To the outside world I seem like the perfect human woman, ruling the social hierarchy with my impressive wit and indisputable good looks. Men and women alike look up to me as a pillar of success, mothers stop in the streets for me to kiss their babies, and everyone constantly asks for my unbeatable pad Thai recipe.
But in the sanctity of my private life I harbour a terrible, terrible secret. They say admitting you have a problem is the first step, so here goes… Continue reading
Image by Chris Costes / CC BY 2.0
Jennifer was close. She could feel it as her whole body tensed in anticipation. Yes, she thought, finally, oh yes, oh god here we go… Continue reading
Prakashi Tomar. Screen sot from Hindustan Times video.
Caught in the ferocious grip of the ‘what the fuck am I doing with my life’ beast, I was beginning to feel overcome with despair and depression, unable to go on, unable to control my increasing need for melodrama and hyperbole, basically feeling, for want of a better (more dramatic) word, like a piece of shite.
It would seem that no matter what my circumstance or situation, good or bad, employed or jobless, deadbeat or superstar, this rather gross state of mind – felt particularly acutely in the early twenties – could come and bite me in the arse at any time, and on this occasion the little rascal had sunk his teeth in good. Continue reading
Whether it’s a rustic medieval town, colourful beach resort or vibrant city there is an undeniable energy to Italy, and its people are at the core. Quiet afternoons in sleepy towns can explode into vivacious nights as the tanned locals take to the streets, cafes and bars to revel each other’s company, and busy cities swell with the cacophony and chaos of gesticulating inhabitants conversing at decibel levels usually reserved for car horns.
Italians embody la dolce vita, placing family, food, coffee and culture – all the good stuff – at the forefront of their lives. I reckon we could all learn a thing or two from our European pals, so with that in mind here’s a few reasons why we should all be more Italian. Continue reading
RYA Suzuki Dinghy Show
Last weekend I went to the Royal Yachting Association (RYA) Suzuki Dinghy Show.
Why, you ask?
Well, I’m not entirely sure.
As a kid we used to spend many a summer holiday on the Norfolk Broads mucking around on our friends’ boats (is the most middle-class sentence I’ve ever written). And back in the life crisis mental breakdown of 2013, I decided to reignite my love for the water (is the second most middle-class sentence I’ve ever written) and do a RYA sailing course.
But this is 2015 and I’ve got the need for speed. Continue reading
Image by Richard Matthews / CC BY 2.0
For all intents and purposes Brian van Gellert was a red-blooded male. He had the heart of lion and the throbbing member of a pubescent lad, one with an adult sized penis. He was a kind and gentle man, balding slightly at the sides. Sadly though, in his 42 years on this planet kind, gentle and throbbing Brian had never felt the warm touch of a women, but this would all change this Valentine’s Day, he was sure of it. Continue reading
Image by Mikey / CC BY-SA 2.0
There are certain people in this world who could pop a turd in their top pocket and in a week’s time half the population would be walking around with soiled shirts. These people are what we call “cool”. They are the moustache bearing, man-bun sporting, pointy finger nail wearing, large spec, scarf toting trend setters, and I’m pissed off with them. Pissed off because they keep bloody taking shit that us “non-coolies” like and making it cool – thus inevitably ruining it. And when the next big thing comes along they toss it from their crib like a petulant child in “vintage” doc martins, returning it to us plebs cracked, broken and twice as expensive.
In this particular case the subject of my pissed-off-ish-ness is chicken, primarily of the fried variety. Continue reading
Unfortunately for me travel has sort of become synonymous with shitting myself; a month participating and partying at the Edinburgh Fringe earned me the nick-name ‘pooper trooper’, a jaunt to Tenerife had me planning an arse-clenching escape route should my bowls run a wry on a booze cruise, and too much smoked salmon for breakfast in South Korea resulted in some rather unruly digestive movements. Now we all know, shit happens, especially when travelling, so why choose to inflict this involuntary intestinal terror upon myself willingly.
Now I’m not talking about travellers’ diarrhoea, food poisoning or even saturating my gut with cheap peach schnapps, I’m talking about the time I crapped my pants (thankfully in this case only in the figurative sense) on a high wire adventure course in Italy called Adrenaline Zone. Continue reading
Last week the world was left reeling after two gunmen entered the premises of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo and opened fire in an act of terror, killing 11. But hold on, no time to retweet the latest story we’ve got another tragedy on our hands that needs your attention. Over in Nigeria ‘too many bodies to count’ lie dead and discarded as a result of an Islamic extremist attack, and only days later two child suicide bombers launched an attack on an open-air market in Potiskum killing and injuring even more innocent bystanders.
Two horrific and unjustified acts of terror in their own right. But what amazed me, beyond the utterly harrowing nature of these atrocities, were peoples’ reactions, or rather, transitions from one event to the next. Continue reading
Image by David Davies / CC BY-SA 2.0
There is always one. One chump who turns up just before mid-night, pissed as a fart, barely able to stand up, who begins commandeering the iPod with his/her own poorly edited electro-reggae-fusion-megga-mix, insists that everyone do shots from Jim’s belly button and then subsequently pukes in a location only to be disturbingly discovered several weeks later. Usually under the guise of ‘party animal’ this tosser successfully manages to ruin what was shaping up to, probably, be one of your best New Year’s parties yet.
Unfortunately it is an inevitability when you combine booze and holiday cheer with a heady dose of that NYE party pressure, that something is going to snap. So, in an attempt to save us all the embarrassment, and cleaning fees, here are some good rules to abide by to avoid starting 2015 sending out hundreds of apology texts (that is, if you haven’t lost/broken your phone in the course of the night). Continue reading
Generation Fishcake 
