Archive for category: Get To Know!

“Memories don’t leave like people do

They always ‘member you

Whether things are good or bad

It’s just the memories that you have.”

Memories ~ Beenie Man

After the passing of yet another good friend this week, I couldn’t help but reflect on some of the memories we’d shared, which in turn had me once again reflecting on friendships and relationships. I was sat on mums bench at the time, and then wouldn’t you know it, someone I used to speak to rounded the corner and walked past.

The joke is the reason we don’t talk is because I fell out with a mutual friend who put the call out to their minions that they too had to follow suit. Now, I’m fully aware of certain friendship codes, but in my opinion this didn’t warrant animosity from others. I didn’t break any of the commandments. I didn’t lie, cheat, steal their money, flirt with or fuck their man – I simply didn’t give them as much attention as they thought they deserved.

I’ve already explained it all in Friend Or Foe, Let Them Go! (Part 1), and my sentiments remain the same, but another emotion has been added to the mix since writing that. Pity. I watched this person and thought it’s a pity too many of us are sheep. It actually made me give a chuckle and a sad head shake. What a way to spend your life! It’s bad enough when we’re kids; it’s even sadder as grown folk. I already knew the lesson I’d learnt from our not talking but I sure caught the blessing that day too!

If I’m a friend of yours it’s based on my relationship with you regardless of how we got to know each other or your relationship with others. It’s not dependent on anything but the love and respect I have for you and your actions. Actions can be tricky though. Sometimes we can go through things that make us act out of character for a while, so you need to use your judgement. If it’s unusual give them time, but if it’s a regular nip that bitch in the bud!

The powers of hindsight and peace truly are amazing. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have any good times with those people; but I can see now that there was always an underlying level of negative energy and toxicity that was bubbling away. The contrast between that bunch and the friend I’d lost could not be more different.

I’ve managed to weed out a lot of the fake friends or they’ve fallen off naturally. It’s possible that they’ve grown in the years since we haven’t spoken, and I really do hope that’s the case; but I’ll be goddamned if I’ll ever be inclined to find out. My new and improved quality control won’t allow it. The friend count may be lesser in numbers but it’s abundant in authenticity.

I’m thankhful to have had some long and strong ones with many great memories made to more than balance out the shitty ones that came my way, and long may they continue. There is real power in laughter and good vibes, and I’ve been getting plenty of late!* I can’t reiterate how important it is to make memories and love on your people whilst they’re here. At some point it’s all we’ll have left, but if you’re lucky you’ll get to a point where you understand that true love never dies, it multiplies.

R.I.P Tony Cunningham. I hope you’re blaring tunes and having a blast up there! You’ll be missed by many. Sincerest condolences to Gardel and your family.

R.I.P to all those who have lost their lives this week.

*Shouting out the Shake The Room – Teatime Thursday/Thirsty Thursday Clubhouse room! Y’all had me weak! If you don’t know, please get to know! A special mention going out to Queen Pee – I mean Tee and tales of her special blend!🤣😂 Looking forward to sharing the madness with the masses!

Make The Memories Count, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

Believe it or not I really do attempt to live and let live, sip water and mind my business, but every once in a while you need to just talk the ting, and after some utter fuckery I’ve witnessed of late imma put my tuppence worth into the mix on the Transgender debate.

I truly don’t care what you identify as, but there are 2 lines I’d have you not cross – the manipulation and abuse of children and your approach on pleading your case. 

I don’t personally know any transgender people, but my understanding of their change is that they don’t believe they were assigned the right gender that they were born with and want to be/live as their opposite sex. I get that part. Who am I to tell you how you feel? Do what makes you happy, but let’s not forget what you’re basing your changes on and can we get some boundaries put in place before making big bold movements.

I believe children should be protected and allowed to be kids for as long as possible without being involved in adult business. Obviously they need to be informed about sex and relationships when the time’s right and depending on their set of circumstances. I’m well aware that some children know their feelings from a very young age and can show signs of going in a certain direction, and it’s all well and good to discuss and act upon it, but within reason.

It’s only a short time that they’re kids. They can hold out on being pumped with hormones and all that comes with transitioning until they are more mentally prepared to handle it. The children of adults that have transitioned should be supported too. I saw a video recently that disturbed my spirit no end.

