Monday, 30 January 2017

We are the goddess

There was a time when female deities were worshipped as part of a mainstream religious practices. In parallel, and in intrinsically linked to this, women themselves were valued holistically. The very concept of being physically able to birth and nurture a child, was once reverred. Feminity was not fetishised but viewed with wonder and joy. In the past, a woman's beauty was not reduced to her sexual function. Nor considered in terms of her comparibility to an idealised image in the media, which is an impossible and false aim because no one actually looks like that.

There are men who would simultaneously expect physical ‘perfection’ but would recoil at the level of intervention required to achieve this ‘perfection’. Some men, believe every woman should have flawless skin, full lips, long curly lashes, high cheek bones, able to eat half a pizza but look like they only chew on lettuce leaves. Imperfect women should not exist - think these men. Sadly some women think this too. They think this without realising that idea of flawless has been painted onto our psyches through our interaction with the social world.

Beauty is just a construct. The elements that create it change over time, vary culturally and exist in the mind of the beholder. Obviously people ought to be healthy - both physically and mentally. Healthiness is always a good thing but health should not be confused with painted beauty. Trying to align one’s sense of self with an unreachable ideal is folly. We should love, nay, we should adore ourselves exactly as we are right now.

With these facts in mind, coming up is a link to some wonderful reading. We should view ourselves as goddesses. Not as a being whose aesthetic perfection is based on current forms but as the goddess within. Women ought to be sexual beings, who are completely present during sex. Moreover, we should love our bodies and ourselves.


Wise words indeed, so wise, they inspired this blog post.


The RGF xx

Tuesday, 24 January 2017

Endless Tuesday?

Today my blog is my diary. A virtual diary of Hazel. No lock. No key. Just a public record on a server somewhere. Essentially, it's always this but sometimes I imagine it's transactional. Sometimes I talk to the idea of a reader.


Every time someone asks me about Tuesday. As in, how's your Tuesday, I think "it's endless". Tuesday is endless.  I know exactly why I think that but I'm not going to explain it because I'm not imagining a reader.

Tuesday is not endless. It could be the worst Tuesday ever but it will end eventually because everything does. However, there is a vagueness to Tuesday, unfelt on other days. It's a sort of non day. Unless we suspend the very notion of a calendared measurement of time, then Tuesday is not Tuesday. It's just time passing.

I wish to dissociative myself from thoughts of an endless Tuesday. I'd take a wretched Wednesday or a frantic Friday. I'd even give due consideration to "just another manic Monday" but Tuesday can take its' frankly pointless perpetual motion and exit stage left.

Until further notice (to myself because this is a 'dear diary' entry), Tuesday will be known as Irrelevant Tuesday. Its' *endlessness* has ended.

Sunday, 22 January 2017


"Are you irrelevant? You're falling to pieces.

How do you become one again?

Are you an elephant? You crush me to pieces.

How do you do?"

xx Biffy Clyro xx

Tuesday, 17 January 2017

Grimes epidemic

As I listened to Grimes via the ways of the mighty earphones - it takes every ounce of willpower and social appropriateness I posses not to dance like a crazy person in public.

Damn her music is infectious. When she sings directly into me, she reaches epedemic levels. Thus, I have devised a dance which takes place hidden in the dance floor of my shoe.



Broken, not lost. One day I'll seek you in the mystery of Ludschuch. 

Wednesday, 11 January 2017


"You really took something, as I cannot make a sound."


"There's a man on the corner selling dozens of bones.

Every type of bone, except the one that I want."

Arcane Roots and Biffy Clyro


Unexpected discovery

I was rummaging around the date site one evening - which appears to imply expectation - when, in fact, there was none.  My rummage was vague - like the hapless, one-handed sift through the bargain rail in a charity shop.  There is no hope of success but you look anyway. After a time my eyes fell upon something interesting…, it wasn't the one, it wasn't even the one-night-only. It was an advert for bridal wear.  I'll leave that there for a moment. Do not adjust your sets. I saw an advert for bridal wear on a dating site.

Whilst I appreciate that the dating site and the prospect of marriage should, theoretically, be loosely linked - in that dates ‘might’ lead to a relationship, relationship to marriage, marriage to divorce and so on - I fail to see how this could ever be an appropriately placed advert.  If you've ever used a dating site, you'll know that Mr Right is unlikely to be lurking behind the next click. In fact, unless you happen to have a penchant for bad grammar, dick pics and all manner of casual fuck-fuckery - the dating site will disappoint.

More to the point, why the heck would brides be hanging around a dating site in the first place. Surely the search has ended. Although, given the modern obsession with open relationships, I imagine brides all over the planet peering at dating profiles, just before they take the plunge into wedded abyss.  I can barely contain my amusement, as I picture them browsing the virtual shelves in the dating aisles and simultaneously planning their outfit for walking down the aisle.

