at home when it happened, her school lost pupils, she lost family. Puts our first world problems into perspective doesn’t it?

We continued to party until I was ready to collapse. I fell asleep cuddling my sweet Sandhya never wanting my time here to end. I awoke feeling ready to take on our eight hour trek. It’s always great when you feel you won’t drop dead before the journey ends.

We had tea and biscuits for breakfast and the women laughed as I applied glitter my face as well as others in the travelling team. I had another minute outside alone. David joined me. Our conversations are of those I will never forget. He spoke of the schools and the quality of children’s education. He fell to tears pointing at some old prayer flags tangled around a tree. “Colours are joy”, he said. “And these children do not know the colours.” He looked me in the eye and called me beautiful, I told him not to be ridiculous until he asked, “is this a beautiful part of the world?” I replied that he knew how much I felt for this land. His response.. “Well then.. you have to be a beautiful person to understand real beauty.” And I understood.

After lunch the children performed a play and we said our goodbyes. the sky was cloudless and I was again overwhelmed. It’s a challenge to put it into words. Just go, see for yourself. Go without a guide and feel it. We stopped at a flat grassland and we sat circled. This time gave us an opportunity to explain how we’ve felt the past few days. It boiled down to loved. For me looking around the circle, I was thrilled to have had the absolute pleasure of sharing such close time with these new friends. The airport was the second time I’d met Max. As for everyone else it was a first. I found myself meditating with them. Shutting my eyes I could feel gravity weighing my down down, connecting me with the mountains. I swear the jungle was calling my name and I could see the sun so bright through my closed eyelids. The air was clear in my lungs and I could have sat there forever. It was pure and with every breath I connected.

We trekked for a long while and found ourselves at the second house just before dawn. David explains how in the culture, having western visitors means luck is on it’s way and to treat their visitors like God’s. The family sacrificed two chickens so we could eat meat. I cringed at the screaming animals and explained I’m not so comfortable being a Goddess. Still tasted ace though. Again, a night of laughter, rakshi and dancing.
I told everyone I met about my boy. Keeping a small photo in the side of my sock to pass around. Through Sandhya’s translation I spoke to the women of breastfeeding, growth and his clean soul. They wanted to listen, talk and share stories. Palms were read and tales told.

We played card games and laughed hard. Another fire was lit and I was explained the logistics of what this travelling theatrical group are trying to achieve. Art Haus are wanting to create a liminal space to put the sacred back into a disenchanted world. How utterly stunning is that? To travel for nothing. To just love, entertain and connect people. Simple and creative. To create magic.

David was certain we wouldn’t make the bus on time but with minutes to spare we secured a tiny spot on the roof rack for a four hour journey back to Kathmandu. We walked extremely fast. We hadn’t showered for days and when we’d arrived back to Max’s, I emptied my boots, dropped my backpack and we headed straight out for the most well deserved burger and glass of wine I’d ever had. More so than after a hungover run half marathon. I smelt like a three day trek, homemade wine, campfire and cigarettes. The burger certainly didn’t mind. I’m certainly no traveler but I lust for it. Next time Noah is coming, wherever we end up.

That was only half of it. There aren’t enough words to describe what happened out there. So thank you to Kathmandu, the mountains, sweet Max and the stunning people I’ve met. There’s always the next adventure..
You’ve broadened my mind, you’ve changed my head for the better. I’m so excited for the beauty this year holds. My baby starts to snore and I’m back to earth. His face shines in the moonlight and I smile. Until next time.


Mother, Lover, Adventurer,





The roaring starts. I feel the screeching yet no movement, just anticipation. After two glasses of wine my excitement is unbearable. My smile stretched from ear to ear. I pear out the window wide eyed at the illuminated runway. Two minutes and she races. My giddiness gets the better of me with a loud screech as she soars down the runway and we’re gracefully lifts us into the sky. Above, higher, higher, knowing when she settles back to the world, it won’t be mine.