It was of a transgender woman who was highly emotional and distressed at not being able to breastfeed her child, but was still attempting to do so, knowing full well it was a futile effort but still insisting on doing so, telling us how he was latching on and she found it comforting. I’m sorry but no. She put it out there for the world to see her distress for clout and without any consideration of that poor baby. He’s not a prop, and there comes a point where lines need to be drawn. 

I’m not asking for the whole trans community to be vetted, but when it comes down to involvement with kids Hell yes! And that’s not being biased because I would expect the same of all adults alike, no matter their persuasion.

I also read of one person who claimed to be a transgender woman so they put ‘her’ in a female prison and lo and behold ‘she’ managed to impregnate several cell mates.🙄

You really couldn’t make it up. 

If they’re going to make moves like that at the very least the ‘woman’ in question should not have the ability to be able to get women pregnant. Why not make sure that they’ve gone through some form of medical procedure to ensure it won’t happen before placing them there? It shouldn’t be an issue for a real trans woman to accept. Why would you want to keep an appendage you detest so much?

On flip side, there are some that are so upset with their parts it’s verging on the ridiculous.

The fact that you may not want certain parts of your anatomy is fine, but it doesn’t give you the right to rename and reclaim what you decide would be a better description for genitalia. We all know that there are other terms used for those parts and it’s for the most part taken as is – with humour.

I would never expect any medical professional to call it anything other than what it is medical named – regardless of whether you want it or not, but one particular cancer trust has featured a glossary on its website stating ‘the correct language’ that healthcare professionals should use with terms such as ‘bonus hole’ instead of vagina to avoid upsetting transgender men…

They actually put that shit in writing. Bonus. Hole. It’s got me wondering what the name for an unwanted penis is? Chopstick? I’m honestly intrigued…

Speaking for myself and as a natural born woman, it kinda feels like a piss take – no pun intended. I can sympathise and understand the transgender plight and they have every right to be recognised, but can we do so without making demands on how it should be, degrading, demoralising and downgrading us? 

It’s coming like a bad joke and women are at the butt of it. As much as the transgender community want to be respected we deserve the same in kind. That ‘bonus hole’ is the bringer of life – and at times misery. A woman’s lot is not an easy one and starts from a young age for some of us, and on top of that we have to fight for equality – now you wanna come bring wahala for those of us loving and accepting our natural, earthly form. KMT!

I know this may sound harsh but can we just reality check and real talk for a hot minute. I fully recognise and appreciate some people feeling like they’re born as the wrong gender. As an adult you can identify as what you like, which in itself is a slippery slope as predators like to take advantage and the populous is all too willing to bend so as not to offend; but somewhere along the line logic needs to come into play.

You can feel all the feels, dress and live as you like and make all of the medical enhancements you feel necessary, genetically getting close to being what you desire, but ultimately you will never be 100% all woman/man. It’s impossible, and no amount of foot stamping, clout chasing or name changing will change that fact, and that’s ok. Don’t let your main purpose get lost in translation.

You can live your life without encroaching on what you deem an anomaly and trying to make us feel lesser than because you do. Time is precious. Enjoy it and do you – but please do so without attempting to have us pander to fuckery and fitting into your a-gender. Pun intended.

R.I.P to those who have lost their lives this week.

Be Happy And Free ~ Just Don’t Involve We! Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

“This is the peace that you cannot buy

Send me a love that you cannot mix

One is the joy that you cannot waste

And the other one price that you cannot fix…”

Free Mind ~ Tems

So how y’all doing? Last weeks post was a bit deep I know, but better out than in! It’s all part and parcel of this thing called life, forever flowing with twists and turns. Shit can get deep, and usually we sink or swim; but right about now ya girl’s on a floating tip!

I know my present state has some confused and questioning, and I promise the podcasts are coming to explain all, but I feel the need to put folks minds at ease that this isn’t some form of mid life crisis!😅

If you’re a regular reader you will know that I done been through some fuckery and then some, and as my byline states I’ve given you straight up real talk! It’s highly evident there’s been a whole range of negative emotions on display over the years. So if I can tell all to you on those things, why is it so hard to believe it when I say I’m truly happy? Like, would I lie?🤷🏾‍♀️

There are varying levels of happiness and I’m talking about the most important one – the internal. I’ve had my support network with me throughout have no doubt, but the hard work – the real HEART-work as a good friend used to call it, well that’s a solo affair.

