Hello. It’s been even more of a while than usual, but I promise I haven’t just gone AWOL – a few pieces in the works, which may emerge when life is less busy. But this is not one of those pieces.
It is in fact a Guest Post (because yeah, I have guests now, boom), continuing the period theme of my latest Anglophone offering from a different perspective.
It’s authored by Meg, a friend, linguist and writer on many and varied topics, and here’s a paraphrase of its origin story:
Meg: Hey, nice PMS post. Also I kind of want to write the companion piece all about ew yucky blood, how about hosting it on Anglophone?
Me: Thankyou!! And yes please!
One week later
Meg: Here is a draft
Me: Brilliant! I’ll write an intro and publish it this weekend
Over a month elapses
Me: Hey, I finally wrote that intro…
And now, at last, here we are – the delay is my fault entirely. Since Meg is definitely eloquent enough to speak for herself, I’ll let her take it from here.
Hello there. Today, we’re going to talk about periods. Specifically, we’re going to talk about the ill-defined beast that is PMS. I’m already having to stop myself apologising for picking such a scandalous topic, which sort of highlights why it’s a good thing to be discussing.
Unlike the infamous ritual by which 11-year-old girls are removed from mixed classrooms to learn their fate, I’m asking the boys to stay and listen. If you don’t think it’s your business, that’s all the more reason to stay. Welcome.
I’ve been meaning to write this one for a while. Read on and you’ll probably figure out why it’s taken me until now to get around to it…
Here are some facts:
- In January, I started an awesome new job at Coney
- In the months of January to March 2018, I lost a total of six Oyster cards
- I suffer from what’s probably best described as moderate clinical anxiety
I have a little theory that links those facts together. But first, let me expand on each one.
WARNING: RANT AHEAD
I do not like the month of February, when everything is dead. And now that February itself is gone (for this year, at least) I’m going to speak ill of it. I’m also going to complain about the weather, and grumble about public transport, and generally whinge and mope. If you’re looking for something uplifting, I suggest you skip this one…
So, for you hardcore miseryguts who’ve stuck around past that preamble of woe, here are a few of the many reasons February is a pile of crap. There are seven of them, because that’s my least favourite number. *Flounces out of the metaphorical room*.
Hello there. Happy New(ish) Year! This is just a quick ‘What I Did On My Holidays’ to get me back into the whole writing thing, but I’m going to find time in my busy busy schedule for some cartoons just as soon as possible. Continue to watch this space.
Here is some information about me.
- I live in a flat in London, to which I only sometimes lose the keys
- I have a full time job (a new one, which is great by the way)
- I pay taxes
- I have conversations about spreadsheets on an alarmingly regular basis
- I manage OK on the whole paying-bills, keeping-appointments, cleaning-and-tidying front
- I get my five a day and take vitamin supplements
- In recent times, I’ve actually been known to get excited about vegetables
In case you weren’t already aware, in January I became an inhabitant of That London. This is a very different living situation from the wilds of Herefordshire, but it’s generally proving pleasanter than I had expected. Cheap art and easily available friends are a good consolation for the constant lack of time and money, even if they don’t help much with the oversupply of diesel fumes.
It’s been a while, etc, etc. But I’m back, and I’ve managed to age at least thirty years since I last posted. Read on to find out more about my middle-aged life…
You may be familiar with the ‘Expectation vs reality’ memes that were everywhere a few years ago. They tend to be amusingly cynical or self-deprecating, and go something like this: