Sunday, 4 February 2018


I made a vow to myself when I turned 27 that I would leave the days of tactical-vomitting and blacking out due to alcohol consumption very much in my past. I’m 27 now, the year of growth and self improvement and losing all memory of my night in a wine glass just feels irresponsible and frankly, a little embarrassing. I made it 2 weeks in to 2018 before I broke my personal vow and found myself running like Usain Bolt through my flat so I could throw up all of my bad decisions from the previous night (and morning). 

Blacking out from heavy drinking is unfortunately not that foreign to me. I used to be prone to it in fact - even after 3 glasses of sickly sweet cheap Rose wine, I would become a booze soaked zombie for the next six hours but after years of avoiding this, I thought I was ‘out of the woods’ and had grown out of experiences like that. For the 3rd Saturday in a row, I have woken up miraculously safe in my own bed, in cosy pyjamas, with my make up fully removed, all of my belongings with me (but strewn all over my bedroom) and with zero recollection as to how I got there except a staggeringly expensive uber receipt in my email inbox. I’m very lucky to not have lost a debit card, house key or phone so far *touches every bit of wood in the world* which can only prove that although I am fully out of my body during these alcohol fuelled nights, I am still very much uptight and severely untrusting of others around my belongings - I probably still wear my bag and coat when peeing half in the loo and half all over the floor in bar toilets. 

The next day is always a riot. What did I do? Who did I speak to? Why do I have so many missed calls from friends? Did I go walkabouts? Why didn’t I stop at MdDonalds on the way home?! Not only do I waste a good night out when I blackout, but I also ruin the next day and end up lying around like a trash monster until I have enough energy to leave my bed so I can forage for food (in my local Waitress, I’m not complete garbage after all) or shower off all of the hot-sweat-regret from the night before. There's only so many times I can spend a Saturday in bed re-watching The Office (the UK one, obviously). Along with the post-drinking depression comes the tiny reminders of your behaviour a few hours ago…remembering asking someone for their number and getting unceremoniously denied in front of your friends…kissing someone you definitely shouldn’t be…shouting at a bouncer because they ‘looked at you funny’….grabbing a friends phone and throwing it on the ground…spilling your drink all over a stranger….never the good things though. I never have flashes of helping the homeless or making sure a friend gets home safe. No. I’m a selfish drunk who makes terrible choices.

With all that being said, this is a public acknowledgment of my awful behaviour in the hopes that shaming myself might force me to make better decisions in the future. Or at the very least, anyone who reads this will know what to expect when on a night out with me so I can say ‘what did THINK would happen? Oh and sorry again for smashing your phone, I’m so silly’.

In order to avoid blacking out in the future, I will adhere to the following rules:

- I will not drink more than one alcoholic beverage every 30 minutes.

- I will not do shots of any kind, EVEN if friends buy them for me and call me boring (I’ve never been good with peer pressure- ESPECIALLY when lovely boys do it)

- I will only order singles or small glasses of wine/prosecco (no more requesting my prosecco to be served in a giant merlot glass)

- If I do drink a little too much, as a punishment to myself, I will request an Uber Pool instead of an Uber X for my journey home. Nothing says ‘what is my life?’ like having to share a confined car ride home with strangers AS drunk and annoying as you.

- If I really fancy getting shit-faced on booze, I will simply wait until I get home and drink in privacy of my own flat. This way, I can be as embarrassing as I want but not shame myself in to oblivion the next day and have to send the ‘sorry I was such a mess…’ texts to friends.

- Never drink and swipe on online dating apps….but this is a rule for another time.

Stay safe out there, you little booze-hounds.

Faye x

Sunday, 7 January 2018

27 Lessons For My 27th Birthday

It’s new years day and the 27th anniversary of my birth. Having a birthday on new years day is, for lack of a better word, horseshit. Not only are the majority of my loved ones hungover from drinking until 4am, they are also tired, fresh out of cash and in no mood to pay attention to me. I don’t blame anyone for this, other than my selfish parents who were bad at planning (and despite several requests, they refused to allow me to have a second birthday in the summer like the Queen - I’m pretty sure the Queen get’s two birthdays but to be honest, I’m slightly tipsy and cba to Google it).  

For the first time, I have decided to take my birthday in to my own hands and this year I treated myself to 2 nights away in the New Forest. I am currently living my best life in my beautiful (and fancy af) garden suite room, I have a mimosa to the left of me, wrapped up in a cosy robe and slippers which have been provided by my hotel and I have consumed more chocolate then anyone should, ever. This is the romantic birthday getaway I’ve always dreamed of. Happy birthday to me.

Anyway, my birthday falling on the start of a new year always feels like an ideal time for some ‘life tweaks’ and although I’m not a fan of ‘New Years Resolutions’, I am a fan of setting myself achievable goals based on lessons learned in the past. For instance, next year I’d like to be less complacent generally in life. This is something I have learnt about myself over the past 12 months, I am incredibly complacent due to my hatred of change so this is something I'd really like to examine and work on in 2018. 

In the theme of reflecting on lessons learned and in honour of my 27th year on this planet, I have written a list (fuck, I love lists!) of 27 lessons that I have picked up in the past 9,490 days:

*Obviously, these are all personal to me and my experiences.

1. Travelling alone is the best way to travel. I prefer train journeys alone, solo flights and trips away with me, myself and I. I’ve had a few trips alone now and just find them to be a bit more relaxing and I don’t have the guilt of being an annoyance to someone when I want to wander around Duty Free in airports 7 times before my flight. Usually I’ll wander in once briefly and then have a few Bellini’s with my giant full english breakfast and insist on going back in 6 times. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t travel alone. Although I enjoy the odd trip with a loved one, I try to take myself away on a little ‘Fayecation’ at least twice a year so I can get all of my favourite holiday pastimes out of my system - these include waking up early, reading/writing in complete silence for hours at a time, refusing to wear any clothing until I have to leave my hotel room for food and day drinking in bathtubs. 

2. Drunk phone calls are NEVER a good idea and will NEVER get the results you are hoping for (unless all you’re hoping for is ‘next day dread’ or a booty call from a vile ex). Despite them always feeling like a fantastic idea after 8 gins, they never are and I’ve never made a drunken call and felt good about it the next day. Never. I once called an ex boyfriend at 3am because my friend was vomiting (due to too much booze) and I explained to him that ‘I remember you told me once that you hated the smell of vomit, so my pal chundering all over my bathroom made me think of you, I miss your face’. He never spoke to me again and I think about that call almost daily. The shudders are real, people.