I made a checklist of the negatives and I have nothing left I feel the need to address. Should incidents arise, like the one with daddy dearest, I can handle them because I’d already done the work. I’d already felt all the things and been through the motions and as I explained in Reality Check… I found the missing piece of my puzzle. The operative word being ‘my’. 

My happiness might not look like yours, so you can be forgiven for thinking I must be lying because I don’t have x, y, z, or it doesn’t look like I’ve addressed 1, 2, 3 – but I’m here to tell you loud and clear my heart has accepted my picture as being complete. It reverberates around the body and shines through, and that’s what you’re witnessing. Peace.

It can’t be bought but it can be found, and I’ve found mine. I know all too well that that’s a blow for some folk. For whatever reason they love a drama and are only too happy when you’re drowning. Well my internal buoyancy device is on full power and keeping me afloat so I’ll be riding this wave for the foreseeable. Soz!😂 (Not!)

R.I.P to all those who have lost their lives this week.

Float On, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

I know for some this has been a short week, but for many of us we don’t get to laze on a bank holiday and remain committed to our jobs. I’m not complaining as it’s my choice and I love what I do, but I admit this week in particular has felt long and I’m utterly cream crackered.

On account of the encounters I’ve had I was initially going to call this blog ‘Don’t Be A Dick’ and leave it at that. No further words just the title, because people can be real dicks, and I really don’t have the energy. But I decided to explain a little and repost the blog below I wrote in 2019 as it explains what I mean, and as with most messages in my blogs the sentiments remain the same and will continue.

We all have off days, but if you’re in a job or environment where you have to deal with other people on those particular days you should fix your face, put on your professional hat and do the job you’re paid to do. If you can’t manage to maintain your composure take a break or furthermore, if you can afford to, take a sick day and sort your energy out before you try to transfer it. 

If I’m paying for a service especially, I beg you please don’t come with attitude. If you hate your job change it. The menace-no-pause is still working her magic and on top of that sleep is sporadic, sweaty and shit. Yet despite this I manage not to take my irritability out on others – and I’m working with someone who has dementia which can be a rollercoaster ride on any given day! 

I always attempt to be respectful and considerate of the fact that I don’t know what kind of a day they’re having, and that goes for everyone in general. More folk need to work on this!

Now You See Me (Part 7)

Before I get into the nitty gritty of what has been happening in my life over the last few years, let me address something else.

I’ve touched upon humanity previously, and you’d have to be blind not to notice that there is something seriously lacking with a lot of people around the world – way too many. I could run down a whole list but I actually don’t have the energy for it, I’m sure you’ve come across enough yourself to get the gist.

One thing that goes hand in hand with humanity is care. We all need it or have needed it. At the very least someone got you from a dependent baby to fending for yourself, no matter what age the care stopped. Be it a parent, family member, foster carer or wolves (I’m beginning to think it’s a possibility), someone raised you.

I believe without doubt that both nature and nurture have an impact on the person you are, but as an adult there are some choices you have to make regardless of what you’ve gone through, like how do I pay my bills? How can I make my moolah?

If you’re lucky enough to have a job you love, way to go! Right now I’m in the process of trying to do so…kinda. To be honest I need a little breathing space first, but naturally I’m thinking about which way to go next.

I’m creating my NuDawn Bible and it has its dating system. BC – Before Cancer, and AD – After Damage.

The BC me was a full time working mum, fit and so I thought, relatively healthy. I loved to shake a leg and could be on my feet all night with hardly any griping. I loved MONDAY’S (Tanya Brooks-Carty’s workout regime), and I could wear heels and run around to my hearts content should I feel the need. My mum had had a heart attack some years before and since then I’d taken care of her and her needs too. Life could always be better, but overall I was good.

The AD me had to face the fact that times had changed. Naturally I’d prefer it if my feet didn’t hurt all the time and I didn’t need to use a stick to help me, but at least I still have the ability to walk. I’ll take that and own it! “I’m an African warrior, rolling with my stick in my hand!” The alternative would be me bussin’ my ass on the floor when I lose balance so I’d rather not if you please.

AD me means that the running and jumping around I used to do without thinking twice is no longer a joy and in fact a pain in the ass, but I’ve learnt and I’m still learning how to deal with it. I’ve said it before but you really don’t realise how often you’re on your feet until it’s sending you constant reminders with and without every step.

