Tough Endings, New Beginnings

Life and death walk hand in hand unfortunately, and you can have neither one without the other.

The prospect of new life always outweighs the prospect of the closure of an old life and its an aspect us humans choose to turn a blind eye too.

Last night we lost our mare. I say “our” mare but I had absolutely no ownership over her, but I did have a share invested in her heart. These last few weeks I have cared for Nell (Spring Sensation) whilst she cooked her foal over the remaining weeks of her pregnancy. She was striking in size, colour and ability. She was kind, giving and a joy to handle and she never squished me once.

Last night she went into labour and didn’t make it out of it. After an examination after birth, slim odds and a mad dash to Bell Equine (Horse Hospital) Nell never returned home.

She was in too much pain and experienced too much damage. Her foal wasn’t in a good position during labour and caused too much damage for Nell to endure.

Upon birth, Nell and her little foal bonded and she was showing signs of being an incredible mother – which makes her departure from the living even harder to bare.

Her foal is her legacy. He is alive and well but mother-less.

He will not be a regular foal. His mum will not be here to teach him the ways of the world, which grasses and plants to eat, the language of a horse… unless we find a surrogate.

We are desperately looking to find him a foster mare, as our love and bottle feeds can only do so much.

We are mourning Nell and trying to celebrate new life whilst learning how to walk a new path in life.

Death is hard, but living is harder.

With love,

Pipedream xx


Films that make you get s*** done…

I’ve successfully dug myself into a rut.

*Fake Cheer*

This rut has proceeded to lead me, by the hand, into a mid-youth crisis (too young for a mid-life one… I hope) where I am now desperately going through tried methods which have previously coaxed me out of my self-dug hole and back into reality.

One of my favourite techniques is mass film watching, but not just any films, ones where the protagonist is having a proper pants time at life. Obviously, to be a Hollywood blockbuster the ending needs to be inspirational – filled with uplifting music *Walking on sunshine begins to play*, where the protagonist bosses life again.  This genre of film really gets me in the mood to fire up my laptop and get on top of my life admin and any other requirements that return me back to being the Queen of my own life.

*Hollywood style hair-flick*

Here are my Top 3 tried and tested films that help me get my s*** together.

1. Begin Again
Starring Mark Ruffalo (swoon) and the ever-dashing Keira Knightley. The rest of the cast are pretty-special too, so if you’re a fan of an all-star cast, THIS. IS. YOUR. FILM.

Basically this film consists of Heart Break, Poverty and avid scrambling around trying to make a living out of a talent (an art). As a fellow artist, this film screams to me as its about dedication, originality and surrounding yourself with good people. The film has a really-positive message: Be true to your damn self and have faith. *Air Grab*

2. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
Ben Stiller rocks my world in this.

Not only does this film have a killer soundtrack, views for days and an inspirational message behind it, it also sticks two fingers up to individuals that mock and try and kick you down. Get back up again kind sir. This is my absolute go too.

3. Perks of Being a Wallflower
Ezra Miller is a gift from above, along with the rest of the cast. It makes my heart burst.

This film speaks to me. Its all about going out of your comfort zone and living in the moment. Infinite moments. The soundtrack Is GOLD. The storyline is GOLD. And the cast is GOLD. Check it out if you want to cry, rejoice and feel things you didn’t know you could.

I love life and I am desperate to love it wholly again.

Au revoir life blip, hello positive energy.

With love,

Pipedream xx

My self-tested guide to wasting a year of your life…

My life choices are the complete cause of my current existence; I’m the type of person that scrolls through insta feeds dedicated to smoothies and slim figures, aspiring to look that good too, to go to my fridge and devour the left over Cadbury’s chocolate which I started hours prior. Of course, this said example results in me crying on the floor as my jeans make me look like a potato in drag. But my point is that my life choices start with good intentions and finish in humiliation and defeat.

*Enter the cynical aspect of my personality (which makes up 78% of my being)*

I haven’t gone to university, my C.V. resembles headphones in a knot and the stale air that makes up 90% of my brain space makes me act irrationally and impulsively resulting in my current career.