3. Black coffee is not only delicious but it makes you look chic as fuck. I work in a beautiful office that is filled to the brim with beautiful milk-thieves so changes needed to be made and stubbornly I stopped buying milk for my coffees/colleagues coffees. That led to a forced admiration for black coffee and now I even drink it at home, of my own volition (with a sweetener because I’m not quite ‘full Parisian’ yet), delicious. Seriously, I drink it at home EVEN when I have other beverage options! Nothing makes me feel more like a grown-ass-woman. (I bet Meryl Streep also loves black coffee - what DON’T we have in common?!|)

4. Just because I’m not shy, doesn’t mean I’m not an introvert. I am a reasonably outgoing person and can be loud (and incredibly obnoxious at times) but I am also an introvert - you can be both, shocking, I know. I first learned the true definition of being an introvert when I read Amy Schumer’s book (‘The Girl With The Lower Back Tattoo’ - I highly recommend it) and it felt like a weight had been lifted. After a lot of research and chats with councillors, I finally understood why I act the way I do - I can be loud, I can be funny but I can also need my time alone to recharge and moments in the day when I need to be silent and in my own thoughts. After a few hours of socialising, my energy is gone and I often pull a Houdini (slyly leave a party without saying goodbye to anyone - I usually achieve this by saying I’m going to the loo). I’m not shy, I am an introvert and just need my alone time.

5. I am VERY fortunate to have a sister who doubles as a best friend. Over the past few years especially, I have realised how special my relationship with Kara is. She is the first person I want to speak to when I’m upset, the first person I want to tell my good news to and the only person on this planet that I can spend continual days and nights with and not be sick of them. She can always make me laugh, she let’s me rant her ears off when I’ve had a bad day and she makes everything more fun. She’s even adorable when forcing me to take selfies with her - doesn’t sound too bad but she never likes the first 18 attempts and it quickly becomes a chore. Plus, I’ve noticed that when I’m having my picture taken, I stop breathing. So…her constant selfie attempts are actually life-threatening to me. 

6. You should NEVER talk politics with family. Making it through the Brexit vote and 2017’s general election without permanently disowning several members of my blood family is a tiny miracle. Don’t even get me started on some of my families opinions on Trump…

7. I’m at my best when I’m creating. Nothing makes me happier than creating something, even if it’s utter shite or a blog post no one will read *coughs*. I get such endorphins from creating something from nothing - if this is what hard drugs are like, maybe I will give them a go!

8. Shopping for anything other than food and dvd’s is a stress-filled shit show. Now, don’t get me wrong, I LOVE a lazy mall stroll (or a ‘Grandma Stroll’ as I lovingly call it), a leisurely stroll around Westfields shopping centre on a chilled Sunday morning with a coffee is one of my favourite pastimes but the second I have to go shopping for anything specific or an outfit for an occasion, it all goes downhill, fast. Maybe it’s my current position on the higher end of the clothing size in all high street shops but the stress shopping with an actual intention causes is horrible and those are the days you NEVER find what you’re looking for (because ‘god’ loves watching us all fail)! Spending countless weekends this year searching for an outfit for my best friends wedding was so exhausting and awful for my mental health, I genuinely considered spending £599 on a designer dress so the pain would be over - but then I remembered how poor I am and walked straight back in to Zara. 

9. Just because something is popular and your friends love it, doesn’t mean you have to force yourself to enjoy it. Prime example: I hate going clubbing and have spent countless nights drinking heavily in cheesy clubs whilst wearing uncomfortable heels, being beyond miserable on the inside and counting down the minutes until it’s an appropriate time to go home via McDonalds JUST because some friends fancied it and I was too scared they’d think I was a loser if I said I didn’t want to go. It’s okay to not do things you don’t want to - as my best friend tells me every time I give myself a hard time for not wanting to do things others find fun, ‘Treat Yourself’ and have a night in instead! I love nothing more than an early night and an early morning - and house music is terrible, I don’t believe anyone who says its good. Another example: I thought ‘The Last Jedi’ was incredibly underwhelming. THERE. I said it.

10. Be selective with photos. A few years ago, I wouldn’t read a new book, go anywhere, buy something or eat a meal without feeling the need to share it with the world via social media. Experiences of any kind weren’t worth anything to me unless I posted at least 1,095,362 photographs of it so I could prove to friends, family & strangers that I was living life to the fullest and doing cool things. Turns out, no one cares about what you’re doing nearly as much as you care. I rarely look back on photos of trips or gigs and think “thank ‘GOD’ I took 14 photo albums worth of pictures from that event! The weather WAS great that day, I was worried I’d remembered it wrong!” its unnecessary. I went away to Florida in October and for the first time, I just took photos of the things I truly wanted to remember and most of these live privately on my phone now because they were taken solely for my benefit. I shared a few nice holiday snaps on my Instagram but I tried to use the ‘quality over quantity’ method this holiday (and I desperately wanted to show off how nice the weather was). Whenever I see people posting several collages worth of photos from a single night out, I instantly think they weren’t having a genuinely good time. You don’t have to prove to the world that you’re having a good time, just have a good time, hon.

11. I don’t suit fringes and need to stop trying to make them work. I have what some would refer to as a ‘moon face’. By this, I mean that my face resembles a child's illustration of a human - a circle for a head. I have tried having a fringe hairdo (or ‘bangs’ to any American’s out there) around 7 times and it’s been a consistently appalling decision. It just doesn’t work and I’m hoping that writing it down might stop me from convincing myself in the near future that ‘this time I WILL look like Sienna Miller’. I even got drunk and cut my own fringe once and strangely enough, that was the best attempt yet (I received a few compliments but in hindsight, I fear that people thought I’d gone a bit ‘Girl Interrupted’ and were merely concerned I was having a mental breakdown.)

12. Friendships should be 50/50 and if they aren’t, you gotta ditch that bitch. I am very lucky to have some fantastic friends and although theres only a small handful that I would refer to as my best friends, they are worth their weight in gold - friendships are the only thing in life I refuse to settle for. I spent most of my teens/early twenties settling for bad friendships and primarily being attracted to selfish people but I have had to let go of 3 friendships in the last 3 years because they were truly toxic and incredibly one-sided. I started becoming one of those dickheads that focused so much on the negative people, I’d simply ignore the positive humans in my life. If I’m sitting and listening to your problems for hours at a time and you respond to any of my brief woes with a jovial shrug and ‘It’ll get better…anyway, this girl at work…’ then I’ll stop wasting both of our time. Now I have a rule, for every moment I focus on a friend that’s upset me or is acting weird toward me, I focus my mind on the good friends I have and send a little sweet text letting them know I’m thinking of them or I arrange a meet-up with someone I love. Channel those negative vibes and if someones good to you, give them your attention, they deserve it.