But I suck it up because it is what it is and where would bitching get me?, which in turn causes certain people to watch you with side eye and wonder if it’s really as bad as it seems. ‘People’ will always be questioning, but that’s not for me to worry about. I have jack shit to prove to anyone. #WhoFeelsItKnowsIt

So I now find myself wondering what sort of job the ‘nu’ me should do considering my limitations. I swore to myself when I went back to work it would be doing something I enjoyed, and to not dread waking each morning already counting the hours until I was back at home. Unfortunately that’s easier said than done, especially when bills have to be paid!

I know a few people, but not enough, who actually love their job. I can’t say the same for any job I’ve had to date, not wholeheartedly anyway, apart from my “job” as a mother and my last one – which I wouldn’t necessarily call a ‘job’ as such. That’s not to say it was an easy experience, as anyone who has worked as a carer can testify to, but the person in question was my mum, so it was undoubtedly a bit easier for me as there was that love and personal attachment.

I’ve been told by several people that I should consider becoming a carer as I am so good with taking care of my mum. I get where they’re coming from. I’ve made a few friends at the home my mum is now staying in. It wasn’t hard to be fair. I’m there near enough every day and I’m quite comfortable chatting to the Golden Oldies, which is all they want really. In turn I’ve met some right characters! I swear they give me the most jokes.

That’s the easy upside, but then you’ve got the other side too. Literally the shitty side. I don’t have an issue dealing with my mums personal care and toilet issues because she’s my mum, but I’m honest enough with myself to be unsure about if I’d be able to handle anybody else’s. I think it’s essential to give a job like that serious thought.

I’ll never forget my time spent in hospital when I was ill, but one (of many!) incident in particular really got to me and is a good example of what I mean. My haters and those of you who think a lot of shit comes out of my mouth will appreciate this!

Two days after my op I was still as rough as arseholes. I was attached to a monitor and drip whilst being weaned off of morphine. I was still nil by mouth and in pain after having a third of my bowel removed and my stomach held closed with staples. I recall feeling really nauseous, then before I knew it I was throwing up. It didn’t take long for me to notice there was something not right with this picture.

Due to the op, my waste product had only one way of vacating my body. I was literally throwing shit up. You can only imagine my distress! The situation and pain was already bad enough and this was the cherry on the cake…or so I thought then. With every heave my stomach was on fire and as it took me by surprise there was no vessel for me to throw up in. I couldn’t stop, and in no time at all I was covered in putrid puke. #TheStruggleWasReal

The curtain was around my bed so I couldn’t be seen by anyone and could not call out. I managed to grab the call button to try and get someone to help me. It seemed like an age had gone by but in reality I’m sure it was only a minute or so that had passed before Nurse Fucking Ratched pulled back the curtain. She stood there, exhaled deeply and rolled her eyes with a look of disgust and disdain that I’ll never forget.

By this point the heaving had receded and she came over and told me to take my gown off. Because of the way I had been hooked up to the machinery it was a task I couldn’t do by myself which I pointed out, so she huffed and donned on gloves to scornfully help me out of my filthy gown and bed and onto a chair. She then disappeared and returned with a bowl of water and fresh gown and told me to clean myself off whilst she stripped the bed.

She was the most stone cold, heartless bitch I’d ever come across. Not once did she give an ounce of sympathy and had zero fucks to give about how I felt. All she knew was that she had to deal with clearing shit up.

Now up until this point I was on full on Warrior Woman mode. I had fought to get to a point where I was taken seriously, and I knew I had some hard work ahead to do, but I was due the results of my biopsy that day and had already known it was more than likely cancer. I was just happy to know that at last I had some kind of answer after months of fuckery and pain.

Then along comes nursey with her own special kinda medicine – a truth serum of sorts, and throws my issues clean in my face, quietly but oh-so-loudly pointing out that I am, in fact, no warrior. I can’t even manage to take off my gown, I’m weak, pissing in a bag and throwing up shit.

I admit to feeling a tad sorry for myself. I had a huge lump in my throat and could feel the tears coming but still managed to hold it down.

I climbed back into bed and she hooked me back up and left. A couple of minutes later the surgeon, his companions and Nurse Ratched came over to discuss what was happening. Apparently it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence under these circumstances and they would be putting a tube in to help clear out my stomach as it was more than likely that I would start throwing up again soon. All I heard was tube and stomach!

