I feel like I’ve become a true 21st century woman today. Today, a person exposed themselves to me in an explicit way on the internet.

I’ve been on the internet for a good while now, using plenty of social media, instant message and chat platforms, forums, and some online games. Though I tend not to really use video (because I look like either a thumb or a moon at all times on video), there have still been plenty of opportunities to see *things* had people wanted to send me said things. And yet I had seen nothing untoward until today.

Now don’t get me wrong on this. I don’t condone assaulting people in unsolicited ways on the internet. It’s an entirely distasteful hobby. 

…but I probably slightly let myself in for it by having so much faith in the goodness and innocence of humans. The person in question (a person I went to school with, but I won’t name names because I know that there’s always the potential that their social media account might have been hacked to perpetrate this) chatted to me for about 2 weeks about a hobby of mine, sewing, before today.

Sewing, I hear you say, confounded. Yes. This person had an item they wanted re-embroidering, and asked if I could do it (obviously I now know this is a lie, don’t worry team). I said no, but then a little later they contacted me saying they’d had the work done, and didn’t I want to see it.

And of course I didn’t, because why would I care about someone else’s project, especially when I haven’t spoken to that person in 7 years, and we weren’t really friends anyway. And when that person insisted this exchange had to be on video chat.

Let me add at this point that I know that is a massive signal, and I mentioned to several people that I reckoned the person in question had dodgy intentions. But I so strongly hoped that there were no intentions, just a person really keen on sharing crafts. So today, I caved, and agreed to the call.

On my lunch break, I stood in the rain, outside the building site that I currently work on, and accepted a video call. I heard a greeting, and then drilling started behind me. I lifted the phone to my ear to better hear what was being said, only to catch on that what was being said was not really for my benefit. I looked back at the screen, saw more than I’d asked for, and then the call was ended. I can’t access the person’s account any more.

After my initial reaction of feeling stunned, I texted Boyfriend to tell him the story. He’s one of the people I expressed concern to about the intentions of the contact being dodgy, and I knew he’d find the whole thing as funny as I did. But then my feelings moved from funny to sadness. I’m sad that the person I had faith in to be innocently excited about sewing actually has to get their kicks by exposing themselves to practical strangers on the internet. There are so many great things in life, and for that to be your thing is honestly quite depressing to me. I’d like more for the people I know than that.

Then I realised I’m lucky. I was exposed to something unexpected and my reaction was to laugh. Some people would have been strongly affected, and as far as I can tell, I have no way to actively do anything about this. I can’t access the person’s account any more, and there doesn’t seem to be a functional way to report something like this to any authority.

So, I’ve settled for this. Sharing the experience (for the comedy, to be fair) and giving people I went to school with the opportunity, should they wish, to contact me directly and ask whose account it was so that they can avoid the same thing happening to them.

Unless you want it to of course, because I mean, get your kicks (in consensual ways though please)

Hi world. Is it sunny where you are? It’s sunny here, which means busy (because you can be, and also because the sun illuminates how disgracefully untidy your house is).

I’ve been doing lots of walking lately. Firstly because I have terrible joints, and so other exercise is just difficult and painful, and walking is something I can do daily without it completely wrecking me. Secondly because I love walking, and exploring, and listening to podcasts and just generally moving and living.

I’ve been chronicalling my journeys via Instagram, using the hashtag #hometowntourism. As a person who has moved around a lot, it’s always struck me how few places “locals” go to. There’s some kind of barrier which means that if you’ve always lived next-door the the museum, it’s somehow not for you, or automatically not interesting. But I live in Yorkshire, in Leeds, one of the most diverse and fascinating places I’ve ever explored.

(I bet other places are way more diverse and fascinating, but I don’t live in them, so they haven’t been properly explored yet)

The other reason for taking the pictures is because I am shocking at photography, and always have been. I don’t really understand framing, or light balance, or any of the things you need to make a photo great. My arms are too short for selfies, and I don’t understand how anyone angles their head to not have a million double chins. Or two million single chins. WHATEVER. I just can’t do it.

So, take-home lessons for today are, explore your hometown because it’s just an all-round fab thing to do. Take pictures of it. And look at my pictures, but do so on the thorough understanding that they are quite bad.

You’re welcome.

My friend had this thing she and her family would do, where she’d randomly hum or sing a note, and then someone would just join in with whatever song came to mind.

I always ended up singing “Danny Boy” and she always went with the theme tune to Spongebob Squarepants.

The word ‘somewhere’ is a bit like that, because it conjures up a different feeling, image, or memory for everyone. The only complete truths may be death and taxes, but I think a close third is that no matter what, people are always thinking about their ‘somewhere’. It’s where you’re aiming for, or where you wish you were, or where you feel happiest. Everyone has a somewhere.

My somewhere is intangible, which probably means I’m somehow special (or alternatively means nothing at all, idk). My somewhere isn’t a place, it’s just The Destination. I know everything I do is taking me closer, and I know when I get there I want it to feel safe above all else. I don’t know where it is at all, but I don’t think I’ll ever get there, because I think it has to be the place I’m always reaching towards.

Of course, there are interim somewheres as well. Like bed, or being on stage, or drinking good coffee and laughing when it’s really nice weather (but not too hot because that’s just the worst). Those are all my taster somewheres, reminding me how great my actual somewhere will be, once I get there.

I think my only fear about ‘somewhere’ is, what if I make it. What would I strive towards if I had my perfect safe place. Would it even be that great? But I guess you just don’t know where to stop until you get there anyway.

I’ve spent the last week being really selfish.

It’s hard not to be, after all. You only totally know yourself, your own thoughts, your own experiences. It’s quite hard on a day-to-day basis to not let your life just be all about you. We’re all a bit selfish, even though none of us mean to be.