For anyone blissfully unaware, I am a Housemistress within a Boarding School, where I eat, sleep, work and cry myself to sleep due to my existence. I work silly hours, sacrifice my identity and being, and have a whole day dedicated to scratching back my existence in which I compromise for sleep – otherwise I’m a walking corpse for the following 6 days of work.

*Takes a breath*

I remember applying for this role and I also remember not taking it seriously that they then wanted to hire me. It was desperation on both fronts that I accepted. I was running away from my previous life (story for another time) and they were in desperate need of filling a position undesired by many of a suitable calibre. Impulsive and irrational.

I moved in as a fresh-faced 20 year old, with no real life experience – completely naive in regards to the human race. Looking back, it was the best and worst thing I could have ever done…

Here is my Top 10 list of things I’ve learnt from being a Housemistress within my first and last boarding school:

Disclaimer: some of my next points ARE based on my current working environment and can be unreliable representations of Housemistress roles within other boarding schools.

1. The kids are not what you should fear; it’s your colleagues. Before my first day, I was sick with nerves, contemplating that the kids would hate me and I would be compromising my colleagues’ roles. Reality: the kids are joys, the colleagues (some not all) are not.

2. If you are running away from your life, alone in this bleak world (*cough – Spinsters – cough*) or are needing a British Passport, this role is for you. You will have no time to yourself, or energy/inclination to do anything other than your job/sleep. *Waves goodbye to alcohol, frivolous adventures and sex*

3. Working 9-5 and feeling tired is not the same exhaustion as 17 hour shifts, 6 days a week, with a forced sunny disposition whilst running a tennis activity session, purely fuelled by your own adrenaline.

*Put that coffee down ye olde office worker*

I actually daydream about the 9-5 grind with weekends off. *sighs*

4. Wave goodbye to weekends, they no longer exist.

5. If you are female, blonde and can do your job – you are seen as a threat and will therefore be isolated and subjected to a harder work-load and your emotional/physical well-being will be compromised. *Stop whining you millennial snowflake*

6. Misogyny exists. Some Boarding schools have a very “traditional” view on a woman’s place in society, and it’s not in the work place. Soz for gracing you with my vagina pals and undermining your penis.

7. You will take part in “evening activities” that will make you question whether the schools Health & Safety policies and risk assessments are legit. And if not, who’s to blame if something goes wrong? *shuffles awkwardly*

8. I never liked school dinners, and I continue to support this.

9. Emotional eating will help you survive Easter Term.

10. NEVER date a colleague.

I am a case of your classic cliché where I’ll proceed to describe my time as a House Mistress as a rollercoaster, whilst looking thoughtfully into the distance. There were some bloody highs (which I am so GRATEFUL to have experienced) but the lows have impacted my character negatively and I need to move on.

I’m getting flee-itis where the greener pastures are luring me over the bridge, however the little troll that is life, has left me all indecisive, insecure and unsure of what I am needing to do to be allowed onto the greener pastures.

I have no degree, a chaotic C.V. and ambitions too large for my shoulders to carry. I’m desperate for a door to open.

Have fun out there!


Pipedream xx

The Happy Couple

So, it has been a week since Prince Harry and Megan Markle took part in a ceremony enjoyed by the masses, looking forever dashing and exuding ‘love’. However, (there will always be a however, but, furthermore in these blog post ramblings – I’m the devils advocate *winks sassily*) I am selfish enough to question, if in Megan’s position, would I be able to trade in my career for the crown? Could I sacrifice my identity for love?

My answer is point blank no.
Megan Markle has built an empire; bossing the series Suits (and other acting endeavours), creating a successful Lifestyle Website called ‘Tig’ and being a humanitarian advocate from a very young age. What she has achieved I can only aspire to recreate and now this repertoire of career-based accomplishments has been overthrown by the Crown. She quit Suits, shut down Tig and will now have to have an opinion/political view as neutral as Switzerland, despite her very apparent views on things. Sidenote: Her CV puts her in good stead for what’s to come, in my opinion.

