Hiyaaaa! I don’t even have a good excuse for not bloggin in forever, Ive mostly just been sitting on my fat hole, willing myself not to get haemorrhoids for the last few weeks. I have been out a lot, but haven’t done much life ruining – aside from my own, obvs. I’m back down to a size 10, I thought it was cause I’d been doing so well with my running but in reality, its probably because I’ve been vomming up a lot of vodka/gin/beer/nail polish remover of late.


I am STILL working at Cat Case and am very close to the edge because of it. My manager has been off getting married (to a bloke who is almost 99% definitely gay) and my assistant manager is really ill, so we’ve been left with nobody but my disgusting sex offender (yes, seriously, convicted sex offender) supervisor to run the shitshow. I’ve been doing his job for the past 4 weeks and if he doesn’t get fired when my boss comes back on Thursday, I’m walking out. I’m bored of his constant smoke breaks, email sessions and sexist comments, never mind the fact that he wears tshirts that are far too tight and I can see his tits jiggle when he comes down the stairs. Fucking vile bruv.

Oh yeah that’s right, he told me off for calling a customer ‘bruv’ the other week and said it was disrespectful. What? The man said ‘can I try these on please love?’, I replied ‘course you can bruv’. If I had said ‘those jeans are £70, sure you can afford dem bruuuuv?’ or ‘nah, come back when you’ve had a face transplant bruuuuv’ then yes, that would be disrespectful. Oi Jase, I’m gonna get you fired for sexual harassment and bein a lazy fucking wanker bruv.


I have also been struggling with Amy and her new ‘boyfriend’. I use the term boyfriend in the loosest possible way – it’s a boy who shes been buying things for and sucking off on a regular basis for the past 8 weeks. During these 8 weeks, they have never gone anywhere but his house or our house together, Amy has spent around £280 on him and he has bought her a kit-kat in return. I don’t even know what his name is – Amy only ever refers to him as Sauce, I affectionately know him as Blowie. This name came about after Amy came crying to me one night cause she realised that she was always the one chasing him, she decided to not contact him until he called or texted her. So, after 3 days of hearing nothing from him, she was fast asleep in bed when at 3am one night, she got a text from him simply saying “blowie?”. So of course, Amy gets out of her little bed, in her pyjamas, drives to his house in the middle of the night to provide her services. WHAT THE FUCK SON? I should point out that Blowie is, at a conservative estimate, 18 stone, balding (like, well badly), smells of a combination of mushrooms, damp and stale fags, refuses to disclose his occupation and snores like a fucking motorboat. His smell makes me physically sick. My poor mother called by this morning and wretched because he had been in the front room 12 HOURS AGO. His odour stains the atmosphere :(


I must say, I might just be jealous (I’m not doe am I?) after my recent man drought. Bus boy is but a hazy memory, as I realised I had gone fucking mental about him and it all got a bit too weird. I actually went to zara one day with the intention of talking to him and giving him my number. Thankfully he wasn’t there, God gave me a chance to cling on to my last remaining molecule of dignity. No more stalking boys who I see on the bus/in the pub, thankyou. All of you bastards should be ashamed of yourselves for encouraging me.



In other news, I turned 24 last week. I am a massive fan of the birthday. The birthday gives me a valid excuse to do what I try to do most days and make everything about myself. Last year, my celebrations dragged out for 8 days which was a touch excessive even by my standards. Im not Lil Kim yet. So this year I kept it to a paltry 3 day celebration. My London boys made a very welcome visit and came to party up with me here for a couple of days. Thursday & Friday were great, I scored an excellent haul even in my old age and ate, drank and got merry (offensively shitfaced). Sunday was the day from hell. 3 days of hefty alcohol consumption, heart-stopping regret and the stench of stale kebab all contributed to the most depressing day of the year so far. Just when I was about to smother myself with the remainder of my birthday cake, I decided to dust myself off and start cleaning my house and bleaching the weekend away. I have since discovered that bleach is my comfort smell. Theres something lovely about the burning stench of domestos, like a big hug that says ‘its okay, the horrible sex pests and buckfast cocktails are gone now, you can watch come dine with me in peace!’.


I tend to make my resolutions at the start of a new birth year – fuck all you hoes who do it in January, I work on my time, bitch.
So here is my list of things I would like to do or achieve during my 24th year on this god forsaken planet.

1 – get a fucking job. A real one that pays me a real salary (25k please, fanx guv). I’m pretty much incredible at anything I turn my hand to, but I would essentially like something where I sit at a computer all day looking at pictures of hedgehogs in lion costumes and listening to Dru Hill. Any takers?

2 – be debt-free. By ‘debt-free’ I mean ‘pay off my credit card bill and overdraft and keep pretending that my student loan doesn’t exist’. For this to happen, I’m gonna have to stop spending my money on stupid things that I don’t really need. In my old age, Ive developed a penchant for scented candles (£17 for a candle. £17 for some wax and a bit of string. Am I mental?) and expensive bedding (not even apologising for that one, I like rolling around my bed without having my skin cut to ribbons. Although I do sort of miss the exfoliating effect of the old £2 asda double fitted sheet, I must say)

3 – do more voluntary work. Yeah believe it or not, I’m actually a well nice bird and I like helping other people. I’ve been involved with performing & visual arts stuff since I was little but I haven’t done anything since I came home from Leeds. I’m about to do some stuff for the MS Society, going to help out at art classes for some kids who have MS. My aim for this year is to continue doing voluntary stuff for the whole year, working with a few different projects. Voluntary work is well thug, if I can give up a few of my precious hours a week then you can too. Get involved.

4 – learn to DJ, or whatever the correct term is. I don’t wanna make any music of my own obviously – although how fucking INCREDIBLE would that be? - just learn how to mix and put stuff together so it sounds supaflyyy. Maybe I’ll start my own clubnight playing old skool garage & grime that nobody will ever come to, so itll just be me, alone, raving in my pants.

5 – star in a Griminal video, playing the part of ‘Slut #1’ or ‘Prime Bitch’. Yep, I wanna be in Griminals video, playing the part of the skank that he takes home and pours champagne on and force feeds Ambrosia (in a sexy way) while I wear a gold sequin bikini and a floor dragging leopard print fur coat. This is definitely more important than any of the other aspirations that I have for this year. Firstly, I’ll actually make Griminal fall in love with me and he can sort out all of my other resolutions anyway – think about it, he’ll give me a job being his down-ass bitch, he’ll pay off my debt, he’ll take me to the ghetto (although I think hes from Notting Hill, but we’ll pretend hes from Hackney) where I can volunteer with hoodrats who will teach me to DJ.
Secondly, the technology they have for video editing or whatever will make me look at least 800% more attractive than I actually am, so I’ll become an FHM high street honey or something.
Thirdly, I’ll be on channel AKA and Starz, so I’ll get teenage boys texting in photos of their torsos with texts like ‘LIL NIX IS DA MOST PENG TING I EVA SEEN, I’M GONNA SEND HER SUM OF MY PUBES IN DA POST’
Oh god, I cant wait for Griminal to fix my life! GRIM, I LOVE YA!


Okay I got a bit sidetracked there. I’d like to say you wont be able to check back in a year to see if I accomplish all of my goals for Year 24, but I’d be lying. We all know that come my 25th birthday, I’ll still be bleaching away the aftermath of my weekends, trying not to inhale when Blowies around, lusting over Griminal from my sofa and crying before each and every Cat Case shift – and blogging about it.