13. I will go to great, ugly and disgusting lengths to make my family and my friends laugh. Most of my relationships consist of us egging one other on and attempting to one up each other - and nothing makes me happier. This is why I can’t take a truly good candid photo, I’m always pulling some dumb face or standing in an unflattering manner in an attempt to make someone laugh. My face and body are my greatest comedy tools.

14. Your age shouldn’t determine your interests! I still love Disney and will continue to vacation there when money allows it (those Mickey Mouse shaped pretzels don’t come cheap!) - I get judged for this quite often, ironically the majority of the people that judge my love for my childhood ‘happy place’ are the same people who have an unhealthy obsession with a spectacled boy wizard… I hate the notion of being forced to grow out of interests so I like what I like, and bitch, I can like DisneyWorld whilst still enjoying Nick Broomfield documentaries and reading 'The Vagina Monologues' in my free time.

15. Avocados are overrated and a bit tasteless. I’m sorry but I’ve spent too long pretending to like them. Unless it’s in the form of Guacamole and paired with some salty tortilla chips, I don’t want any part of that green mush. They are a high maintenance grocery to buy and I simply don’t need the added stress.

16. Racecar is spelt the same way when you read it backwards. This fact is a real hit at parties (I rarely go to parties).

17. If I need to recharge after a stressful period, nothing is more effective than listening to a great audiobook or podcast (usually ‘Desert Island Discs’ or ‘How Did This Get Made’), getting an delicious syrup filled coffee and aimlessly wandering somewhere beautiful like Hampstead Heath (this also doubles as a great place to make some dog-friends. Top Tip: keep your headphones in so you can sufficiently ignore the owners of these furbabes). Or I like to visit South Bank and internally mock the tourists for going to the terrible, overpriced attractions like Madame Tussauds. Those silly, dopey fools. A great walk with a nice soundtrack is the cheapest therapy I can get and I wish I’d figured this out a lot sooner.

18. Food colouring WILL change the colour of your poop. Sorry, I know it’s a gross statement but its a lesson I learned this year and I felt it was worth a mention. I will not be answering any follow up questions on this matter, thank you. 

19. Despite my irrational fears, sharks cannot find their way in to any swimming pool I am residing in and they will not pop up in my bath and eat me. This one is still yet to be proven but if I lie to myself and say it’ll never happen, maybe I’ll actually start to believe it. I can thank my sister for this phobia - during my baths as a child, she’d love nothing more than turning the lights off, locking me in the bathroom and humming the Jaws theme loudly until I physically threw myself out of the tub.

20. Your ‘flaws’ matter more to you than anyone else! The list of things I would change about myself is longer than a dull day at work but the flaws I stress about and fear people will point out, for the most part, only matter to me. I’ve always been extremely self conscious of going out socially without make up on and until recently, only a handful of friends had seen my makeup-free mug but after having consistent allergic reactions to some products, I started regularly going to work with almost no make up on and guess what? No one cared. No one made negative comments or made fun of me, instead, people were kind, told me I looked nice and complimented my skin. I expected to arrive at work and be marched out of the building by villagers yelling at me whilst holding fire torches but instead it was a confidence boost and I now regularly opt out of a full face of slap for work - the additional bonus is that I get more time in bed. Everybody wins. Apart from the cosmetic companies but most of them put blusher on chimps so, they’re wankers anyway. 

21. You should never trust a person who hates animals. I, for the most part, dislike the majority of humans but have been proven time and time again in 2017 that it’s a justifiable hatred. Humans are kind of the worst but animals are fantastic. This isn’t up for debate. To me, hating animals is like someone hating films or music - those people should be avoided at all costs (this also goes for anyone who is a genuine fan of Nicolas Cage - avoid!)

22. Monopoly always seems like it will be fun in theory…but nothing brings the mood of a night in with friends down faster then being 10 minutes in to a game of Monopoly and mutually realising how dull it actually is. After fighting over who gets to be the top hat, it’s simply a buzzkill.

23. When people say ‘money can’t buy happiness’ they are lying. Although being wealthy wouldn’t get rid of all of my problems, it would rid of me the money-related stress dreams, the strenuous monthly budgeting I have to do and the fun social occasions I have to opt out of towards the end of the month when money is tight. A couple of years ago, I was in a much higher paid job and hate to admit that I was a bit happier thanks to my lack of money stress. I enjoyed being able to treat myself more when I was sad, I could put sufficient money away in my savings and I would regularly booze the night away without having to seek out venues with a cracking 'happy hour'…So what I’m saying is, give me some money.

24. If I drink anything more than 1 glass of white wine, I will suffer for the next 24 hours. I have extreme PTSD from this past summer where I drank a bottle of white wine in soho and spent over an hour vomiting in the bar toilets whilst my friend sat upstairs alone, waiting to see if I made it out alive. The next day was my everest. Never again. White wine isn’t even tasty enough to be worth it to me. It tastes like urine, agreed? Good.

25. ‘Paying it forward’ gives me the greatest feeling. Whether it’s small things like giving away beauty products I haven’t used to friends, donating clothes to clothes banks, leaving a book I have read and enjoyed in a park with a little note in the front for the new owner or giving away spare tickets to events when your friend can’t attend at the last minute, it warms my soul to pay it forward. It will often make someones day and you’ll get such a love buzz. Also, karma, am I right?!

26. Embrace the body you’re in because it’s the only one you’re gonna get, toots. I have spent so much of my life hating the body I am in but this past year I have had my own personal moments of ‘bravery’. I spent an entire spa day in a bathing suit and strutted around like a fucking sassy peacock, I went for walks on the beach in nothing but a high waisted 50’s style bikini and I have spent 99% of the time in my flat wandering around ‘pooh bear style’ (in a t-shirt and no bottoms - shoutout to my flatmates for putting up with this). Embracing my body in these small ways feels great and although I have a long way to go with accepting the skin I’m in, it feels amazing to finally feel a bit more free being me. You look in that mirror honey, get your birthday suit on and you loudly tell yourself 3 things you love about your body!