Power and Adrenalin rushes through my veins as I put my life into this beautiful machines trusting arms. I look down to see the lights, cars, houses, streets. Growing smaller – a second later and it’s gone. We glide over the clouds in between the heavens and a thousand stars. The wheels have left the ground and the adventure begins here.

I’ve always had a wanderlusters itch, but when I had my lion cub my priorities changed. I’ve never needed this as much in my life, so what a better way to do it than travelling to a place I’ve heard of twice to a man I’ve met once at a festival..

I’ve had an incredible weekend with my one and only. he’s safe in the arms of his fathers family in Edinburgh for his own adventure. I’m on the air, ears popping, eyes tired yet head about to explode. I can feel the turbulence, she’s stating to struggle. But at this moment I’m invincible. I give a reason for worry, my situations, attitudes and general lifestyle choices.. But right now I’m invincible.

I’m heartbroken leaving my boy this morning. As far as he knows, he’s away on holiday and I’m still dancing and singing in our Yorkshire haven. If I could have captured how perfect he looked last night I would have shared it with the world. Skin hot, lips pouted, so soft and peaceful. I climbed in with him knowing come sunrise I’d have to leave him.


I arrived in Doha a little drunk with no idea where I was. The smoking room left me smelling like an ashtray and I fell asleep on a lap of a lady wearing a burka. She thankfully stroked my face and found my idiousy rather hilarious. I arrived in Kathmandu after a second flight and no sleep, was picked up and headed straight to a jam night at Max’s friends bar. I sat, listened to Jazz and thrived in my situation. Beatboxing, jazz jamming, exhilarated by the ridiculousness of my situation. The roof area was covered in fairy lights, the air smelt free and I hadn’t been this happy for weeks. If I could possibly process my scrambled, high brain into words right now I would. But unless you’re here, feeling it with me. Then my words are meaningless.


Yesterday we explored the monkey temples. I tried water buffalo mo mo’s for the first time and in the evening got extremely drunk at this wonderful little bar called ‘Jazz Upstairs’. I met lots of new people, covered everyone in glitter and fell in love with this city all over again for it’s nights. I’ve been here a day and have fallen completely in love.

Max had to work at KJC in a pathetically hungover state today so I decided to get lost. It’s strange at first, everyone stares and you feel anxious, but the feeling soon wears off as you’re mind becomes distracted and you seem to mindfully blend into the background. I walked for miles and miles, met a wonderful man called Rem, smoked a joint and let him ink an ‘Om’ into my skin. I had to barter with an ill speaking taxi driver to get my home, which was a challenge when I’d forgotten a map and the name of where I was meant to be. I was never worried. By gracefully accepting the fact I was lost, I was able to truly indulge myself in my surroundings. It’s homely here, organised beautiful chaos.

Everything about this place is wonderful. The people, smells, streets, food.. Strangely enough lost here, wandering the streets alone I felt safe. I’ve managed to sunburn my back at the temple yesterday. It’s boiling to say its February. Locals have passed me and gasped,’aren’t you cold?’ they say, all wrapped up in scarves and coats. I’m not used to not being freezing. I also managed to sleep through the howling last night, the amount of wine consumed made me pass out till morning.

Food pure, skies clear and I’ve not stopped smiling since I arrived. I’m treasuring every second. Max is clearly an expert at maneuvering around the city by now and understanding the local culture. People find bluntness more polite than doddling about with pretty pleases and fake attitudes. I seem to be missing out words and speaking with a different voice to help people understand. I’m quickly learning to loose the English politeness we’re raised with and barter barter barter. Apparently even in Nepal you can’t barter tattoo artists though..

Yesterday we explored Kathmandu till dawn. For dinner we ate noodles in a sheesha bar, let the night creep up and drank rum. It turned chilly and we laughed at the ridiculousness for Nepalese driving from the bars balcony. I’d had to get used to walking into moving traffic and expecting not to be run down. Since being here I’ve felt completely mindful. The anxiety I’ve been suffering was left at Manchester airport and I’ve been so indulged by each second. Feeling, appreciating, loving. After such a long time I’ve felt truly, purely happy here. No past, no present, just exactly whats happening now. Feeling it. It’s a city with no dead ends and so many stories and I’m breathing it.