*My opinion has as much weight behind it as a balloon*

*Don’t listen to me*

For a woman of her accomplishments to put them aside, in the name of love, is something I hugely respect but question. I am obviously a big believer that a woman’s choice is exactly that. Her own. And I love that a woman with such drive has taken a seat within an influential part of British Society with a huge following and large media attention (I feel that she can put it to good use) but I am just a little disappointed in the sacrifice she was required to make as a consequence of her love.

I don’t think I could.

I respect the sacrifice, but I feel that I am currently too selfish and proud to fulfil such a task. Pipedream is only an embryo in the larger scheme of things, and if it ever achieved child status I would protect it like a child, it means more to me than a position in society or a bank balance. Disclaimer: I am not saying those are Megan Markle’s motives.

My verdict however is an uneducated one, as I have never been in love and my career is infantile.

*Tiny violins begin to play*

And maybe if I ever did fall that madly in love with someone, that living without them (maintaining life as it was) wouldn’t be worth living. Maybe we are all observing from outside the window, looking in on a real life ‘fairy tale’ too pure, for our unholy souls.

*Faints dramatically*

Have fun out there!


Pipedream xx

Naked from the waist down…


I’ve decided to not ease you in gently regarding my wondrous fables regarding my absence; however, I have decided to start at just that… the start. *So Shakespearean*

Growing up as a Woman *other genders available* (soz for the BBC pun) is no mean feat, obviously periods are a nuisance, along with the societal perception that because you are female you are obliged to look perfect and if you don’t, you will be included in the hilariously macho fun-filled game/bet enjoyed at your local, called ‘pull a pig’. If you don’t know what this hilarious game is *please sense my sarcasm* let me enlighten you. This is a game where an egotistical, self-righteous male actively pursues a woman deemed ‘unattractive’ as a joke and if he succeeds in gaining her affections, his friends proceed to celebrate his existence for being hilarious – completely disregarding the females feelings. Such fun.

So, scrap the above, because that’s just an anger fuelled rant (story for another time) completely aimed at a small percentage of society with small minds. However, that isn’t the basis of my story. Growing up as a woman I’ve always questioned the goings on downstairs and could never distinguish whether what I was feeling was “normal”, because there isn’t a huge amount of girl chat around vaginas as there is make-up chat. And I always felt that questions regarding the matter were deemed too intrusive.

I mean who wants someone grilling them regarding vagina chat?

*classic case of over-thinking*

As I grew older, I became embarrassed and reluctant to openly talk about it, because I was worried that what I may say would be strange and not “normal” (normal being the annoyingly prominent word within our society which affects our ability to talk openly).


I wanted to start 2018 in a new mindset, I wanted to get on top of my health and understand myself a little better. To put it bluntly I wanted to know that my vagina and everything in that region was working accordingly. I had been seeing someone pre-2018, modern world, modern woman – we had sex (and we were not even married *elderly members of society gasp*) and I had been negligent. Upon reflection he was a bad egg. Upon further reflection I was stupid.

Fast forward, I went to the Doctors to gain reassurance. If you are aged below 25, like me, you would have never experienced a smear test. A life-saving 10 minutes of your time which is beginning to see a decline in women having them and I feel that this is due to embarrassment and a lack of conversation/reassurance.

So here I am trying to start a conversation.

*Dusts off Soapbox*

I had received a smear like procedure (basically a cervix MOT) during my appointment with my GP. I had been up on the bed, naked from waist down, with a torch over my lower region resembling a landing strip, where my doctor proceeded to point a plastic-beak like object into me. I’m not going to lie, yes, it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable. Yes, I felt as though I had lost a little bit of my dignity (but more of my dignity has been lost on nights-out sooooooo…) but what I had left with was a doctor who had given me reassurance and who had made me feel completely at ease with the qualms of being a woman. The aim of the procedure is to ‘check out’ your cervix to make sure it’s all in working order; by swabbing the area, looking for cells, abnormalities or to just observe a fully functioning ‘piece of kit’.

