Misogyny and Me

So I recently received and began reading ‘Talking with Psychopaths and Savages’ by Christopher Berry-Dee and it covered lots of topics into the thought patterns of serial killers. Of course, it’s a very complex and trifling subject matter, having even the most elite psychiatrists and Dr’s confused. However, a reoccurring trigger (especially in male serial-killers) was misogynistic attitudes towards women and having beliefs that they deserve to die because they’re weaker etc.

This got me thinking (a dangerous state of affairs, I know) and I began recalling misogynistic behaviour I have been on the receiving end of to date. I am not insinuating that the behaviour experienced is a flat out serial-killer comparison, I’m merely saying this behaviour exists in our society and it is wrong.

I thought I would set out a time line of the behaviour I have received and it’s made me a little sick.

Age 7 – I loved swimming as a child and during a day-time rendezvous to an open pool, I was patiently queuing for the water slide behind some teenage males who decided to include me in their ‘fun’. They pointed at me and called me “fat” continuing to insinuate that I would break the slide if I used it. I quit the slide queue and got changed, despite my families dismay.

Age 9 – I hated my time during Primary School, I wasn’t very ‘good’ at anything and I wasn’t as cool as the ‘popular’ girls. I adopted the nickname ‘mini hippo’ which the boys never failed to forget and I began to believe that I was ugly.

Age 12 – I was walking home from school when a group of boys circled me and wouldn’t let me pass. They proceeded to touch my bum and refused to let me go; restraining my arms. I stood up for myself and walked home, fearing walking to school the next day. They lived near me and it felt wrong to tell on them in case they did something worse.

Side note: the above never happened again.

Age 13 – School ‘Socials’ were the pinnacle of having a Secondary School social life – especially if you went to an all girls school like me. I had a crush on a boy and got up the courage to ‘ask him out’, he said no because I was fat. I never went to Socials again.

Age 16 – A white van, crawled behind me as I walked to catch a bus. There had been many reports locally of men in cars/vans praying on vulnerable girls. The man inside followed me 50 yards down the quiet road. I took a picture of his number plate. He drove away.

Age 17 – I was advised to wear a low cut top at work – apparently I would get more sales from men. I didn’t wear the low cut top.

Age 17 – I was told I would never ‘get anyone better’ by my then boyfriend. I haven’t properly dated anyone since, I don’t need a man to affirm my ‘better’, I decided to make my own BETTER. *Beyonce Hair Flick*

Age 19-20 – I have received many a proposition of sex through Instagram DM. Apparently, this is the new chivalry and if you don’t reply or agree to such an offer – you are no different than trash. #Block

Furthermore, in their defence I was showing my skin in my last insta post, I was basically asking for it.


Age 20 – challenging poor behaviour in the work place – especially in regards to women, obviously meant I was ‘obnoxious’ and other derogatory terms. Apparently if males exhibit that behaviour they are ‘leaders’.

Last week – I was told to not set my sights on being the ‘top’ of a profession because it can get peoples “backs up” and it’s not realistic for a woman. It’s safe to say I’m now determined more than ever.

Side Note: I would only wish to be at the top of my profession due to my own hard work, integrity and dedication. NOTHING else.

I have literally only skimmed the surface in regards to behaviour that I have received from men (and this is by no means me painting women as perfect, because they can be savage too). I have written this to highlight why women are so driven to fight and campaign for equality and social freedom.

I still walk down streets with keys between my fingers, I can be hostile to any male that wants to get to know me and will actively lose my temper if guys get into my personal space or are incessant with their “affections” on a night out. These are all defence mechanisms I have adopted to ‘protect’ myself from harm.

It is going to take years to unravel centuries of learnt behaviour in regards to a males behaviour to the modern woman. And the case studies featured in the book angered me, made me feel physically sick and for a brief moment made me question burning the book itself, as I could only begin to imagine the level of fear those women went through and what right did the serial-killers have to exhibit such behaviour? What right does anyone have to make someone feel inferior or afraid?