You need to be a certain kind of person to survive here. I mean to live here and truly thrive. You either see the cities pollution poverty, lack of organisation, or a beautiful city full of interesting stories and endless opportunities. England feels dull to me now. Miserable and organised with people not wanting to hold real conversations or even look a stranger in the face without feeling awkward. As a nation we’d much prefer to be swallowed up by our kindles, smartphones and laptops. I’m not being fair. I love Yorkshire, it’s a part of my soul. But now and again we need to look at ourselves.


A tiny bar hand crafted with dragons and gold paint, dream-catchers swaying above us, spray painted walls and drinkers waiting for sweet jazz. It was another music filled evening that left me dreamy and blissful. Maybe not so much at half five the next morning..

My Saturday in Nepal was probably one of the most exciting, painful hangovers I’ve ever endured. It was still dark. We left the house and caught a taxi to meet what turned out to be some of the most wonderful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of being in the company of. I hadn’t slept. We grabbed our bags and hailed down two taxis, squeezing six of us in the back of one. Ten minutes later we were on a Nepalese bus heading for the mountains. That was an experience in itself. The bus was jammed and I was lucky enough to be given a seat. I sat for three hours on a hot oil tank flinching every time the bus nearly – but managed not to – crash. At one point I noticed a bus in front of us with ‘death road’ painted on it’s rear. It was a proper final destination scene as I imagined my arse being the first to go up in flames when the driver eventually fucks up. Thankfully, he didn’t, and I live to tell the tale.

The fumes were making me sick, so I spent the last hour of our trip squealing and giddy clinging on to the roof rack as we approached the villages at the foot of the Himalayas. The fresh wind ran through my airways and excited me. Full of magic, potential. So much beauty I couldn’t contain myself. My body needed to sing, gasp, cry. React in some way to what I was experiencing. I was mindful. In this second nothing else mattered.

David Tamal is a man I will never forget. Eccentric, excited, loud, slightly tormented and such so beautiful. His aura radiates purity and I enjoyed every second of his company. Even typing it up. Remembering the intricate details, how I was inspired and excited by my wonderful, insane week. Nepal, you fulfilled my romanticised dream spectacularly.

I have more. So much more. Watch this space..

To be continued.

Mother, Lover, Traveller.
E x



It feels like I haven’t seen certain people for decades. When it’s only been a few days. So much can happen in a few days, so many people can brutally fuck you over. I’m sat in tonight alone. I went with my real family to see the fireworks, Noah’s face sparkled in the light of the soaring gunpowder. I text a few of my girlfriends that have been incredible this year. I let them know how appreciated they are for being so wonderful and for never turning their backs.

Last night I thought I heard my small one jump out of our bed. I dashed upstairs in case he’d had a nightmare, he hadn’t. Just stirring.

I’m cold. I curl my body around his, he is hot and dreaming. His face puffy and lips pouting, cheeks twitching. He’s laid out snug under my duck and down duvet under flickering fairy lights wrapped around the antique brass bed. I can’t stop staring, his breathing so relaxed, I fear if I close my eyes he’ll disappear. He had no idea what he’s been caught up in. I sometimes feel bad for him to have a Mother like me. I need to control my emotions better, be the stronger one out of us, he needs me. I kiss him and tell him I love him at every given opportunity I have. When I find myself angry, it doesn’t last. I’d swoop him up in the safety of my arms and touch his face with mine, run around in circles, kick my feet in the air, shriek with excitement or simply cuddle up and watch ‘Finding Nemo’ for the millionth time. Our relationship is loving, passionate, loud, emotional and eternal, for I am his Mother and he is my lion cub.

