Friday, 12 May 2017

Tidal wave

It is not merely a case of someone understanding your algorithm. You also must recognise theirs. The knowledge of the heart must reach out and mingle perfectly with another. The perfection is not of aesthetics nor materiality nor fashion. It is not even of wisdom or character. The heart sees its own right person. It does not do so through logic but through some system that our brains cannot fully comprehend. When it happens, it hits you like a tidal wave.

Monday, 8 May 2017

Ceilidh Rave

Discussions at work today culminated in a Ceilidh Rave Fusion. Well, my thoughts landed on the idea, we didn't actually have a Ceilidh Rave, mores the pity.  This bizarre concept probably suggests a couple of things: our in-work conversations are strange, my thought processes are even stranger. Yet is the fusion so utterly out there?

I've danced until my toes ache at a Rave, I've experienced similar foot throb at a Ceilidh. Both events have ended in a near-daylight, stumbling, debauched exit. Similarly, following both, my eyes blinked at the small hours, whilst my ears cowered​ at unexpected bird song. Yes, chemicals have played their part, as you might expect.  In fact, toxin fueled dancing is the hardest you will ever endure. And god damn it, you sweat BIG. The Ceilidh, of course, is more formalstyle than freestyle but no less bouncy for it. Finally, both Ceilidhs and Raves may be enjoyed in large buildings, which ideally, are hidden away from those who would complain about the noise pollution. The Rave and the Ceilidh: a match made in heddonistic heaven, no?

Yes. I can foresee a Ceilidh Rave. If a DJ can mix Mozart with the Sugarbabes, it should prove mere childs-play to mix a Sasha tune with some crazy Ceilidh fiddling.

A gentle Google search for Ceilidh Raves proved to be fruitless. I did stumble across a Disco Ceilidh but I'm unsure on what this entails. C E I L I D H doesn't really roll off​ the tongue like D I S C O (, nevertheless it could work beautifully if we avoid false acronyms in song lyrics.

The Ceilidh Rave: let's do this!

Only for the hardcore UK Ceilidhers!

Yours, as ever,

The RGF xxx

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

RIP Unicorn

I have been thinking about the history of the unicorn. To me, this seems like a perfectly reasonable thought process to embark upon. Not in the least bit strange. Though what will follow, does get a little bit odd.  

I was interested to understand how unicorns came to be inscribed upon the fabric of modern Western society. Not exaggeration. Look around you. Unicorn-overload.  I wandered onto the World Wide Web, virtual spade in hand, to do a some light Internet digging. With the benefit of hindsight, I should have donned some gardening gloves because things are about to get unexpectedly grubby.

In modern times, the friendly unicorn can be found everywhere.  We see him on women's underwear and an extra cute unicorn type character within the likes of My Little Pony.  Yet historical representations of the beast are a million miles from the elegant, rainbow pooping unicorns we imagine today. Unicorny descriptions do vary across sources. But overall, it is safe to suggest that anything the historical unicorn loses in majestic grace is more than made up for in the macarbe.

In particular, I happened upon one account which describes a ferocious, death-defying unicorn being lulled to sleep by the breasts of a virgin. This unicorn is intimately attached to said virgin, and, (yikes) said virgin is quite naked. I kid ye not. As you'll no doubt agree, this revelation registered about a ten on my weird-as-shitometer and swiftly stomped all over my long-held images of pink, fluffy, magical creatures with shiny horns.

Here we have a unicorn that gallops around pillaging the townsfolk, that can only be tamed by the boobs of a virgin! This explodes my unicorn soulmate metaphor into the cosmos, in the most icky of ways. It is not the stuff of dreams but the fabric of nightmares.  On a metaphorical level, it’s a​ typical play on female innocence calming the wanton, horned beast. Therefore isn't exactly a celebration of the myriad power of womanhood but quite the contrary, with a hefty sprinkling of yuck.

These weird ideas are from the past. And thank goodness for that.  Nevertheless, my uni-horn discoveries have put me right off my 'favourite’ socks, which are pink, have eyes, fluttery lashes, and, yes, you've guessed it, horns.  

On this day my unicorn soulmate metaphor is no more. RIP.

With love,



Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Wordy gathering

On this Tuesday 18th April 2017, I celebrate my blogaversary. Let the excitement flow! Nine years ago today, this gathering of words commenced.

I probably need to mark this prestigious occasion by raising a glass or two. I will not do this sarcastically. Though I feel like I'm making a joke at my own expense. No, this is a genuine celebration. This blog has been my outlet to joy, pain and pointless rambles. It is cathartic and transformative. Some of the biggest relationships of my life so far commenced since it began. I have documented their trajectory within. The greatest of these, was the birth of my daughter.

Thoughts by The Renegade Glitter Fairy, how I adore thee. 

Here's to beginnings. To endings. To bits in the middlings. Most of all, here's to words!

The RGF xx

Friday, 14 April 2017



I'd love to play this song on guitar. Of course there is that slight issue of being unable to play guitar. Coupled by the troubling fact that I don't own a guitar. Otherwise my journey towards expert strumming in a Heartless Bastard's stylee looks sound.

Highlighted post

Wild notes

~~~ Twisted strings, blood red We were opposite and one Behind these lines, mirrored We’re wild notes lost in song Travel me back...

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