However, I must say it is an interesting read and I enjoyed the psychology aspect in the book. It’s a compelling read.


Any ego-reducing behaviour is in pursuit of power, raising of the inflictors own ego and that’s the biggest flaw humans can possess.

Be kind out there.

Pipedream xx


Isle of Paradise

Isle of Paradise Self-Tanning Water Medium 200ml – £18.95

Isle of Paradise Self-Tanning Drops Light 30ml – £19.95

Isle of Paradise Prep It Self-Tan Priming Spray 200ml – £14.95

So in the desperate pursuit to make my legs look damnnnnnnnn finneeeeeeee (especially after they were savagely bitten by horse flies) I reached into my little cosmetic cupboard and revealed into the light of day, my shiny new ‘Isle of Paradise’ Fake Tan.

Now, before I divulge into my hot-off-the-press review, I would like to elaborate on my cold feet in regards to Fake Tan products. In recent experience, to achieve the perfect home-DIY-fake-tan, it was obviously required that you capture a unicorn in the process and make a wish *side-eyes ancient fake tan bottles in the cabinet* which is more realistic than believing it’s ever possible to achieve the perfect Fake Tan.

*cynic o’clock*

Disclaimer: Any Fake Tan pros please don’t dish the hate, I just don’t have the patience to perfect using the products I once used.

Okay, so I’ve used your St.Tropez’s, your Garniers (other brands available *BBC PUN*) and my word do I come out smelling like a little cheese puff. Not only this, my skin usually carries a bake bean glow which just screams Fake Tan failure, which my ego cannot bare the brunt of anymore. Furthermore, I am a casual, lazy excuse of a girl, my beauty regime wastes no time because I refuse to do anything lasting longer than 3 minutes, so FT that requires clock-wise strokes, constant reapplying and a kiss from God to look any good can DO ONE!

*Enter Isle of Paradise*

Not only does their name scream beauty bliss, the pastel liquids of joy made me feel all Hollywood Glamour as I decoratively spritzed my body.

The back of the bottles suggested a cheeky little exfoliation and cleanse, so exfoliate and cleanse I did. Smelling like mangos, I sauntered out of the shower readily embracing the Isle of Paradise ‘Prep it’ bottle. Spritzing the Pink Liquid over my legs and moisturised knees, I waited for it to dry before continuing on.

Tip: When deciding on an area to Fake Tan up your life, DON’T spray it over a wooden floor etc DO it in a shower or bath. Read on to find out why…

So there are 3 colours to the Isle of Paradise collection. Light pink: which is for a soft glow. Aqua (mermaid) Green: for a sun-kissed, post holiday glow and then the Purple: for a hardcore, I’m radiant STILL on holiday and soaking up the rays vibe. The colours are the magic.

Colour correcting has been a science within make up over the recent years BUT Isle of Paradise are the first brand (that I know of) to combine the science of colour correction and Fake Tan all into one. I picked the green, after a strong 47 minutes, shop-deliberation process because I wanted something a little stronger than a natural-esque glow.

Back to the review (story), standing on my bathroom floor, I coated my legs in the fruity fragranced green liquid. AU REVIOUR cheesy puff smelling skin.

I sprayed enough onto my legs to leave a dewy coating and using a classic fake tan mitt, I rubbed in the residue until my legs felt dry (correct me if I’m wrong to do so).

I put the fake tan on before bed, eagerly awaiting the golden goodness; I woke up, ran to my mirror and swirled all Disney-esque.

*Fist Pump*

It. Had. Worked. Golden goodness o’clock.

Mid-work shot of the golden pins themselves, featuring a la Horse Fly Bites #nofilter 😂

However, upon putting on socks I saw the orange stained soles of my feet (no picture available due to shame). Oh lord.

With persistent scrubbing all is well, but spritzing over hard wood flooring AND NOT washing your feet straight after is a fake tan SIN which I have committed and paid the price.

I love Isle of Paradise, I feel all radiant and glowing and brave to tackle the heatwave in shorts. Hell to the yeahhhhhhhh.