I can be a pretty exhausting person to be around. Intense I’d imagine. Manic and determined. Major falls and exquisite, fast highs. If you accept the fact you’re a disgusting, awful human being then it’s easier to be happy. When you turn your nose up at people trying to ruin you with words then those words became meaningless. You may possibly be the spawn of Satan but realistically.. maybe surround yourself with less poisonous people. I’ve learnt the hard way. Liars, cheats, the sly. It can be the hardest thing in the world. But rise above it. Quite literally float above the madness and recklessness. I close my eyes and imagine a red haze. I have Noah wrapped up in my arms tight and we start to rise up to the clear air. Where words are meaningful and people have standards.

On Halloween I found myself sat at the top of a hill in Haworth with a blanket and bottle of wine in the early hours. I was with a friend and after the evening I’d had to endure, wanted to see something beautiful. It was fog, we danced through the clouds and found ourselves here, trying to figure out the mysterious huge spire mocking us on the other side of the valley. I’m starting to understand my personality more and more. I can be a rather frustrated person and need to channel that anger in terms of positive destruction. It can be hard to vent in certain circumstances. For example, I was in a really bad way a few weeks bad. I couldn’t eat, talk, cry, move, shower. I wanted to do something powerful. To vent power. I concentrated on it, that power, anger, frustration and channelled it into decorating my bedroom walls. A rather bad sketch of Noah and I. Something to channel.

Reading that back I sound completely insane, but I don’t expect anyone to truly understand, just to empathise.

Tonight Noah was being a nightmare, fighting me, running off, wanting to disappear and touch the end of sparklers and so on and so on. But to see his face in wonderment watching the shimmers, glitter and gold dance for him in a chilly autumn sky.. I remember exactly why I keep going. A smile so simple, curious and inspired. To learn and learn and keep learning. I feel capable with him at my side. Whatever happens, we shall rise above and it is Noah and I, always will be.

I’ve never ever felt so empowered in my entire life. It grows and grows. I could take over this world now, this second, as long as Noah is with me. When someone is truly disgusting to you or something horrible happens, it almost feels beautiful. Horrific, painful, utterly tragic. Yet beautiful. You have that initial meltdown then work out how to become more magnificent than before. You grow and learn and smile. You appreciate what is ultimately important and I have realised I am surrounded by incredible loving people.


Fire, Force, Female.



I see her every day and spend every waking moment worrying about her, laughing with her, loving her. I have fallen completely in love with her in a way. In the way that she has parts of her in which she were left, and of which she needs to be loved. She is reckless. Passionate and intense. Her deep plum dreadlocks are messy at the moment, just the way I love them. She hates it and thinks it makes her a mess but she couldn’t be more wrong. I never knew my guardian angel would be disguised in this image of a crazy, colourful and wonderful woman. I could not be more proud of her. I am beyond thankful.

Rain is battering the house tonight. I’m with my best friend, our children in bed, I strip down to my underwear to bound outside and feel it against my skin, to breathe the fresh autumn night. She laughs as I clumsily run like a child to the front door in my bra and pants giggling like a toddler. To my disappointment it isn’t as hard as I’d imagined, typical. I still spark up a cigarette and stand in it. I believe this is normal behaviour. Any opportunity to feel truly alive through a dull reality.

I can connect with my head more fluently lately. Destruction is something to be laughed at, it is beautiful, as long as you have an ounce of how to resolve it. You want to go fucking insane, resolve your daily un-excitement by loosing the plot, it seems so much more dangerous, exhilarating, liberating. But Noah isn’t involved in this predicament, my evenings spent with him are the most spontaneous and beautiful compared to any man or woman, any laugh or drink or whatever. Because this daily issue doesn’t concern him. Amazingly enough, as I never thought so without having a child, He is the most insanely stunning, exciting, wonderful thing to happen to a human being. I thrive off my evenings with him, the climbing over my body, the kisses, the tickles, laughing to the point we can’t breathe. It shows me so much childish entertainment and silliness. Beauty in a woman that is without worry, make-up, ridiculousness. Because it is real, it is femininity, it is human. I almost want to wake him up right now thinking it, squeeze him, kiss his mouth. The natural, insane bond between a mother and a child. In my opinion, from my own experience, the strongest bond in the universe.