But sometimes the self gets a bit more selfish. On a bad day, it’s easy to slip into the rhythm that you are the problem. That you’re having a bad day because you didn’t try hard enough, or you made someone angry, or you made all the poor life decisions leading up to this moment. It’s easy to stop believing that there are any kind of external forces at work.

That selfishness creeps and crawls it’s way into everything. Something went wrong at work? You don’t think about who might have needed support, or who else might need to know in order to fix the problem. Instead you just get caught in a mire of how it’s all your fault. Friend seems down? Probably because they have made the mistake of associating themselves with you. Couldn’t be anything else, because you’re the poison, after all.

Of course, that can only go on for so long before you pick yourself up and say “don’t be ridiculous, you’re not terrible” – and then on you wander into the selfishness of making other people validate that. Sure, there was an issue at work, but “I did all I could, right?” – that’s the mantra you make your colleagues and friends and significant others repeat. Or have them tell you how great you are as a person, to make you feel better about you.

I’ve had a week a bit like that, feeling sorry for myself and then shutting down any possibility that maybe, just maybe, the whole world doesn’t revolve around me.

And to clarify, sometimes you need those days. It’s not wrong to need support and validation when you feel a bit rubbish. But people are bad at expressing that (and I count myself among them) because no-one on Earth has successfully said “Oh hey so I know other stuff is going on in life, but just right now I need you to really focus on making everything all about me”. It doesn’t work like that. What if more than one person needs that at once and they ask each other? Then what do you do?

Selfishness happens to everyone, it’s just a part of life. There’s no clever moral here, just me recognising that I have KILLER toothache, and I’ve been a bit grumpy and me-me-me, and it’s because I have been a bit blinkered to my own selfishness.

Sorry guys.

Isn’t growing up weird.

When you were younger, growing up was the ultimate aim – unless you were in the rebellious teen phase, when being a grown-up is the least cool thing ever.

I have a few young kiddies in my life, and watching them turn into proper human people is the best thing. Seeing their personalities grow, and how they form thoughts and opinions. Wondering what they’ll be like once they are older. Catching myself thinking “Oh my GOD. She’s so BIG now” like some kind of bemused alien who doesn’t know how human development works.

So much about our lives is formative, in ways we can’t even begin to understand until years later. It’s only when you take the time to look back that you realise quite how instrumental parts of childhood are for the definition of character and self.

Thinking about how people must look at me now, I’m definitely “grown-up”. I have a flat, and a job, and Boyfriend. I have little pots of herbs, and I read the news, I go to bed at sensible times and I brush my teeth twice daily without any fuss at all. I also own a car, which I drive, to places like the supermarket. Very adult. Look at me adulting.

I own throw cushions.

Then I look at myself in the mirror, and I know that the person I see can’t be the person everyone else sees. I still see a person with ever so slightly squiffy eyes and frizzy hair, who took some of the best and most terrible school photos ever known. Also, one of 5 blonde girls at primary school who got type-cast in the nativity (not as angels though, as cheerleaders, because reasons). I also see teenage me, with an emo choppy haircut and baggy dungarees.

And that’s really nice, because even though I know that to some people I’m this grown-up woman who wears pencil skirts and takes notes at important meetings, or the theatre producer who fixes up last-minute costumes and bellows orders, I know that every now and then I can wake up, throw on my baggy jeans, t-shirt I bought from the internet, and satchel I’ve had since I was 15, and wander into town and just be the me I see every day.

How nice.

This is important. If you read one thing on this blog, make it this.

Register to vote.

Wooooahhhh no wait, I see you there. Leaving because I did a politic. No no no. This is not politics. This is just dealing in definites. Let me explain.

If you’re really into politics, you should probably make sure you vote.
If you hate politics, people will still tell you you should vote.
If you’re indifferent really, people will get annoyed first, and then tell you how you should vote.

But listen pal, here’s a secret.

I don’t care if you vote.

This is not a political statement, urging you towards the line of politics I think is the “correct” one. You can get that all over the place. Mights, shoulds, woulds, coulds, mays (Mays) and etc.

I do not care about all of the options on offer. I am a can do person. And the thing is, once you’re registered, voting becomes a thing you can do.

(by the way, if you’re a ‘yeah, I’m going to do it pretty soon, when I have time’ person, just ignore the rest of this post and do it now. You have time, it literally takes 5 minutes, I’ve just done it)

There are a few things which prohibit you from voting. You can’t vote if;

• You’re under 18 (gutted kids)
• You’re a member of the House of Lords (if you’re not sure, I really don’t know what to say tbqh)
• You’re an EU citizen (something something Brexit laughter)
• You’re in prison
• You literally can’t be trusted near an election because of fraud ‘n’ stuff

Now I accept category 1 here covers quite a lot of people, but really, this is 5 categories of can’t. That is just not a lot of categories guys.

If you don’t fit into the above, you can vote! But only if you register. If you don’t register, then you can’t vote, which is basically forcing yourself into one of the above categories. You’re essentially making yourself a child or a criminal. Or a member of the House of Lords but with literally none of the perks.

What do you need to register? Glad you asked. Your own name, where you live, and your National Insurance number. If you don’t know it, your mum probably has it written down. Give her a ring, she loves hearing from you anyway.

Once you’ve registered? Do whatever you like, frankly. Vote or don’t. The point is, once you’ve registered, you CAN. **

**To all the annoyed politics people, I get that you'd prefer me to tell everyone they need to vote, but that's your job. I'm just trying to make sure that less people you try to convince end up not actually being able to join in.***

***It's a public service really.