27. Journalling daily has become like therapy to me. On January 1st 2014, I was feeling quite down after a fight with my Mum over a trip to Ikea (seriously.) and decided to write down some thoughts. The next day I did the same thing and 4 years later, I have documented (almost) every single day since. Thoughts, feelings, ideas and memories. It’s soothing to have a place that I can say anything, I can be completely candid and I can rid my mind of the thoughts I’ve been dwelling on. I can’t imagine a life where I don’t journal now and it’s truly the only thing I have been able to ‘stick to’ (apart from overeating). Over the 4 years, I have missed 5 days, 4 of which were my first trip to Download Festival a few years ago where I couldn’t find a pen/was too drunk and the 5th was a while ago when my drink was spiked and I lost myself for 24 hours (a story for a different time). I love reading my journal entries back and studying the ways in which I have changed as a person and remembering small moments I might have otherwise forgotten - and as someone who finds cute stationary practically pornographic, the annual buying of new notebooks is one of my yearly highlights. 

So there it is, 27 things I have learned about myself, the world and the people around me. When sitting down to write this, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to come up with 27 separate things but it flowed from me like that 'blood elevator' scene in The Shining. There’s nothing quite like purging pages of thoughts at the end of a year. Happy New Year!

 Love Faye xoxo

Sunday, 12 November 2017

Stranger Things made me feel strange (& things)

Warning: Spoilers ahead…but, ‘Stranger Things’ has been out for ages so if it gets spoilt for you, it’s no ones fault but your own. 

  • Started watching ‘Stranger Things’ series 1 - Thursday, 7pm
  • Finished watching ‘Stranger Things’ series 2 - Sunday, 9pm

The hollow feeling I am currently experiencing since completing the first 2 series of ‘Stranger Things’ is growing at a rapid speed reminiscent to a baby Demogorgon. Why am I feeling this way? Is it the dread of now having to wait a year for series 3? Is it self hatred for knowing that a mere week ago I referred to Stranger Things as ‘an overrated show about kids running around at night’? Is it the shame of bingeing two entire series in the space four evenings? Is it the disappointment at knowing that Barb is in fact fully dead and won’t be in the 3rd series? No. No, No and No. It was envy.  Intense ‘Jonathan hiding in the woods and taking pictures of Nancy while she hooks up with Steve’ levels of envy. Allow me to explain…

I have been thinking about the burden of ageing a lot lately and do you want me to let you in on a great trick to amplifying that horrible gut wrenching feeling? Watch a TV show filled to the youthful brim with excessively talented, highly confident and obscenely wealthy children that are not only half your age but are experiencing more success in their careers than you probably EVER will. I’m jealous and I do not feel good about it. You can’t swing an Eggo Waffle in the air these days without hitting some internet meme with the adorable kids saying sassy things to talk show hosts or video clips of them displaying yet another talent such as singing, rapping or modelling. With the constant exposure and relentless internet presence, these kids are basically the new Kardashians and pretty much impossible to avoid, I’m just waiting for them all to start filling their social medias with waist trainers and skinny detox teas. Asides from the jealousy of a group of rich adolescents, I’m also sad I won’t see Steve’s face for a while but I have been able to fill that void easily with the frequent instagram stories Joe Keery posts. One of his most recent posts involved Joe brushing his teeth in the street in silence. I watched it three times. 

In less than 2 months I am turning 27 and to be brutally honest, I don’t feel like I have earned it. I haven’t seen enough, done enough, tried enough or been brave enough. I’m old before my time and I have no one to blame but myself. I’m 26 going on 62 and I’ve not accomplished nearly as much as I thought I would have by this age! My life is made up of routines, resentments and actual repercussions for my actions - example: there are SO many drugs I’ve never tried. I can’t just decide at my age to try a proper drug for the first time! I have bills, rent, a pension plan and a student loan I’ll have paid off in around 34 years time. The time for reckless experimentation is gone, I now have to display my bravery with acts like trying a new speciality latte without hearing any favourable reviews first. It might taste terrible but it’s all just a part of the journey. 

I know its overly dramatic but I can’t help but find the prospect of turning 27 a bit scary. The Spice Girls were all in their early twenties when I was a peace sign wielding child and to me, THEY were proper adults but here I am, now older than they all were when ‘Wannabe’ came out and what do I have to show for it? I have zero number 1 hits under my belt. I don’t think I even own a belt! What kind of adult doesn’t own a belt! Worse than that, at 27, if I were to get pregnant, the initial reaction from my friends and family wouldn’t be ‘BUT YOU’RE TOO YOUNG! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, HOW DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!’ instead, people would congratulate me, give me advice of fantastic places to get discounted baby chachki’s and give me their seats on the tube. I don’t want your seat! I want your judgement for me being so young and foolish, I can’t raise a baby, I’m basically a child myself! I think it’s clear by now that it’s a confusing time for me and I’m maybe not coping well. I am fiercely independent but can occasionally find myself in an incredibly childish mindset. The childish side of me just keeps secretly hoping I’ll stumble across a time machine at some point and can go back to being 10 years old with zero pressures or responsibilities (and no periods please) and I can have a second chance at setting up a life for myself. I’m a Britney enigma - not a girl, not yet a woman.

Would 13 year old Faye be proud of 26 year old Faye? No she wouldn’t. She’d probably be disappointed and a bit bummed that she wouldn’t grow out of her weight issues despite her mum constantly telling her she would. But these annoyingly wonderful ‘Stranger Things’ kids won’t have the same woes I did, they might even get to narrowly avoid the ‘awkward stage’ every teenager goes through where they try new risky trends for the first time and get mocked by their cruel peers - they'll have stylists who’ll help guide them seamlessly into chic (and probably successful) adulthood. If I had to have an awkward phase where I used a foundation 4 shades darker than my actual skin because that’s the only one I could manage to steal from Superdrug and a mascara so clumpy that you could count my eyelashes on one hand, then so should they. It’s only fair. Millie Bobby Brown is already a celebrated fashionista and has appeared in British Vogue at the tender age of 13 and I still get nervous when I wear anything that isn’t black. Where is the justice?! But there’s no time like the present to start making more of an effort to be the person I envisioned being when I was a child. Now don’t get me wrong, I can’t turn in to Hannah Montana overnight (my childhood dream) but I can be braver, be more confident and work with what I’ve got. I’ll try settling for easy options less and will promise to try enjoying myself more along the way and who knows? Maybe I’ll even make the old Faye proud (or even better, I’ll make the current one proud). I vow to embrace getting older and stress about it less, I just need to remind myself that I still have time to achieve great things - that is if Netflix stops creating life-consuming content. The man-hours wasted on that damn streaming service, I could have climbed a mountain or completed Super Mario Bros on my Nintendo DS (I’ll get around to that at some point I’m sure. Maybe when I retire at the tender age of 97?).