I’m one of those people who have a bad gag reflex. I can do my thang, but I ain’t no Dawnie Deepthroat! (sorry to burst your bubble!). Seriously though, it’s on if the toothbrush goes too far back let alone owt else!, so hearing talk about them feeding a tube through my nostril down the back of my throat and into my stomach filled me with complete and utter dread – then I clocked Ratched and had a vision of her doing the job and the dam burst.

Thankfully she was called away but by this time I was a hot mess. They said they would give me some time to calm down but we’d have to get it done soon. A little while later another nurse came along for attempts one and two. It was horrendous. I’ll allow you the finer details but it involved a whole load of retching, snot and tears. Then along came my angel in disguise.

For the life of me I can’t remember his name, but he was from the Philippines and one of the most caring souls you could ever hope to meet. He was the one who was with me when the surgeons told me what they’d discovered when I came round from my op, and he was amazed at how well I had received the news. I think he now recognised a woman at breaking point!

He knew it would be a 2 man task and enlisted the help of his colleague, who he assured me was a pro at doing this procedure, and it would be over in no time if I listened to what they asked me to do. He said he’d be right next to me holding my hand and giving me sips of water to help with the job.

They worked as a double act, cracking jokes to calm me down and then talked and walked me through it; me swallowing the sips of water to help ease the tube down with each gulp once it had reached the back of my throat, and then it was over, with only one heave in between.

They praised me on a job well done, which sounds really stupid, but they realised what a scary time it was for me and did their utmost to make sure I was comfortable.

I only wish others would take the time out and consider if the job they are doing is the right one for them. Despite me not finding my dream job yet, I made sure that the jobs that I did do were done to the best of my ability.

When you decide to do a job that involves taking care of a person it usually means that they are vulnerable and not in a position to help themselves, so you should at the very least try to be empathetic to whatever their plight may be especially as it’s something you chose to do.

I’ve experienced the good and bad side of the caring coin. I know the job is hard and a mostly unrewarding one, but you should really have some level of compassion and caring when you’re dealing with people at their weakest or lowest in particular. I said in particular because really it’s something that we should all have a touch of regardless.

I know that since my trip around the Topics of Cancer I have a lot more empathy for others plights. I can relate on a level that I truly understand folk can go through shit you can’t even relate to, but we can all relate to being treated respectfully.

R.I.P Josie Heywood. Your family did you proud and my heart continues to go out to you all.

Happy 50th Earthday/Birthday Lydia Shekiluwa. Looking nowhere near that figure! I pray you had a blessed day and many more to come Queen!

Handle With Care, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife

And we’re back to go over the delights of ‘Wilting Wednesday’.

I thought Monday was bad enough. 

I’d dared to wear an over the head hoodie. Rookie mistake! Take a tip from me – light, easily accessible layers!! In this bi polar weather it’s not easy I know, but it’s even harder when your body is on the same levels.

I forgot myself, which isn’t hard when you throw brain fog in the mix. I’d had a reprieve via some gummies and things were looking up, but that’s just a distant memory now…or is it?…one forgets…

Anyway back to the hoodie. It was all good until I felt heat rising up from my feet. I asked the question in my social media post of did you know that your shins sweat? Well, did you!? It came up in conversation with a friend and we were wondering if this is a common side effect? I know it’s skin and naturally has this ability, but honest to goodness I never noticed before…then again I’ve never flowed so much before so I’m guessing I broke through the dam.

I tried to will it away but could feel a subtle sheen appear on my face – the prequel. As the heat rose through my body and reached my neck I pulled the collar forward and a feeling resembling opening an oven hit my face – cue the main event. I could feel the beads of sweat form then roll down my face, and with that started furiously fanning the collar to and fro in an attempt to cool down, but that only resulted in fanning the flames. 

I honestly felt like I was suffocating and drowning at the same time. I couldn’t even remember what I had on underneath but that shit was coming off no matter what delights it had been covering. I pulled it off and released the heat. I was braless but had a vest on. I’m not usually one to go braless as my nipples will grab any opportunity to say hi – not that there’s anything wrong in showing a nip or two, but I’ve personally seen how distracting they can be for some!🙄😂 

At particular times of the month even a breeze is enough to have them throbbing let alone material rubbing on them, no matter how soft. Just another joy for us to behold, so I’d opted for semi-comfort that day. With lesson learned from that event, I layered up and had a relatively ok Tuesday, with only a few flushes during the day; but bring forth the night – bring forth the fuckery!