I bought my bottles of IOP in Boots (a gal needs her points) and they had the whole selection to choose from. However, if you want to know more about the products before buying blind in a shop, visit their website for all the deets and some killer reviews.

Sidenote: I would like to stress that this isn’t a sponsored review and I only ever write about featured products on my blog that I am passionate about, which have been tried and tested by me; due to my own interest and not because they’re endorsed.

*Air Grab*

Have fun out there!

Pipedream xx

A Britney Spears working environment – Toxic

When a man has strong opinions, challenges what is wrong with utter persistence; in the determination for what’s fair and questions negative behaviour – he would be deemed a leader. But why is it that when a woman displays this behaviour, she is deemed bossy, annoying, cocky, obnoxious, feisty and any other derogatory term?

These are all words inflicted upon me at my tender age of 20. I was raised by the strongest woman I know, my mum, who challenges what’s wrong, fighting for what’s fair and she always encouraged the same behaviour within me.

When I first became a House Mistress, I was naive. Women don’t support fellow women as I once believed and people can be mean.

I always knew that I wanted the utmost best for the girls in my care and I always expected that the real struggle would lie in attending to them with 100% dedication; but the real struggle lay between my colleagues and being set up to fail from day dot.

I received months of hushed words spoken when I entered a room, being ignored and receiving no help when asking for it. I was a 20 year old, expected to look after more than 25 girls, alone, at one time. I was no older than the those in my care and I was forced to lead them through the darkness when I was blind myself.

One thing I have realised is, I am stronger than they gave me credit for, and they did me a favour by demanding my inner strength to prevail by making my life harder.

My colleagues loved ‘bitching’ (Character assassination) and that is something that really riles me. If the character assassinated would not receive the full respect of hearing the hateful words spoken about them directly to their face; then the preacher of hate is a coward. I will always challenge nastiness and that pushed me further into the firing line where I received lots of blows.

As punishment for my ‘feisty’ tenacity, I was forced to work longer hours, my job role was made harder by extra responsibilities and if I challenged the unfairness, I was ignored or told that “this is just how it is” as I watched the rest of the “team” leave campus for afternoons off and shifts which allowed them breaks for freedom as I remained fully on duty. I was told that this job role was a vocation, a lifestyle and that’s how I HAD to view it.


I began to question my worth, I questioned changing my character, my beliefs. I would like to stress that my beliefs are women are not inferior to men, their practise shouldn’t be diminished in comparison to a man’s and men should not get away with treating women in this manner. I did try to suppress my beliefs to appease, for a little while but it left me feeling more hollow than I felt having to eat dinner at the end of the table, with no one talking to me.

Changing yourself to fit in will never ever work in the process of being liked. I cried myself to sleep. I Spent my only day off a week hiding from people and recuperating, in the hope to recharge my batteries enough to have the energy to maintain the hypothetical barrier I encased myself within.

You could say that I was bullied, but I am not a victim. What I began to understand was that my colleagues were ‘cats in corners’. Defensive. Maybe my ability to make them question their actions and their beliefs resulted in the cause of the dis-ease but that does not justify their behaviour.

After working 80+ hours a week, my filter began to dwindle and I could no longer find reasonings to tolerate the behaviour that I was on the receiving end of.

After filing grievances (which mysteriously disappeared or featured within staff room gossip) that never received a resolve, I began to realise that the battle I was fighting was never going to be won, but I decided that maybe I would win my war.

I handed my notice in a week today. Life is too short to be consumed by a toxic environment.

Walking away is not a failure, a defeat (how I first viewed it); I value my worth and I know I am worth more than small minded attitudes towards women, and a manager with a toxic “team” that promotes her own “amazing” ability to ‘bullshit’ which leaves anyone feeling uncomfortable in her presence, is not someone I wish to work with any longer.

Being a House Mistress has shaped me into someone I am proud of, regardless of the hate. Being a woman, blonde, young, “pretty” (I’m not saying I’m pretty) is no justification to inflict poor behaviour.

I am happy now.

Have fun out there!

Pipedream xx

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


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