My GP had detected something a little unusual on my cervix and referred me to a Gynaecologist to make sure all was okay (blog post in the making) and it has left me completely in awe of the NHS’s vigilance. Our health is SO important and we shouldn’t deny our right to good health due to embarrassment.

I am not saying that you should go to your GP without cause, but what I am saying is that we shouldn’t fear our vaginas and we shouldn’t fear discussions about them. They are life-creating, amazing pieces of nature and are exactly that, natural. They will look different, they will carry their own unique vagina perfume (really enjoying liberally using the word vagina right now) ((sorry not sorry)) and will create some very interesting liquids but we are creations of nature, we are not Barbies out of a factory creating perfect replicas. Perfect doesn’t exist unless perfection lies in differences.

Give your vagina some loving and look after yourself.

Side note: I am sorry that this has been a gender specific post, but I am passionate about Women being confident, comfortable and completely themselves. And if that means willingly sharing stories usually hidden to encourage that confidence etc, then I am all for it.

Have fun out there.


Pipedream xx

F*** my Life.

I am an inconsistent mess of a preacher (*cough* I mean writer). This wreaks havoc, as I am always having to grovel and explain to you all why my absence has been growing larger by the day. I seem to be writing more “sorry for my absence” posts than actually creating slightly-above-average content for my blog.

Fuck my life.

Where do I even begin?

I am thinking about reaching out to the Soaps and offering up some of my life stories as content for further episodes. I am not even being dramatic (okay, maybe slightly dramatic) but in the short few weeks in which I haven’t been posting, I have had enough subject matter to fill my blog for a year.

Over the next few weeks, I am going to share what has been happening within my life, with you all. So, today’s post is me easing you in gently. A lubricant for what is to come… *pun intended*

I am a filth bag.

I am going to be more outspoken, honest and even a little scandalous… I feel like you are in for a real treat. Especially if you’re a nosy parker and love spying on people’s lives… We’ve all done it *sorry not sorry new partners of my exes*.

I view my life differently now I have a blog, everything that happens to me, I think “Dayumm girl, you can write about this…”. I wish to share it all, in the hope that it makes you feel at ease in knowing sometimes life is a d***, it fucks us all over but it sure as hell can be enjoyable. We are not alone. We just have to talk more. I’m ready if you are?

Have fun out there!


Pipedream xx

Being a Social Media Whingebag

I feel like posting a Before and After picture of “weight loss/gain” is becoming a right of passage between impressionable people on social media; I’ve done it too, so hear me out.

Before and After pictures are consuming social media; where fitness bloggers, or Body Positive bloggers (or basically anyone trying to gain blogger status) post a transformation shot to the world. Now yes, it can be deemed very positive (especially if you feel proud or positive about it) but what I’m struggling to grasp is why people need to post them?

So, throwing it back to the first paragraph where I stated I had posted one. Why did I do it? And where’s my reasoning?

1. I posted a B & A shot to validate myself. Obviously it’s wrong because I don’t need to validate myself but from my experience I posted one to explain my body shape, to justify why that fat was there and why that part of me looked thinner. And looking back that’s such a negative mindset, because 1) I don’t need to validate myself to other people and 2) as long as you’re happy within yourself it doesn’t matter how people receive you because of it.

2. Doing it for the likes. Just being honest here pals. Likes really used to raise my self esteem (again it’s validation for who I thought I was) and B & A shots reeeeeeeeeel in the likes, everyone loves a good ole’ comparison. But here’s a tip, once I stepped back from wanting the likes I really questioned who I thought I was, and it wasn’t the social media sheep I had become… I’m shamelessly myself. Crude language and all.

3. Fitness is a massive trend (and obviously quite healthy) but like I said a trend and I was riding that wave… what I’ve realised is the level I was doing it wasn’t healthy for me. Looking through family pictures my body frame hasn’t changed very much from being a child. I have a round frame, larger proportioned arms and have probably remained as condensed in height as I was when I was 5. The thing is, I was only interested in fitness to try and gain a body that would be an amazing transformation from who I am naturally. I aspired to have that amazing Before and After shot 1) to make me look like I had my s*** together 2) because I thought my opinion only matters if I’m thin (OBVIOUSLY NOT PALS) 3) Someone would love me more if I was thin e.g. It would instantly make me more employable, attractive, emotionally stable and the list could roll on.