I like to sleep naked wherever possible. This has its ups and downs.👀😂

One is easy access! I’m thankful (and so is the Mr!) that my libido hasn’t waned throughout – if anything it’s improved, and much to the em-ba-razz-ment and discomfort of our daughters, we still enjoy a healthy (albeit not as loud as I would like it to be but soon to be rectified) sex life.

As much as you’d like to keep it down it can get a little noisy, and I appreciate they don’t want to hear it, but as I told them, no stork bought yo’ ass here! The time to be concerned is when it’s not your dad I’m fucking. Until that day, turn the music up and find your happy place – I know I’m about to, and long (and ebony strong!😏) may it continue!

But saying that…

I’m pretty certain he would love it if it was an everyday occurrence, and as much as that is a nice thought it can stay as such. I don’t mean that disrespectfully, but sometimes it’s not even about me not wanting it, it’s about me not wanting to combust. It’s about please don’t touch me because I’m radiating enough heat already and that hand you just placed on me feels like I’m being branded.😩

I can’t complain as he is mostly understanding. Like I said, he’s living the dream with me so has it all in living colour, and I can appreciate it must be frustrating for him at the same time. As much as I’m lying there naked I’m not sure how much of a turn on it is looking a hot, sweaty mess before any action has taken place, lying on a towel whilst mopping with another one and fanning with the other hand. I’m grateful to have a husband who will actually listen and not simply dismiss it as “women’s issues.”

To be fair, it’d be hard for him to dismiss, unless he was a complete ignoramus, which thankhfully he isn’t. It’s hard to deny when you wake up and you’re facing your wife’s feet instead of her face because she’s doing that manoeuvre similar to when you chase the sunshine in your garden, and you move position to make the most of the heat; I’m doing the same in reverse, seeking out the cool spots on the bed. It’s a super king size so doable, but then you get the downside, once you’ve cooled down you’re literally left freezing your ass off until the next flush. 

Needless to say that it isn’t subject for sleep alone but throughout the day. Can folk please appreciate the effort it takes to go out-out too. The effort to look “hot” but not look hot and yet stay cool (as in temperature😂), is a real challenge. Most days I wish I could walk around naked with just a dressing gown and slippers so I can release the heat yet stay warm. Now I truly understand why women had fans and fainted so much back in the day. 

I love heat. I’m a self confessed sun child and will grab any opportunity to catch some rays and top up my melanin, and if/when it gets too much I know there are ways and means to control the levels I get. When I say Wednesday hit different that’s an understatement! This heat is internal and there ain’t no thermostatic control. It was a continuous flow of flush after flush and sweating from my roots to my toenails. I swear at one point I questioned if I was being possessed!🥵

The comparison is often made between women throughout history, and it’s thought that we’re now somehow a weaker generation because we acknowledge and speak on women’s health. Could it be that the reason they were so quiet previously was because they literally weren’t allowed to speak up or were not comfortable with speaking on it for fear of it being used as a weapon to beat them round the head with, and further fuel for the masculine fire of them being weak and unworthy? They were just supposed to be subservient little women, who looked pretty, cooked, cleaned and bred. 

The pathway has now been cleared for us to say yes, there are clear differences between the sexes, but we each have qualities to be celebrated and admired equally – it doesn’t have to be a battle. In general the majority of men have more physical strength, but for the majority of women we have an inbuilt strength that cannot be denied.

All of the men I have spoken to who have read part 1 have said the same thing, and that is they are glad they aren’t a woman. That’s all I need to hear, because it shows me that they know we have the most shit to handle and wouldn’t want it for themselves; yet the majority of us manage to handle it – sometimes barely! – but still we move, and that’s on top of all of the other labels attached to being a woman. What would be fantastic is if more males took the time out to acknowledge and appreciate it.

So to all of my Queens out there – big up ya hot, sweaty chests! We are fucking phenomenal! If every once in a while you have a meltdown whilst melting down, feel no way. Speaking for myself, if I were to have a negative reaction to all of the sheggery I go through I’d be a right miserable cow, so I always attempt to curb it somehow, but the reality is we all need to vent, and sometimes when you share the load it can be lightened.

Big love and huge thankhs to each and every Queen that supplied me with advice and tips!🙏🏾

I’m trying a few so will follow up in a few weeks and let you know how things go.

R.I.P to all those who have lost their lives this week.

Big Up Ya Chest!, Stay Blessed & #CelebrateLife