But for now, as a self imposed coping mechanism for filling the entertainment void and distracting my mind from the horrible quarter life crisis I have found myself in since finishing ‘Stranger Things’, I have now started bingeing ‘The Girlfriend Experience’ which admittedly is basically terrible and the protagonist Christine is less ‘Nancy’ and more ‘creepy phalic slimy vine from the Upside Down’ but I have promised myself that I’d wait until at least the new year to binge my new favourite show from the beginning again so…lets all look forward to another rant/bout of insecurity in January. 

See you at the Snow Ball. Bitchin'.

Faye x

Saturday, 21 October 2017

Thoughts From a Flight

The following blog post was written whilst I was tipsy and sleep deprived. I opted to not edit it as I would like to read back on it in its full authenticity. Enjoy.

'Thoughts From a Flight' 

Current Altitude: 37,000 feet
Time to Destination: approx 4 hours to go
Food Eaten: a handful of ‘Jelly Belly’ jelly beans & a questionable Curried Beef with potatoes
Drinks Consumed: 2 Proseccos (when boarding), 2 G&T’s, 1 large glass of Chardonnay & 1 coke
Friends Made on Flight: 0

Turbulence is rife. I am now measuring the severity of it by how much my boobs shake around in this comfortable but not-so-supportive bralette. Should I have worn an appropriate bra today? No I shouldn’t have because underwire was clearly designed by a vile man as punishment to women for having breasts. That man was probably a loud mouthed misogynist but behind closed doors spent a small fortune on buying women’s used underwear instead of his alimony payments. 

I am on my way back to London after a fortnight long break in Orlando Florida where I drank many sugary (and potent) cocktails, ate every Mickey Mouse shaped food I could get my grubby mitts on and walked on the beach frequently in the pursuit of pretty shells to give my forever-foraging mother as a gift. It’s been great and although I’m looking forward to seeing my main squeeze (London) and sleeping in my own bed, I am dreading getting back to reality. It won’t be too much of an adjustment though because despite how dreamy this holiday has been, I have still set an alarm every morning thanks for my inherent fear of sleeping my life away. Life just moves so quickly - *insert Ferris Bueller quote here at a later date. Or don’t for fear that you’ll get one word wrong and everyone will assume you’ve never even seen the film and that you’re a giant faker! It simultaneously feels like I’ve been away for 5 minutes and 5 months. I haven’t cooked, washed a dish or done any laundry in over 2 weeks and its been fantastic - I will adopt this same lifestyle as soon as I make it rich or marry a wealthy old man I’m not emotionally attached to but he thinks it’s endearing how much I love buying things so I consider him ‘a keeper’ and beg my family to understand my life choices during our incredibly awkward Christmas mornings together.

When boarding the plane, I couldn’t help but wonder if the pilots sitting 6 feet in front of me ever dread their ‘shift’. This current flight I’m on is roughly 8 hours which is the same duration I muster through 5 days out of the week - difference is, I can leave the office for an hour in the day to go play outside or eat a burrito and if I have an ‘off’ day where I’m not feeling good and get things wrong, no one dies. Probably an inappropriate thought to be having whilst in the midst of some pretty shaky turbulence but it makes me thankful for the differences in repercussions that come with our chosen career paths. Like, I can even drink at my job and STILL not kill anyone as a result. There is a lot of turbulence though so maybe my pilot has been drinking? It’s hard to tell and I’m not allowed in the cockpit despite hinting to the cabin crew multiple times that I’d love a tour of the aircraft. They probably assume it’s the drink talking and they are probably right.   

Podcasts are the perfect distraction whilst I am tossed around mercilessly like a bad handjob. I’m now re-listening to series 2 of the infamous (but clearly scripted) powerhouse ‘My Dad Wrote a Porno’ after happily consuming the first 3 episodes of Sarah Jessica Parker’s new TV show ‘Divorce’ - it’s funny, a far cry from the love to hate antics of Carrie Bradshaw and brilliantly written. 5 stars! The turbulence started around an hour ago whilst I had resorted to hiding in the toilets to paint my nails with the new OPI nail polish I bought at Duty Free. I tried to slyly give myself a manicure in my seat but my Dad - who is occupying the seat to my left - upon me opening the nail polish for a mere second shouted loudly ‘THAT SMELLS BLOODY AWFUL!! WERE IN A CONFINED SPACE!!’, Dad isn’t one for hiding his feelings or sparing my dignity but to be honest, after sitting in the tiny toilet cubicle with my nail polish and no ventilation for 5 minutes, I began to think he was right. I will not tell him this but by the way he smirkily asked me ‘was that worth it?’ as I sat back down in my seat, he knew he had won this battle of wits. 

Anyway, this tipsy rambling has been great and will no doubt be a riot to read back when I have fully sobered up and haven't been awake for 19 hours straight. I’ll make sure to post a picture on my social networks as soon as I’m back on english soil with the witty and super relevant caption ‘Just touched down in London town’ or something about how cold it is so you know I’m home safe.


Faye x

Sunday, 6 August 2017



“Money don't get everything it's true. What it don't get I can't use, now give me money - that’s what I want” - ‘Money (That’s What I Want)’ by The Beatles

Like a lot of twenty-somethings, I am currently army crawling my way to payday through broken glass and used paper cups that once contained lattes from chain coffee shops. Behind me is a trail of receipts from slogan tee’s bought on impulse and DVD’s I’ll watch once and only once. Sidebar: am I the only one who misses the ritual that was a trip to Blockbuster on a Friday night? There was no commitment to own a film you aren’t sure you’ll enjoy and no praying to the Netflix gods for them to add the niche film you’re in the mood to watch. And no, I don’t illegally download films because it’s morally wrong and I don’t know how. I digress. 