I miss the naive teenager I once was. Hopping on a train, taking anything to create an insane memory. I would always focus on building them, documenting them, almost knowing one day I’d grieve over them. I’ve cut people out. People that I know when it comes to it, will do me no good. Noah is the priority, now and always, so it’s for him. It’s always for him. He wants his Mummy all the time now and I just want him. My beautiful focus.

I officially start placement on Monday. Then ‘Isabella & Charlie’s’ have three evening events booked for November and I’m head of dĂ©cor on the Steampunk committee for Haworth 2015 weekend. So many wonderful focuses. It’s just the evening that are difficult. Alone with my books, paper and mind. It’s therapeutic but also dangerous depending on that particular day. We live, we love, we crack on.

The possibilities are endless and I can’t wait to get my teeth stuck in. Cigarette, hot milk, book, bed.

E x



It’s Tuesday night and I’ve decided not to be alone. The failiarity of this house surrounds me. The dozen ongoing projects and more antique furniture than the walls can handle. The sofa is falling the pieces but it’s a 70’s masterpiece. Teal blue and soft velvet with the seat falling in through in the centre. A constant working progress. It will be worked on, it will all be beautiful. I think the beauty consists in the unfinished. The desire to be busy and creative and the ideas surrounding it, the constant need to attempt the next and the wonder in where it could take you.

I was brought up in a quirky household. Always another thing going on. I went to scar top today for lunch with my mum, In a search for a dressing table and bookcase, but nothing fit what I had imagined. I’m very much like my mother, I can see it strongly now. We wandered around grimacing at the ‘vintage’ factory made paintings and clocks and I was mostly in awe at this tiny scratchy buffet chair in the bargin section. It was falling apart but I could only see potential. Something perculiar like that strikes me so much more than an ikea lookalike white wood bed. Without a price at hand I left it alone for the next wanderer in the attic. Such a shame. I found myself repeating my mothers words. ‘We could make that.’ ‘We could do that at home’, pointing out different objects around the building. But with so many ongoing projects it’s finding the time to actually do so.

I’ve been dying to get my house painted and looking beautiful for months now. In my head it symbolises a new beginning but I’m starting to think it doesn’t truly matter now. My friend kindly came over to fix some cupboards and small imperfections around the building last week. I stared as he filled in a perfect Stella 4 glass rim mark on the bedroom wall. I remember forcefully launching it across the room months ago whilst things were at there absolute worst. I saw red and watched the glass shatter into a million shards infront of me. I slowly replayed the image in my head with a blank expression. Remembering that now, things are good and I couldn’t be any worse than I was that week.The glass was everywhere. I’m still finding it in my underwear draw now. Everyone has launched a glass, phone, plate or something of the sort at someone at one point. I don’t wish to come across as abusive. My mother was a genius when she found what a fraud my biogolical father was. She locked him out and drank wine with his ex wife and threw a night of wonderful activities. Including cutting the arms and legs off expensive suits and shirts, driving over his favourite CDs and videos with her car and calling every woman he ever messed around with to let their husbands know. She is an inspirational woman.

I have missed my true friends. Although I have met some wonderful people I wish to stay close with and love so dearly. Three girls have been missing in my life and I’ve been prizing them back tonight. I’m seeing beautiful Bethy on Saturday for a play date with our sons. This girl always has a glow about her skin and smile, I’ve thought that for as long as I can remember. Never wears much makeup and just so ultimately radiant. One person that can never fail to cheer me up. It’s the bubble, and no matter how bad things get, she has a perfect sense of adventure and logic to drag you out of it. Rose came over tonight. Skinny as ever and more beautiful everytime I see Her.  We have arranged an evening of cocktails in Saltaire next Saturday and it is long overdue. We gossiped, reminisced and just talked. Noah running around us and telling us stories whilst we be old friends.

