This is me today, on the left.
I’m forty five. I don’t feel forty five. I feel twenty five, apart from my hips hurt because I run.
On the right, I’m twenty three, possibly twenty four. I thought that I was fucking brilliant. I was, in some ways, and I was such a fuck up in others.
In-between, I’ve had three kids, got married, been fat, got slimmer again, had a career, got made redundant, run six marathons, been on antidepressants, swum the channel, drunk a bit too much, fallen over, bought all the clothes, written a blog, got Botox, been an estate agent, been on telly, been in all the papers, got trolled to fuck and generally been a tosser.
I’ve got some brilliant friends and I’m pretty lucky. Some days are shit and some days are brilliant.
Some days I’m a psycho and some days, I’m sweetness and light.
I can’t change any of it. I don’t regret any of it.
“I am what I am” said somebody in a song, once.
Show us a happy picture of you if you’re a bit of tosser too.
Chin chin up yer bum fashion forward bitches!
It’s fucking Friday.