Terrible by omission

Last week I did something I will regret for the rest of my life, or at the very least for the next few years. I did something I told myself I would never, ever do. I compromised my own beliefs, my own integrity, in order to prevent an argument. I allowed ignorance to reign, in order to safeguard the way I am viewed by the perpetrators of the ignorance.

It’s not hard to see my own privilege, I’m aware of it, as far as I can be, but sometimes I am more aware of it than others. This week I made the decision not to say something when I saw an issue, and I shouldn’t have, and the guilt and distress I feel about it is something I struggle to put into words. This week I became aware of my own privilege in a very corporeal way, because I simply chose not to say something. It was a decision I could make. I saw something happen, something I disagreed with, and all I had to do was choose not to say something.

Now the fact was that my not saying anything didn’t prevent this moron from getting something of a verbal lashing. The guy she was ignorant towards (about?) was more than capable of delivering it himself. In fact if anything my guilt about this matter is entirely selfish and frankly ridiculous. This guy is 18 years old, well spoken and more than capable of telling ignorant, racially insensitive people to do one. He doesn’t need a silly white girl to do it for him. And yet here I am, a whole 72 hours later, desperately trying to rationalise my own decision.

And the fact is, if I had done this (or rather not done it) purely because he was on it, he was sorting his own issues and educating people by himself, I don’t think I would feel bad. I have total faith that this guy can handle himself, and had things gotten out of hand I would have happily weighed in on his side. But that’s not why I kept quiet. I kept mum because the thought of starting a confrontation, particularly one over social media which is something I struggle with, made me feel deeply, deeply anxious. Because my own discomfort got in the way of my social views.

Worse yet, I did this because the people I was talking to were ones I would have to be with next year, and them not liking me ( or rather the notion of them not liking me) fills me with dread. I compromised my views, my stance on issues, my social thoughts and feelings, just so that I didn’t upset a load of randoms who may or may not grow to dislike me regardless.

So to the gentleman who stood up for himself,

I should have said something

I’m sorry

With love

TheSarcastic Blogger


To those who are rude in shops

This afternoon a woman came into the shop I work in. This was not the first time I had served her, I couldn’t have erased the ugly scowl of her mouth if I wanted to, the high pitched whine of her voice clung to my mind, a thin spiderweb of memory. I do not know this woman’s name, but for the sake of narrative we will call her bitchface.

Now bitchface was unhappy, why I hear you ask? Are you not an attentive and jovial worker? Oh but I am, it was not my attitude- nor that of my colleagues- that left this woman bitter (more bitter than she typically is at any rate.) No. She was pissed because we were busy, and as such couldn’t fill a balloon. Cue huffy bitchy shouty shit.

Now that you understand the stimulus for this piece, let me move onto the main body of my post.



What does it achieve?? That’s my question, to those who are rude in shops, what the hell does it achieve? If anything I am now less inclined to help you than I was before. Well done. You’ve pissed me off, you want that thing on the shelf? Jump for it.

This woman throws a mini bitchfit, tells me its ridiculous and storms out of the shop mumbling to herself under her breath. News flash bitchface: THE WORLD DOES NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOU. I am serious. Grow the hell up, you’re old enough to be my mother and you’re being rude to me? How would you feel if your kid came home and told you some dumbass was rude to them at work? More importantly, the fact that you didn’t possess the presence of mind to pre-order your shitty balloons is not my issue, I spend all day taking orders for people, in person, over the phone, for now, for later, for months away. It’s actually my job. And seeing as these people bothered their arses to ring up and pay for something days or weeks in advance kinda means they get to have their shit done before you. If you have an issue with that then you can ring up and PLACE YOUR OWN BLOODY ORDER.

Jesus wept, what is the world coming to? The basic courtesy that so many people the generation before us expect, they do not seem capable of giving. I wouldn’t even consider treating someone the way so many middle-aged, fully grown, adult people (with cars and mortgages and everything) treat me, yet for some reason they see someone my age and decide what? I deserve less respect than them? On what basis? You have successfully fucked me over financially, educationally and socially and I’ve not even been an adult for a month yet! Why in God’s good name should I be showing you respect?

Now that’s not to say I’m going to start treating customers and/or anyone over the age of 30 like crap, (for one thing as someone younger than 30 I can apparently recognise that treating people with common courtesy should be something everyone does just for shits and giggles) but it does mean that I recognise that the political decisions of the generations before us have a major impact on my life, and the lives of everyone I know. It means I recognise that whilst common courtesy is something I offer everyone, I don’t owe them anything more than that.

So, to those who are rude in shops…

Fuck you.

Lots of love

TheSarcastic Blogger





Last week I bought my friend a present. It wasn’t her birthday, nor was it an unusual Early July religious festival you’ve never heard off, I simply saw something I thought she’d like and I bought it. (She did like it, in case any of you were wondering.)