I can see the lighting before I hear the thunder. For days I have felt the tense humidity in the air. A dark, cloudy sky where from the inside it looks like it’s freezing. Yet stepping out of the door you feel the muggy warmth. Waiting for the storm, excitement in the air, praying on its arrival. To my disappointment I could work out in seconds it was ten miles away. You see the white flash illumate they sky and.. 1, 2, 3.. The thunder was quiet and it must have passed us by. I hurried Noah upstairs and ran him a bath in the attic. I love the character of old houses, mine is much the same. Almost crooked, uneven ceilings and walls. I imagine what the house could tell me about the secrets it has seen. Such a long time, so many stories. Walking up to my parents room, I smile. This is truly home. I love my house but for now I can see every scratch, item and memory of an old life. When having a clear out, I realised how long I hadn’t cooked a proper meal for. I had forgotten the pattern on my dinner plates. Here, none of that happened. Here I was happy and pure. Getting ready with a bottle of wine and girlfriends at the weekend, my old room and freaking out after having a positive pregnancy test, parties, my first love, my teenage hood. I stare at the huge, dark polished bed ahead of me and let my eyes wander to the collection of vintage handbags on the wall, then further to the framed photographs and old perfume bottles. Noah is undressing in the bathroom and I lift him in. We practise counting to ten and he can now do it alone. My clever lion cub. The rain batters the velux windows hard and I wash my babies hair. After bath time we watch frozen (again), and My step father tries putting him to bed. After a glass of wine and a ten minute toddler melt down I head upstairs and sit on the floor with him. (That terrifying milestone when your child can escape the cot.) He sobs and I rock him to sleepy in my arms. I can see when he has drifted off, his breathing heavier and body limp. But I don’t put him for a long while, lapping up his energy and innocence. He just wanted to be held, loved, kissed, and I will always be there to do so. I kiss his face and wrap him up gently lowering him into the travel cot.

I stay up long after everyone is asleep researching cocktails and watching old school Disney movies. I turn off the lights and move outside for a midnight cigarette before bed. Here is my safe place and knowing there are people in the house is such comfort. Strange how something so small can help so much. There is a cloud of mist allowing the street lamps to shine brighter than usual and I hold myself in the cold and smile. My wonderful family. This autumn is going to be spectacular.

Daughter, Lover, Girl.

E x

29th Septemeber.

“Do something brilliantly rather than a lot of little things. We all do it. It’s built into us.


I find a health and beauty regime in my bag consisting of facemasks, not smoking and teeth whitening. I laugh at the irony of it in a black comedy way, contrasting of what actually matters. Not finances, beauty, weight, but love and compassion. I actually enjoy tormented nights like these now. Listening to music, my baby in bed, drinking wine and being able to debate what actually matters. To really think about the events of a week and never quite knowing where you stand on the premises of it. I think if I was truly happy my writing would be terrible. My best friend is asleep on the sofa, I’ve covered her with a blanket and trying to dry her clothes in time for the morning. Her baby is in his travel cot next to her. She looks fucking beautiful and does not deserve half of what she has had to deal with. My girl that has saved me, challenged me, ran with me and shown me a goal.

I sat with a friend last night and explained to him what the Lost Carnival by Wild Rumpus is. It is absolutely magical. A theatrical, vintage, circus experience that I spend six days at, at the beginning of the year. I remember the train ride back. I had a paintbrush and gold feather stuck in my dreadlocks, I probably stank and felt like I’d appeared from another world with my huge backpack on. A smile spread across my face. I felt jetlagged and distant but so unbelievable happy. Watching the businessman commuters on the train in their suits. While they had no idea what a crazy time I’d been up to and the incredible people I’d met. And how incredible they are.

This is the reason I do events. It was built into me to be around people and show them something stunning. Create an aura and bring people together to talk, be wonderful and bring something out in themselves they never thought was possible. It is possible and it’s worth living for. My Brother gave me some advice this week. To believe in what I love, feel the adrenalin from it and work hard for what you believe in. I’ve been going out locally and missed the magic of expanding the bubble and meeting people. There are so many people to love and meet, stories to appreciate and stories to tell. Talents to acknowledge.

