So I went for my first ever tarot reading this weekend, on the Pier with my bff partner in crime and it was GREAT. On a whim I decided it would be hilarious to get Ed, military man of cynicism, in front of one of the clairvoyants of Brighton. We capered about a bit looking for a good one- we didn’t fancy the one behind the bins on the seafront, it looked a bit too much like the start of a human trafficking ring, so we had a pint and waited for Sally Sue to finish up a reading near the South Lanes . Apparently she wasn’t intuitive enough to realise we were waiting ages despite me eyeballing her for a good half an hour, so in the end we went to Simon on the pier, which had the added bonus of bumping into several of my beloved students. FATE.
We sat in the little green caravan buffeted by the wind- I’m airy fairy AF, so I was loving it, but my Catholic amigo seemed to be breaking out in a cold sweat as the blue-eyed man laid out his past, present with alarming accuracy (future TBC obviously).We had to go and have a snack and dissect the meanings of the mysticism immediately afterwards. In for a penny, in for a pound- I want seances, I want palm reading, ouija boards now.
There is something incredibly comforting about spending time with the people who have either watched you do every stupid thing you’ve ever done, councelled you through it, or joined in. These are the people who keep your feet on the ground and your head out of your ass, and I am so eternally grateful… and homesick. So homesick, but that is the price you pay for loving people.
My penchant for young adult fiction has definitely spread out from just books to TV now and I have to say, Riverdale is the show I needed when I was a teenager. It just absolutely spews forth wholesome messages- there are gay and lesbian characters, complex moral issues, it shows teens engaging in social issues, has a great attitudes towards issues like consent and feminism. I would HATE to be a teenager again, but if by some freak accident, it happened, Riverdale might make it bearable.
Giving up Smoking
So it turns out, I am not a good person. I am in fact, Satan. God help anyone who crosses me in the next couple of weeks, so help me I will set a plague on your house.
My Damn Neighbours
We have new neighbours above and below and when we moved in here I wasn’t thinking about practical stuff like noise, I was thinking “oooh original floorboards and fireplace!” Most of the conversions at this end of the city are high ceiling-ed Victorian mansions turned into flats, and it’s done really well, but in my building, if a mouse farts on the top floor they can hear it in the basement.
So our two new sets of neighbours above , firstly, right above us, I can only assume are pornstars. I am forced to bear witness to “The Fuckening” several times a week, and if I’m really lucky, they play bass-y music to cover up the screams of ecstacy and dirty talk. Then above those guys, I believe, is a herd of wildebeast re-enacting Mufasa’s death in The Lion King several times a day. I am seriously in danger of becoming “Mr. Heckles” from Friends. Needless to say, we will be moving.
Not all Men
I’ve noticed that whenever the topic of feminism comes up in any public forum , there’s always (at least) one male person passing by who wants to take a shot, like the existence of feminism is a personal affront to all men. This fucks me off on so many levels – these people seem determined to derail the conversation, and then when you as a woman get mad about it (because it’s not hypothetical for you, it’s real life) , they start being super “reasonable” and speaking in the “calm voice” with you, like they hysterical female trope is a real thing… here’s one I made earlier.
Like what even is this guy’s problem?
That’s a rhetorical question…