Unless.....dramatic music please..... the advert is to encourage Bridget Jones' style imaginings. Dum dum de dum. Dum dum de dum. Nope. It couldn't be that. Could it? I suppose some ladies do get carried away with romantic expectations but even the most ardent of imagination would draw the line at planning the outfit before they'd met the person. 

Crazy theories aside, it seems to me that an advert for BDSM gear or software to prevent the significant other finding online dating dalliances, would be more suited to a dating site. These are bound to gain serious click through action.

On a positive note, I'm given to understand that people still meet, fall in love and unite in coupledom. I've even had one or two pleasant experiences myself. Overall though, the online / offline dating trajectory is a little fuzzy.  More importantly, the dating site: it's not for brides. With this in mind, I think adverts for bridal wear would be better placed elsewhere, like a parallel universe or something.

The RGF xx

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

Two soups?

Blog posts are like buses, absolutely sweet fack all for ages then two come along at once....or is that men? Hmmmm. No, it's definitely blog posts. It would appear that my creative flair has returned from annual leave, fully refreshed and ready to party.  I obviously don't need a muse. Or maybe I'm my own muse. I certainly amuse myself because I laugh at my own jokes all the time. Indeed, I'm often entirely alone in the hilarity of it all.

I've discovered that if one pretends to be some kind of master chef, scraping a million carrots, at 10pm, after working all day then being a super single mum - is actually quite good fun. Obviously this is a lie. Yet the chef fantasy did serve to take the edge off the domestic task. Moreover, and I actually do say this with excitement, carrot soup via the slow cooker will be enjoyed tomorrow evening.

I have just blogged about carrot soup preparation. I don't know whether to congratulate myself or run for cover.


The Domestic Goddess ;-)


Perfect date

I was thinking about the perfect date. Prone to bouts of whimsy, as I am, a small part of me actually believes that a perfection is possible. In fact, I almost had a perfect date once but the protagonists wanted different things so this impairs perfection.

The perfect date goes something like this: two tickets purchased to watch Arcane Roots. A pre-gig curry. In many respects spices combined with oils is not the food of love but curry is my favourite thus it's a digestive risk worth taking. Plus, if you both have garlic, demonic breath isn't an issue.

The in-date conversation would be more free-flowing than skates over ice. Furthernore, the chemistry would reach dangerously high levels.  We would be switched on to the point of glowing. Waiters would have to wave and cough to gain our attention. In short, we'd be in the zone. Our zone. The perfect date zone.

There would be lashings of in-gig kissing and a plethora of furtive glances. We'd sway along on the musical vibrations. Enjoying each moment as it passed. We wouldn't want the first date to end. Arcane Roots would play their best gig ever. Even though their brilliance would be mere background to the majesty of the moment.

The gig endeth. The first date comes to a reluctant close, sometime during the following day. I'll leave the missing elements open to the imagination......


The RGF xx

Sunday, 1 January 2017

A light

I was awaiting the train, as I often do on work days. Christmas had recently happened and 2017 would soon begin. Unfortunately, this day was one of the coldest of 2016.

You know that feeling, when your feet are so cold, the upright position is a challenge. I needed socks designed for artic conditions, but was ill-equipped with some which would have struggled to snuggle hairy hobbit feet. I may as well have gone barefoot. Obviously the train was delayed. In fact, I've never known it to arrive on time, yet this was a whole new level of tardiness. Despite my icey feet and the long long wait - I smiled inwardly. Doubtless, looking like l'd been chasing the dragon. People don't usually smile at themselves without chemical assistance. Yet I was not supported by toxic love. I was just happy because of music via recently purchased headphones.

Before motherhood, I always had music. Once my journeys included a small person, this stopped. One must be aware when travelling with children. Entering a wibbly wobbly world of banging bass lines is not wise when razor sharp observation skills are required. Plus you know, parent child interactions. Of course, I've made numerous journeys without my daughter for some time, yet neglected to buy much adored headphones.

Music is like switching on a light within. I often forget this until I press play, then, as the notes wash over me, my ears begin to orgasm. Furthermore, until I reacquainted myself with headphones, the miniscule gap between the self and the music was lost to me. A speaker close to the ear is rather like the sounds are coming from you rather than to you. Yes indeed, headphones in position, Grimes singing to my ear canal, I was Drusilla in Angel, when she exclaimed “I'm ringing”. Granted she was dancing to the ringing of a mobile phone, and is a fictional, mentally unstable vampire with a bloody awful Cockney accent but otherwise the comparison is entirely sound. Essentially, my headphones allow me to disconnect from the outer world and truly connected with myself.

Incredibly, I spent £7 in Argos and it changed my life. To homage ( should be) Sir Bill Bailey, it would seem that Argos really do posses a laminated book of dreams.


The RGF xx

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