I need to slow down. Stopping doesn’t help me, racing doesn’t help me. So have magical events and people in small doses. To organise the next few weeks. I thrive of artists, musicians, designers, poets, performers. Wild Rumpus, Masked Ball, Steampunk. To be out there and be full on incredible. It shows me at my pinnacle, my happiest, my most creative and loving. It’s an epiphany I’ve reached. I fell back into my small life, working in a local pub, going out locally, panicking about my house being redecorated. When I came back from the lost carnival, covered in glitter and feathers in my hair, did I care about it then? Really? I think not. What will I reminisce about on my death bed? My son being insanely intelligent above his age and beautiful and these stunning events I’ve been involved in, or how clean and pretty my house looks and the endless Friday nights after close at the Bull in Keighley.

I need to get back out there. I need to let go of the last five years and see this as a complete fresh slate. I believe I can look at my past and see beauty. Through personal growth, through Noah and through the way I have made my life. It takes an insane amount of effort. But eventually, maybe, I’ll recover.

Mother, Fighter, Alive.

E x

The Moon.

We’re coming to get you.

The sky is beautifully clear this morning. The entire sky is lit up by the moon and I can see the eclipse starting. A dark shadow starting to spread across the perfect light illuminating the world. I have been walking on a type rope for weeks and tonight I’m peaceful and melancholy. Alone in my living room, still a mess from Noah’s party this afternoon. But I won’t tidy. I’m reflective. I have temperately fallen out of love with myself. We need to love ourselves. It’s strange. I’m watching myself from above the room and can feel something in the pit of my stomach but I’m not entirely sure what it is.


My house is covered in glitter and crumbs. Standard really. I’m thinking about Noah. His spirit and it makes me calm. He saw I had a cut on my knee yesterday and pointed at it, looking at my face he sadly said ‘Mummy got a hurt’, bent down and very carefully kissed it better. I need to snap out of the habit of emotionally blackmailing him to behave. Pretending to be upset when he’s naughty. It works mind you. His face grows soft and very quietly whispers ‘Mama’ before cuddling and kissing my face to make it better again. He makes everything better. He has been on antibiotics after having a terrible temperature, moping and violently coughing. He’s so much better now but we had an evening of frozen yoghurt and cuddles on the sofa a few days ago. He is rather incredible but that’s a given. I worship the ground he walks on, my soul mate. We danced around to the levellers before bed time and we kissed and danced and kissed and danced. He loves our cat, Mittens. I caught him feeding her frozen yoghurt from his spoon and I went spare. She was loving life of course. My wonderful old lady cat, ruling the roust.

DSCN2938 DSCN2939

I’ve been at work tonight and have evaluated the pros and cons of working in a local pub. It’s wonderful having a ‘tab’ for your drinks, having drinks bought, feeling like you’ve been paid for a night out whenever a good band plays and being completely in love with your work force. It’s great fun and I love my job. But in terms of cons, I am sick to death of having to put creepy old men in their place. I’m a brutally honest person, which means I can come across as rather rude, which I’m not. Just honest to the point it can land me in trouble. There is always that idiot that says, ‘how much?!’ Then there’s the same songs by rock cover bands, over and over. All in all though I love my job and the people I work for and with.

On Friday I went to a funeral. A young man I know from primary school and nights out. It broke my heart. They could barely fit everybody in the church. There is something I find extremely unsettling about seeing grown men cry. I saw one of the most wonderful men, whom I love so much cry to me a few weeks back and it broke me. Stuck with me and always will. Tears though care and love and worry but good tears. Tears I needed to reassure, which I have been doing and will spend years doing to make sure he knows I’m a fighter. The send off was perfect and I held it together beautifully, until a poem was read and his baby daughter was brought to the front of the church. I couldn’t ever imagine Noah having to grow up without a father, so it completely broke my heart. Friday night I was out after work again, failed at a month off in the first week. How shocking of me. Mondays are always a fresh start and it’s Monday when I wake up.

