Z is for Zaftig

The end of the A to Z blog challenge is here. We made it here together!

Right back at the beginning, when some people commented how tough certain letters would be to write about, I always knew what Z would be for.

Curvy. Fat. Large. Big. Buxom. Pick whichever one you like.

My favourite is Zaftig.

Such a great word to describe me, I love it!

(Incidentally if you’re a fan of a bit of literary smut, search out the collection of short erotic stories with the same name….super-sexy-hot)


So….challenge complete. Thanks for reading, I have really enjoyed sharing and writing more often.

I hope you stick around, I’ve always got heaps to say.

Goodnight readers! Zzzzzzzzzzz

Y is for You shouldn’t be eating that….

As we near the end of the April A-Z blog challenge I realise that I have wandered off the usual blog topics quite a bit. Sorry about that. Alphabetical restrictions have meant I needed to think differently about what I write about (and I have loved it) but I have made a conscious decision to make my last two A-Z postings as ‘basketball’ as I can.

Today – an unpleasant story

Tomorrow – a joyful one (I always like to end on a high)

So, here we go…

I was 19 and dashing across London to meet a friend to see a show (see M is for Musicals) As someone who rushes from place to place at breakneck speed trying to squeeze every bit of loveliness out of every single moment, I hadn’t taken the time to eat that day (a habit I have since broken) and was hungry.

Rushing + late + hungry = grabbing some street food whilst running across town. I’m sure you’ve all done it.

The incriminating meal was a slice of pizza. I paid and continued to dash, dodging tourists and London suits. I took a bite. Delicious. I chewed hard. Man that was good pizza. From just in front of me came,

“You shouldn’t be eating that” I looked up mid-chew to see an angry-faced man was addressing me “Look at you! You shouldn’t be eating that”

Lost – my appetite. No reward if found.

His work was done. He had bawled out a stranger in the street and continued with his day.

I bet he felt great. I didn’t.

The pizza was binned and I’m ashamed to say it was ages before I would allow myself to eat in public again (everyone I’ve ever had dinner with is now wondering if I was freaking out when I was eating with them….yes, probably) That one tiny moment really affected me and I thought that if I ate in front of people they would all be thinking the same thing. (Don’t get me wrong, there are still Food Police alive and well in my world, I just handle them differently now – not better, just differently – I’m still working on this one)

I can’t imagine what it must be like to be a person who says nasty things to strangers, but I bet it must be really horrible to be so filled with hate and rage that it just leaks out of you. Awful.

I also can’t imagine policing anyone else’s body but my own.

Your body, your business.

My body, my business.

X is for xxx

I daydream about kissing all the time.

You know those moments when your mind is empty, like just before you fall asleep….kissing is my go-to thought.

I love kisses.

Especially first kisses. You can learn so much from that one moment.


Kiss kiss kiss xxx

W is for Walk

“Do you fancy doing this walk with us?” came the innocent question from my lovely chum Rhian “It’s for Help for Heroes and the finish line is at Stonehenge”

Doesn’t that sound nice? Rhian was going to complete the challenge with her delicious pal Matthew and they very kindly asked if I’d like to join them. I didn’t really ask much about the 26.2 miles that came before Stonehenge and signed up.

Our team of three was awesome – we laughed, sang, did pop quizzes, got blisters, cried (me)….but it was quite clear that I wouldn’t enjoy the experience at the others’ faster pace and so I dropped a bit behind and did most of it in my own little world. This allowed me the space and time to focus on every step at my own pace, feeling each moment.

I can tell you I experienced every single emotion in that one day!

Thrilled (as I trundled above the Wiltshire white chalk horses, singing along to my ipod)
Exhaustion (as hill after hill after hill stretched before me…Salisbury Plain sounds flat doesn’t it? Nope, in one part I had to physically climb and use my hands to pull myself up)
Determination (so many people had doubted I would actually complete it…and told me so – don’t ever tell me I can’t do something!)
Anger (the lovely well-intentioned military man at mile 20 who told me there would be no more hills ahead of me…lying ratbag. If I hadn’t been so shattered I would have gone back to tell him off for being untruthful at my most vulnerable time)
Fear (cows and horses terrify me…I had to jog to keep up with a man who had hiking poles in one particular animal-filled field)
Love (as support messages from the people I love reached my phone and my heart at exactly the right moment when I needed it most)
Elation (as I finally crossed the finish line at Stonehenge at sunset….YES! The finish makes me cry when I recall it….such a beautiful moment in my life)

As someone who isn’t considered a ‘fit’ person I needed to prove to myself that I can do anything I set my mind to. And I can do it alone. I AM STRONG.

I spent last weekend cheering on my beautiful friends Patrick and George who ran the London Marathon (there is no comparison between their achievements and mine…their efforts and dedication were PHENOMENAL) but it was an incredible reminder of the strength of the human spirit. Every single person who crossed that line was a superhero (my beautiful friend George was so poorly, but is so strong and amazing…she did it anyway! I am in awe of her wonderfulness)

Our minds are the strongest muscles we have. I AM fit because my mind and body are strong.

Finish Line!

Check out the finish line photo…..My enormous hair!!! I didn’t even care at that point….so unlike me! Just after this was taken I was greeted by an incredibly handsome man who handed me a cup of tea and a chocolate muffin. It was like a mirage in a cartoon. From recollection I proposed to him there and then. “I love you sh*tloads” were my exact words.

Sometimes I forget it happened, then I remember oh yeah I did that….

These boots are made for walking.

V is for Venetian

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I was meant to be serenaded on a Venetian gondola by a tantalising Tenor with a ‘tache…..not a brash Britney with boobs.

I was meant to be carried away to a far off place on a breeze of beautiful richness, the water lapping at the side of the gondola as I gazed lovingly into the eyes of a handsome man singing to me in Italian….not awkwardly avoiding the gaze of a tiny teenybopper singing me a love song as she struggled to steer the boat.

Bubble burst.

Next time I’m in Venice (Vegas or otherwise) I’M GETTING SERENADED BY A MAN!