Living my best life.

*Alarm Rings*

Not a healthy mind set.

4. The B & A was an attempt at a revenge body which again is not a healthy mindset.


Personally, I don’t feel Before and After shots are affirmation of loving or being comfortable in your own skin *controversial argument alert*. I feel like people are using them as a tool to affirm themselves by receiving affirmation from others, which is I feel is (all personal opinion here guys, open to opinions) unnecessary.

OBVIOUSLY in the liberal society we live in, you may do as you please (within reason) and your social media is exactly that. Yours. However this topic is one that has peeved me over time and I’m interested in hearing your opinions and sides to the discussion.

(Maybe I should stop caring so much?)

((I just want people to be set free from the burden of social media affirmation))

(((I’m also mega bored of seeing them ALL THE TIME on instal)))

Have fun out there!


Pipedream xx

Working on my Wings…

I’m not a very good flyer.

After a tough term at work, a holiday was definitely on the cards. Some people may pooh-pooh the idea of a Secret Escapes selected holiday, for the lack of “culture” but what you lack in one thing you definitely gain in another. And I have never felt more looked-after, free from worry and happy in a place from home before.

As I write this, I am overlooking the Hills of Gran Canaria, tucked away from the hubbub of the tourism on the coast, by the many palms and the golf course of our resort; we are completely remote and my inner hermit is completely in love.

On the day of our arrival, Lydia and I had been confronted with many “little wins” as our car was located in a perfect spot, we checked in easily, our bags were all the correct weight (no matter how much you weigh them on your bathroom scales, the worry is real!) and we breezed through the journey right up into the departure lounge.

Disclaimer: Lydia actively jinxed our travels, “I don’t know why people get so stressed when travelling…” “This has been so stress-free” “easy”

*Nothing but love here Pal*

This is where the story begins.

At 7:25am our little plane thundered down the runway, projecting us into the sky. Emotionally I had been preparing myself the whole week prior to the flight, as I’m scared of heights and the concept of being so high in the sky makes my knees go weak.

I had my s*** together, gazing out of the window at the land below. That is until the seatbelt warning light went on and an announcement was made by the pilot. We may have only been 30 minutes into our journey but a plane fault is still a plane fault and we had to turn around causing a raucous amongst the passengers.

Surprisingly I stayed calm and optimistic suggesting how they were minimising our chances of death by returning to Gatwick, which I was grateful for, being the drama queen that I am. Lydia however was having a mini-moment next to me.

Mini-moment: A mixture of emotions e.g. Despair, annoyance and generally being f****d off.

We landed. Fire engines surrounding us, in case our full tank of fuel blew us up on landing *fake yay* and I was relieved to be on solid ground. I momentarily questioned whether to swirl around ‘The Sound of Music’ style and profess my love to the land of Great Britain. I didn’t.

Fast-forward nearly 12 hours, a Hilton Hotel room with a complimentary lunch and Mac Make-up Artists putting shades of lipsticks on to match my inner turmoil; we still were grounded at Gatwick. *rolls eyes*

Of course, I started to experience an anxiety related pain in my side and stress was seeping into my veins behind my fake mask of optimism.

Lydia however was taking it all in her stride, reading a psychology magazine beside me, looking all Zen and unfazed. I mean really I should have been riddled in excitement but as I was reading a magazine about guardian angels saving lives of those in trouble; in my warped state of mind (sleep deprived with a pinch of anxiety) I thought this to be an omen and that I should be begging to the stars.

My first near faint experience was as we were boarding the plane, my stomach in knots and my head light but full of noise. I managed to keep my s*** together, making my legs cooperate against the will of my mind.