But it’s okay. The sky is beautiful and I’m ‘manic’ peaceful tonight. Alone and learning to be so. I have to accept I have grown out my skin and change has approached. Which as a human being, terrifies me. I wish I had my camera to photograph the moon tonight. It’s quite something. My words aren’t precious tonight, just rolling off my mind. I have had next to no sleep this weekend and need my bed.

So goodnight. Go outside and feel the moon.



E x

Day 3.


This morning I had a bath with my baby. He was scared of our bath for some obscure reason, so I jumped in and we played with ducks and dolphins. It gave me a chance to stop time, to not clean up around us and not think about the next thing on my to do list. To give him my full undivided attention and have kisses and talk and talk. This week has been a turning point and I feel spectacular. Having not had a cigarette for three (painful) days, my skin already looks smoother. Noah wasn’t too well in the night, up twice with a sore sounding croak and boiling up. I cradled him in my arms and his woosey head wobbled up to keep checking I was there, clinging to my chest. Whispering secrets in my ear I held him hot body tight and fed him water until the calpol kicked in.

We got out of the bath and Daddy came to pick him up. I made chilli salmon and mushroom cous cous and went through my old albums. I went for a run. This is my favourite time of year. I can see the leaves are starting to crisp, bronze and fall. The limbo between Summer and Winter. Autumn is approaching, I can feel it in the icy winds yet with a gentle, sharp sun still caressing my skin. Teasing us with warmth, the Summer that never feels complete. We haven’t been properly running since my operation and I’m so happy to be training again. After a relentless month of spontaneous evenings and far too many cigarettes, my stamina isn’t what it used to be. It’ll recover.

For three days I have consumed three litres of water, have had little carbs, cut out achohol and fags and only consumed natural foods. (No biscuits, crisps, ready made sandwiches or anything that isn’t on a raw basis.) I’ve also cut out caffeine. I’ve missed running so much. The natural adrenaline and endorphins that are released are a positive way of keeping your mood high. This month detox is for my mental and physical health, as well as to gain more control over every element of life through routine. I will be more clear headed, look fresher and feel more organised.

On my run I saw hundreds of clusters of Himalayan Balsams. A flower that is often found around rivers or damp areas. When the seed pouches are big and ripe, all you have to do is gently lay your finger on them, not even a squeeze, and they will burst in front of you with a ‘pop’. When I was a child my Mother had a friend that lived next to the river. He was a real hippy dippy whose house smelt of roll-ups and incense, and played the flute. Over the tiny wall from his flat there would be hundreds of these flowers. They remind me of being a child, reaching my hands are far as I could to gently touch the pods and watch them explode. The flowers are dark pink and smell so sweet and fresh. Poignant, you can sense them before your eyes do. I have missed this particular route. The back route to Oxenhope. Especially in this light, where the natural details of our world are exposed. I through the woodland and past the river. There is a tiny bridge down here with short sides, arched. It is made of stone. I came down here and sat on that bridge when I was eighteen to burn hundreds of notes I’d made the year before. Therapeutic and a release from what I’d written about. It was just a short one, four miles, but it’s given me a positive start to a busy week.

On Monday, I got my baby back. We had kisses and cuddles and danced around the living room. Reading my child stories and kissing him before bed time will always be more incredible than any night out. He is a small warrior and has kept me strong throughout the toughest of times. I’m a fast faller and an even faster climber. Noah has been the light in everything negative. He shines so bright when he smiles. That beautiful little face and glowing mane.

This house is the bain of my life at the moment. I’m so desperate for a clear out and to redecorate. It is overflowing with big plastic children’s toys and unneeded crap. I will make it my mission to have this place looking wonderful before Christmas.I can’t wait to feel beautiful again, in my head and soul. To take control of my life in the way I used to pride myself in. It’s happening now. I’m so so excited for our future. So here’s to today, tomorrow, next week and Christmas! Lalalaloveeee.


excited, spirited, alive.

E & N x