I think about money all the time currently. It consumes almost all of my thoughts. How will I save enough of it? Will I earn lots of it one day? I’m worried I’ve spent too much on shiny things I didn’t need! It’s tiring and I wish I didn’t care. Correction, I wish I had enough of it to not have to care. Up until my late teens, I had been of the assumption that the older I got, the more money I will automatically earn because as you grow in age, so does your wage, right? Obviously an incorrect and incredibly ignorant thought that stemmed from being raised without money woes. My fortunate childhood was due to my dad working his proverbial ass off all over the world 360 days of the year to ensure myself and my Sister were lucky enough to experience the carefree childhood he didn’t get. The knowledge of how hard my Dad worked was something I overlooked in my younger years, I was probably distracted by our pets or my BabyG watch, it’s hard to tell at this point. Money wasn’t something that I even had to think about as a child, holidays were frequent and being a ‘good girl’ all week and getting all of my chores completed usually resulted in a little gift like a new beanie baby. There were bonus points for if me and my sister didn’t physically fight one another but we almost always failed at that, we watched too much WWF wrestling and were easily influenced by The Hardy Boyz. It wasn’t until a few years after my parents split that money began to concern me and it became an even harsher reality when I was out in the big wide world earning my own. I was faced with the cruel fact that money does not last forever and hard work does not mean you automatically get you’re own money tree planted in your garden (I mean, I live in London and as if I can afford a garden but I thought it may come in the form of a money cactus from Ikea?).

I’ve always been quite good at saving for things I want, holidays I desire or just general ‘rainy days’ but I think this is more to do with how stubborn I am as opposed to me being frivolous. I am currently saving for 7 separate and expensive occasions that are all due to take place within the next 4 months, I’m not sure if it’s bad karma I acquired from all those years of leading on older creepy men on chat rooms to make my friends laugh but it’s resulted in me standing in a sassy hand-on-hip pose and saying the word ‘Typical!’ whenever a new event pops up in my diary (I have officially turned in to my mother) and it has made me more anxious about my earnings than ever. So much so, I have the following fantasy at least 6 times a day. I have set this fantasy out in the style of a script as I hope to sell it to FOX one day, those folks LOVE white people that whine. Here’s looking at you, Murdoch, you little monster.

My Money Fantasy
Entitled: ’The Genie & I’ (name TBC)
Written by Dame Faye A. Harris

Int: Faye stands alone in her dark and gloomy bedroom, she is surrounded by unpaid bills, notifications via post of her outstanding student loan and she is grasping on to a calendar with all of the expensive pending events circled in a dramatically large red pen. She shoots a look to the ceiling of her rented room and cries out ‘If only there was someone who could help me!!!’

Just as these whiney words fall off her poor person tongue, a puff of smoke appears as if from nowhere and an aladdin style rip-off genie is floating before her, his entire being stemming from that teapot Faye bought years ago and was convinced she’d use all the time so justified it by saying ‘it’s okay that it costs more than my monthly phone bill!’ but in reality, she doesn’t actually like tea that much and rarely drinks it, let alone in large quantities like from a giant china pot.

You rang? I’m just dicking around, I heard you crying and I-

-I wasn’t crying.

Apologies Miss, I think one of your roommates is crying. Anywho, you know the deal. You have 3 wishes, yada yada yada, what’ll it b-


*in a passive tone* Past recipients of my services have spent some time mulling it over and feigned interest in the idea of helping others first, usually saving their 3rd wish for material objects they desire. Fuck, man. Who raised you?

*whilst taking selfies with her phone* So will you be providing it in notes or straight to my bank? How does this work? OMG look at this new snapchat filter, look, I’m a panda with cult-leader glasses! ha! *notices the Genie riffling through her clothes* OI! Get out of my wardrobe you cretin!!

You have a lot of things in here with tags still on. Maybe if you spent a little less money on ‘weight goal’ clothing that doesn’t fit and burritos that are the main cause of that, maybe then you wouldn't be imagining up a scenario where a genie gives you cash.

Hey Casper the unhelpful ghost, I wish you’d go fuck yourself.

*long pause*

*in a shocked/disgusted whisper* Will I get my money after you finish? Why do genie’s even have genitals? I beg you to look away, this has backfired catastrophically.

*wipes mouth* You’ve got 2 wishes left, bitch. 

And scene. That escalated and I’m sorry but you get the jist, I have money on my mind (and Disney. Always Disney. And occasionally the Spice Girls.) But in all seriousness, I am of the belief that money actually CAN buy happiness for a lot of people. Like most others who aren’t lucky enough to have a 90-something rich and generous boy toy, I get such a rush from buying something I have longed for, treating a loved one to a gift ‘just because’, booking a holiday I have been dreaming of and checking my bank balance without a mini panic attach…a life where those things aren’t a rarity but the norm, what could be better? Happiness Shmappiness, pfft, that’s for dreamers and honey, I am NO dreamer. I know money isn’t going to solve all of my issues and I know it won’t ‘fix’ me as a person but on those sad days when life gets a little too much, the option of not having to work and spending my day walking along the thames whilst listening to Tom Jones albums on repeat would be a real relief, am I right ladies?

I’d like to end this blog post with a poem I wrote all about…well…money, obviously. It’d be weird if it were about anything else. Enjoy:

The thought of money makes me lose sleep
If I had enough, I’d buy a pool so deep
I’d fill it with coins like Scrooge McDuck
I’d spend all my days not giving a fuck.

No worries of bills and student loan debts
I’d be so rich and have too many pets
With all that cash, my woes would be silent
And my anxiety attacks would be less violent.

I wasn’t born in to wealth but I’m willing to earn it
Even if it means spending free time as a hermit
I like the idea of hard work for the pay
But I prefer the notion of sleeping all day.

Why can’t it be even where we all get a sum
After all, it’s just paper that makes us act dumb
It’s numbers on a screen ruling our lives
And whoever has more automatically thrives.

I want a life where my days are all mine
I’d spend my days writing line after line
It would be bliss to not answer to ‘the man’
And travel the world just because I can.

I dream of a world where money’s obsolete 
No banks, no charges, life would be sweet
Work wouldn’t matter and we’d all be free
And no more hopes of growing a ‘Money Tree’.

Love Faye x
*goes back to staring at bank balance and google searching ‘how to play the stocks’*

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

'Girls' ended & I hate change...

"I think that I may be the voice of my generation. Or at least a voice. Of a generation." - Hannah Horvath, 'Girls'

'Girls' is one of those television shows that divide audiences, some love it and find the brutally realistic (and at times vile) millennial characters endearing while others find the continual narcissism unbearable - I for one found it thoroughly captivating at all times and had a minor internal breakdown last weekend  whilst I binge watched the 6th and final season.