2 hours in to the flight however, I was a lost cause. 1 panic attack in the toilet, 2 failed attempts at passing out, 3 opportunities trying to retain vomit in my stomach (sounds like a warped 12 days of Christmas) I just wanted the ordeal to be over but it wasn’t. As soon as the plane touched down on the landing strip of Gran Canaria I was ready to run.

I would like to add that nobody mentioned how hair-raising it is to be driven along the roads of Gran Canaria IN THE DARK, where there were more bends than a mother could be driven round by, by her children. I’m not usually one to get travel sick but of course this was not any usual day.

I arrived at the Hotel (REALLY SORRY LYDIA) doubled over feeling like a beaten women. Questioning whether to throw up or die. After our brutal Airport transfer, where the man reassured us that he was a “professional” (what a relief) and “speedy-speedy” the saviour that is Lydia, checked us in, got all the deets for our holiday and had to put up with me being an absolute diva.

TUI your delay sucked. But I can safely say it was all worth it because I have views for days and a holiday accomplice that is a joy. Secret Escapes I’ll be seeing you again.

Have fun out there!

With Love,


The Qualms of Being “Busy”

It has been far too many days since I have last posted, and I am genuinely gutted that I couldn’t maintain a consistent feed. I am just your classic case of a consistently-inconsistent blogger. What have I been doing in that time? And why do I have the time now?

My current career path is TOUGH and before the cusp of the (School) holidays, stress levels peak, along with the hours that I am expected to work. I don’t believe I have spoken much about my place of work before, however I am a House Mistress in an International Boarding School and in laymen terms that means I look after 90+ girls, 24/7 acting as a “stand-in” parent during term time. Many parents out there understand how consuming caring for a child is, so you can imagine how little time that leaves for me to write blog posts, looking after so many. So, to have written as many blog posts as I have to date (since September) is a feat I think.

*Takes a Bow*

As the Holidays approach, where exhaustion begins to overtake our bodies, House Mistresses/Masters have one final hurdle… Departures *Dramatic music*. The children’s departures can be at any hour of the day, but they usually happen within the hours of 1am-5am which means 0 sleep for the humble House Mistress/Master who must get the students up and make sure they leave to fly around the world.


Of course, this is only just one of the reasons why I haven’t posted. I have written about this mildly in previous blog posts, but I suffer from Anxiety (or GAD, a really attractive title) which completely contradicts my extrovert character. I have been a little consumed by the grey fog which crept up on me slowly, unassuming (I thought I was dealing with it accordingly… I wasn’t) ((Anxiety:1 Me:0)) shaking up my already “exciting” life, the curveball that is anxiety made me doubt my whole existence, along with convincing myself of impending doom. * Fake yay*

If you experience Anxiety, you will already know that no two anxieties are the same and mine wasn’t fully diagnosed until April last year, but I had experienced it throughout my childhood, so we were old friends.

My classic symptoms are fatigue, my body just hurts (due to muscles being tense) and I start to avoid certain tasks because the thought makes me panic (heart thumping, adrenaline pumping *not lyrics to a song, I promise* and feeling sick). I of course thought that the symptoms above were just the results of being overly tired due to my job and I thought that my constant running/exercise was providing enough endorphins to keep me sweet. But alas, I am only human, and I had worked myself safely into the ground. Of course, the above is mainly lifestyle related, and this time my anxiety flared up because my brain was noticing that something WASN’T right within my routine. Which brings me to now.
I am three days, out of three weeks, into my Easter Holidays and my body is slowing down, starting to make sense of things – hence the blog post.

Side Note: I am by no way miraculously healed.
I have time to write, sleep and focus on myself, along with prepping for a cute spa/yoga retreat to recharge my batteries in a 5* hotel in the hills of Gran Canaria. *Wiggles eyebrow*
Which is just what I need to get me back on the path and out of the woods.

I would like to add that I love my life and my mind, and I am also heavily optimistic about my anxiety. The months after I begin to return to my “normal” self, are by far my most creative; so that is something to look forward too, being the kooky artist that I am.

A smooth sea never makes for a skilled sailor.

Have fun out there!

With love,

Pipedream xx

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