You know London is a strange Hodge pot of people……

You only need to Jump on a tube to realise this. And this is exactly where I find myself now; looking at the variety life truly has to offer. And my GOD is it varied. On one chair sits a rock throw back trying to pull off the Sid vicious look. Then there is the guy who thinks he is in an Armani ad. Side parted slicked hair and all pouty bottom lip. He has pointy shoes. I hate pointy shoes. It's a waste of shoe. Your toes CANNOT possibly fit all the way down there, and it's a tripping hazard. Couple this with the fact the guy is standing with this air of the Adonis about him and enough aftershave to drown you in. I am trying not to open my mouth, as when I do I’m practically chewing the smell. As I shuffle myself sideways to let Mr Armani off, he is replaced by Mr Italian Stallion who along with his suede shoes, masculine belt buckle, and slightly open shirt, steps onto the tube with shades on. Shades? ON a tube. Matey boy, we are UNDER GROUND. Has he any clue how fucking ridiculous he looks?

I feel pretty, and witty, and...........

This - would be a thought process. Please be warned, i think in a very odd manner and therefore the following...um,....gobble, maaaaay not make that much sense!!!!

PS - you were warned...


Oh there is a change a happening inside this very hum drum brain of mine. A small squeak of awakening. You know, I used to class myself as a fairly social creature. Not that I would sit inside away from the world, but not that I would be all in it's face either. But recently, since tumbling out of the closet, I feel like I am now caught between being a hermit, and someone who wants to stand on a tall building calling out to the world shouting, ‘I AM HERE!’

Part of me wants to rush out and meet the world head on again. To seize it, feel it, touch it. Be part of it, the madness, the pain, the love, the laughter. I want to feel it run through my fingers, inhale it's scent, taste all it has to offer. It's like starting again, in a newish shell. I feel a bit righter inside, like that off balance slightly disjointed feeling has gone. But then I start to put my foot outside the door and a mammoth about of insecurities flood my synapses and send me running backwards in a flailing wind mill fashion.....

Damn you autocorrect.......

Contrary to recent popular belief, I actually do have a very good grasp of the English language. I can create long cohesive sentences and at one point was a student in syntax myself. I understand that regional dialect affects syntax and that accents have an affect on diction. So therefore, why is it that I am unable to send a fracking text without auto correct on my IPhone turning me into a gibbering wreck? Worse. Making me look like a 15 year old obsessed with the word penis?!?!?

I really do believe that the auto correct function on my IPhone has it in for me this week. To the point where i am perhaps its wench. Unable to use my own fully functioning brain, as i yet again, watch the text zoom off into the ether, with substitute words involved. For example. I replied to a friend who had asked me if i was cold due to the air con being on. I went to say. No. Just pure cold.

Auto correct steps in, and i send her a text saying.

No, just pure come.

As the text zoomed off, i was left sitting there with my eyebrows slowly crawling into my hairline......