It feels extremely trivial to say a TV show changed me but 'Girls' did. I started watching it around 3 years ago when one of my favorite bloggers (LucyJaneWood) mentioned her admiration for it on her Instagram account. While mooching around HMV on a lunch break at my temporary and incredibly-low paying job at the time, I saw the seasons 1-3 boxset of 'Girls' for the bargain price of everything I had left in my overdraft, bought it to cheer myself up and then had my life consumed for 2 full days. The show spoke to me more than any other I'd watched before, validated my fears of feeling like I didn't know what I wanted to do when I grew up whilst in the horrible position of being considered 'a grown up' already and normalized my weird and rocky female friendships. The character Hannah spoke loudest to me and I mirrored her desires to write professionally (along with her general laziness and hopes that it would just be handed to her at some point with minimal effort) and felt uplifted with seeing someone posses a similar body shape to my own but adored the fact that it wasn't a part of her narrative. Her body image wasn't an issue for her, she was still sexy, desired, wore whatever she felt like and seemed shocked whenever it was somewhat of an 'issue' or noticed by others. That alone boosted my confidence in ways I can't explain and at times I channeled a real 'WWHHD?' (what would Hannah Horvath do?) mentality. Don't get me wrong, her character was incredibly flawed and at times she was very unlikable but as a character she meant a lot to me and strangely helped me. The show pushed me to make the move to a city, inspired me to 'find the story' in all of life's ups & downs and provoked me to care less about my narcissistic tendencies that I had continual guilt for.

Fast forward to the shows end and the bleak but necessary closing act of 'Girls'. As I sat crossed legged on my bed, hugging a giant pillow and slowly sipping a large gin & orange juice through a stolen Starbucks straw, I felt such a crushing blow when the credits rolled and that was it, my favorite show had finished forever. They'd be no more new episodes, no more funny Shosh quotes, no more counting down the days until the new season would start and no more Adam Driver being Adam. It was a crushing reminder of how much I hate change. I've always been hesitant for big life changes and closing life chapters as I get so emotionally attached to things, places and people. Anything from a vacation ending to moving out of my childhood home, it all affects me the same way, I just fucking hate it. Like now for instance, I have been keen on the idea of moving out of my current flat for a while in the hopes of falling in love with a new part of London and spicing life up a bit but I fear having to meet new roommates, make myself at home in a new bedroom and getting used to a new area. I'm a creature of habit and enjoy nothing more than settling in to something or somewhere. Even breaking up with terrible boyfriends leaves me with a horrible gut feeling I can't shake for months as I have to get used to not seeing them despite the fact that by that point I actually hate them and wish they'd lose every possession they've ever loved in a horrible but controlled fire (oop, my 'crazy' is showing. Allow me to shove that back under the proverbial rug).

A couple of weeks ago, I was offered a new job which is beyond exciting and full of great prospects and for once isn't filling me with the dreaded 'first day at school feeling' because not only is it at my current place of work but it is also on the same floor, in the same room and around 4 banks of desks away from my previous team. The biggest bonus of all? It's permanent! So after 2 and a bit years of living in London and hopping from contracted job to contracted job, having to get used to new people, new commutes and new offices, I finally have a role I can settle in to and get all kinds of comfy. It couldn't be more ideal for a change-hater such as myself.

Despite being slightly on the wrong side of 'nuts' for being so affected by an American TV show, I think a lot of people can relate to the fear of change and the unknown of the future. 'Girls' will eternally live on in my DVD collection and will forever be thought of to me as a truly revolutionary program. Of course life will go on and I will find new things that inspire me so that I can narcissistically become attached and consumed by them and tell the world that it reminds me of me because...TWHHWD (that's what Hannah Horvath would do).

"You know what the weirdest part about having a job is? You have to be there everyday, even on the days you don't feel like it." - Jessa Johansson, 'Girls'

Faye x

Sunday, 2 April 2017

Living With Roommates

As someone who didn't have the full university experience and opted to stay at home with my family and treasured pets, the idea of flatsharing always seemed so foreign to me. I grew up watching television shows like ‘Friends’ and ‘Will & Grace’ but only ever envied the characters wardrobes and hairdos - NOT their living situations…enter, London. When I decided to make the big move to the city of dreams and overpriced cocktails, I was faced with the harsh reality that in order to live in my desired new home I would have to bunk with strangers. There is a list as long as my chubby arm of things I wouldn’t do with strangers but for some irrational reason, I thought it’d be okay to share a home with some. In the 2 years I’ve lived in my lovely little flat, I have had five different women occupy the other two bedrooms down the hall from me and it has without a doubt been a continual learning curve. Despite being painfully aware of my own idiosyncrasies and knowing how much of an introvert I am most of the time, I was not aware of how my roommates habits would grow to drive me exaggeratedly insane. Don’t get me wrong, I like the people I live with but as time goes on, it becomes abundantly apparent that I am not easygoing enough to live with strangers, I am an uptight nana and all the gin in the world isn't going to change that. I get easily irritated by stupidly small things which is exactly how I felt towards the end of living at home with my family, the difference is…family is family. If they make you irate, you can say it their face and call them a prick whilst knowing in the back of your head that your minor outrage will be long forgotten by tomorrow so living with people you don't have pre-determined relationships with is harder. You have to bite your tongue, you have to be a lot more rational, you have to forgive and forget immediately to avoid foreseeable awkwardness and at times you have to say a bold lie such as “No, that’s fine to use my milk from the fridge without asking! You weren't to know, you must have thought you purchased it, silly!” or “Oh my god, don’t be sorry. I didn't even hear you come in at 4am…with all your loud drunk pals. I slept through it!”

Thanks to the smorgasbord of 20-somethings that I’ve shared a home with, I feel like its helped me to grow up a bit and at times has forced me to genuinely get my shit together. My cohabiters have ranged from the most passive aggressive woman I’ve ever met, an incredibly sexually liberated office dwelling hippy, a Mancunian whom I adore and who loved nothing more than a binge of 90’s music…and an actual hedgehog. He may have been my favourite of the whole bunch despite his vile odour. And what did these women think of living with me? To be completely honest, I have no clue but I can only assume it would be something along the lines of the following:
‘Faye is an okay flatmate despite the fact that she walks around in just her pants a lot, listens to Taylor Swift obnoxiously loud when she showers, makes too many ‘fingering’ jokes, annoyingly sets herself 8 different alarms to wake up in the morning and you can occasionally hear her theatrically faking orgasms through the wall to please whoever she is dating…apart from that, she's fine I guess’. I will be the first to admit that maybe doing a flat or house share was out of character for me. I am a person who loves their own company, thrives off of personal space, detests invasions of privacy and depending on stress levels at the time, can accumulate various germaphobic tendencies. Alas, despite having some very memorable and great moments with my flatmates, this living situation has taught me many, many lessons. Here are a selection of the most prominent:

1. Remember privacy? No? Me neither.
Privacy truly is a privilege and this is more apparent to me than ever now I live in close quarters with humans I met on I love my solo time and am a reasonably private person but I have learned to accept that if I have a private phone call, have friends over or seriously give singing a go, people may hear. Luckily for me, I live with British people so I rely heavily on the English mentality of being too polite to publicly acknowledge anything embarrassing you’ve heard. It's what the Queen would want.

2. ‘Hook-Up’ strategies need to be in place (& give yourself plenty of time to plan)
Unless you are some sort of exhibitionist or really in to bragging about sexual encounters, having a sexy sleepover when flatsharing is awkward at best. A good ‘hook up’ strategy being in place is highly recommended - give your flatmates notice, warn them that you’ll purposely make them feel awkward for the entirety of your date because you’ll probably be drunk and subtly suggest that it might be a good night for them to go back to their parents house…it’s in all of our best interest. 

3. It’s like living in a Uni house (except we all have jobs and pension plans)
My flat has been lovingly described as looking like ‘student accommodations' on multiple occasions, for this I blame the fact that we don't own it so we can’t decorate it how we want to, we don't care that much about it so we treat it like its our frenemy and it is filled to the brim with random things we have all accumulated when drunk like stolen pint glasses and pub coasters. 

4. Shared chores bring occasional resentment…
I’m lucky enough to currently live with tidy human beings so the rare occasions that things are messy for long periods of time, I do tend to grow resentful of it like a bitter ex-lover. I remedy this by just cleaning it myself after a little while. Why? Because it feels great to be able to say ‘I’m the only one that does the dishes!’ despite knowing this was a one-time issue and you often leave your own dishes longer than you should… Mmmm, sweet irony.

5. …shared groceries bring further resentment.
Bin bags, loo roll, cleaning products; all things I couldn't have cared less about 25 months ago but now I will internally lose my shit if I have to buy these things twice in a row. ‘Why don’t you ask your roomies to buy these things when you run out?’ I hear you cry. Firstly, stop being so nosey. Secondly, because they often buy these things multiple times in a row without complaint so…there.

6. The guilt of staying in…a lot. 
I’m a homebody and at times I have lived with social butterflies. The judge Judy looks on their faces when I’m staying in and wearing PJ’s from 6pm onwards for the 4th night in a row...those looks cut me deep.

7. Can I borrow this?
I’ve lost count of how many times various roommates have been in my bedroom chatting, spotted a book/dvd and muttered the dreaded words ‘Can I…’. As a rule I don’t lend out things very often because 99% of the time I don’t get it back and I don’t have the patience to continually ‘politely’ ask for my belongings to be returned, bitch I am not your live-in Blockbuster. As I write this I am confronted with the realisation that I am just selfish and a worse realisation is that I’m completely okay with that. 

8. The secret codes of “I fancy a chat”.
Sometimes you really fancy a chat with your roommates but don’t want to be a desperate Debbie who knocks on their bedroom door so you can shoot the shit. To show your roomies that you fancy a chat, leave your bedroom door open, spend longer than you normally would in the shared rooms of the house (kitchen, living room) and stare at them until they pay attention to you.

9. The secret codes of “I don’t fancy a chat”.
Sometimes you really don't fancy a chat with your roommates but don’t want to be a anti-social bore. To show your roomies that you don't fancy a chat, seal your bedroom door shut, spend almost no time in the shared rooms of the house (kitchen, living room) and if they look you in the eyes, scream ‘I’VE GOT A SERIOUS CASE OF THE MONDAYS’ then hide in your room.

10. Embrace one anothers smells… (shared bathroom woes)
We all cook various scented meals, we all produce various scented…scents and we all need to be okay with it. There’s no time to be self conscious or not cook that curry you’ve been craving all week because you’re worried about pissing off your housechums, you do you boo. And then Febreeze like nobody is watching. 

11. Hallway chats are a wonderful thing.
Sharing multiple rooms with various people means you will literally cross paths a lot and will often stop along the way to chat ’til your hearts content and until you’ve forgotten that you were actually on your way to the bathroom to pee. Hallway chats have become some of the deepest chats to happen in this flat and I think there’s a metaphor in there somewhere (much like the beloved ‘Choose your own adventure’ book, please feel free to ‘Choose your own metaphor’).

12. Shrapnel in the form of hair, crumbs & spills.
A shared flat can occasionally resemble a giant field the morning after a festival has finished. A single human being accumulating a little hair loss and creating crumbs when feeding themselves is easy to ignore but when you multiply that by 3, your home can easily become the set to ‘Trainspotting’. There is no pain like walking around your flat barefoot, stepping on something sharp and realising it is in fact your worst nightmare…you’ve just stepped on someones toenail clipping. On the bright side of domestic bliss, floor wipes have saved my sanity and allowed me to only hoover once a year. Blessed.

13. Noise control needs to be established (in all situations)
I for one love nothing more than blasting music in my bedroom and dancing like a has-been stripper (male), this doesn't bode well when you live with others because apparently it’s ‘rude’. Most people I know are reasonably respectful to one another when it comes to noise control but add alcohol in to the mix and were all assholes. All respect and volume control goes out the window and it’s something I’ve learned to live with. I’ve learned to live with it because I know I am incredibly guilty of this at times…I can creep in to my flat wasted like a pro but occasionally, if I’m over excited or McDonalds have given me the wrong order, things happen and things get loud. Don’t fuck with my McNuggets.

14. Being home alone is literally the greatest.
The feeling you get when all of your roommates leave town for the weekend and you have the flat all to yourself is euphoric. It so rarely happens that when the occasion arises, I will often cancel any social plans, buy enough prosecco to drown a ‘basic bitch’ and throw all of my clothes on the floor in a celebration of nudity and alone time. You don’t know true freedom until you have spent an entire day wandering around your home naked with zero shame. I assume this is what George Michaels song ‘Freedom’ was about. 

meanwhile, behind the blogpost - 
Location: My bedroom based desk so I can delay the need to crawl in to bed at 4pm.
Currently Watching/Listening To: Binge watching ‘The People Vs. OJ’ my newest obsession…Ross Gellar got hot, am I right?
Currently Eating/Drinking: A large glass of Cava with orange juice because I am without a doubt a genuine garbage person.
Currently Wearing: A floor length black silk night gown with lace trimming on the sleeves. I couldn't feel more like a mix between Miss Hannigan from ‘Annie’ and a Madame of a brothel right now.

Faye x