Now is it just me, or is it seriously strange that we reserve gifts for such big annual events as birthdays and Christmas? I’m not saying we should buy each other stuff all the time, I don’t know about you lot but as a soon-to-be-student I don’t have the funds, but I do think its odd that sometimes we’ll see things and think “Oh, wow, my friend would really love that” and then we don’t get it, because we don’t have an excuse to.

So I’ve decided to bugger excuses, my excuse for buying my friends things: they’re awesome, they’re absolutely lovely people, and they put up with my terrible sense of humour.

Now that’s not to say that I’m going to be off buying designer gear and cars for my best mates (as I’ve said I don’t have the funds) but what it does mean is that the next time I’m out and I see something I know one of them would like, as long as I can afford to do so, I’m going to buy, why not?

I spend way too much cash on things I have absolutely no need for, it’s a problem I’m working on, I might as well spend some cash on the important people in my life.

Be kind to each other guys,


TheSarcastic Blogger


Bad at friends

Bad at friends. That’s a pretty out there title, no? I considered calling it other things, but hey, why beat around the bush? I am bad at friends.

I ummed and ahhhed about posting this for a while, because what you’re about to read is entirely true, but in being so it has the power to upset some of the most wonderful people in my life, and so with that in mind, I’m going to start with a letter to them.


To my friends, or at least to the ones reading this

I’m ok, really I am. You haven’t done anything wrong I promise, this is just how I am, and its no ones fault except maybe mine. So don’t worry. You’re wonderful and I love you to the moon and back, I really, really do. You have done nothing but support me, and without your love and time and effort I would not only be much more miserable, I would be a very different person. I’m not writing this to upset you, or anyone else, I’m writing this because that’s what you do on a blog, you talk about how you feel and what you’re doing. I’m also writing this because keeping it inside is exhausting, and there’s a certain level of anonymity provided by an unpopular blog.

Yours with more love than you know

E. x


I suppose I should kick the main body of this off with something of an explanation; I was bullied, for a long time, most of my life actually. Its not something I keep quiet about, I’m not ashamed of having been a victim of cruel people, everyone at some point or another in their life will be victimised by someone. But I often keep quiet about the result of that bullying, a bad habit I’m sure I share with a lot of other victims of bullying. You see I wasn’t bullied by some mean blonde with a seemingly random vendetta against me like in a bad American teen movie (well, actually I kinda was but that was a long time ago and its not really relevant.) I think if I had been my life might actually have been a tad easier. No, I was bullied by friends. People I trusted to the point that even when it started, even when I was so miserable and broken and hurting it felt like I could hardly breathe some days, I did not for a second consider the situation to be what it was; bullying. I was scared, so deeply petrified of the idea of making new friends that I put up with it, time and time again, repeatedly finding myself in the same situation, no matter how many times I seemed to leave toxic people behind. Part of it was that when the people you trust, and in most cases love, start to treat you like you’re worthless, when the people who assure you that they love you treat you like they don’t, then you don’t believe yourself loveable. I spent so much of my life trying to convince myself that I was loved by people I wasn’t, so much of it trying to fabricate emotion that simply wasn’t there, that I struggle to notice when genuine feeling is there.

In short…

I am bad at friends.

I struggle to make them, I struggle to keep them. I fight endless silent battles with myself every time I pick up my phone to reply to messages, worried that I’ll say the wrong thing and push them away. Another battle with myself every time I want to tell them something or invite them somewhere, constantly concerned that I’m boring or intrusive or pushy. I yoyo between worrying I’m suffocating them, and then they’ll hate me, to worrying I’m ignoring them, and then they’ll hate me. I live, day in and day out, with an obnoxiously loud voice at the back of my head reminding me there is every possibility that these lovely, wonderful, intelligent, brilliant people are just too polite to tell me they don’t like me. Every time I leave the room I worry they’re talking about me, every time we say goodbye I worry they’re thankful I’m gone. Frankly, it sucks. And its tiring. And I know, logically, that there is very little chance they dislike me, but tell that to the voice.

It’s a difficult place to be, and it makes day to day interaction pretty hard sometimes, but I like to think that I hide it well.

Now this is all pretty personal, even for an unpopular blog, but I do have my reasons. I’m writing this because I need it to be out there, because keeping stuff like this in is painful and exhausting. I’m writing this because maybe one day someone who feels the same way will come across it and know they are not alone, and because I want those people to know that one day they will find friends (like mine) who love them, genuinely, and who will light up their lives. Because one day they will realise, in a stunning wonderful flash of joy, that they have the power to light up those friends’ lives too. And that’s a pretty fab feeling.

Thanks for reading my ramblings.

Feel free to comment if you’d like to.

All the best

TheSarcastic Blogger





Godiva festival Coventry, or as Lucy Spraggan called it Go-Diva. I don’t know how many of you went this year, but if you didn’t you should have, cause it rocked.

Now I’m not really a music-y person, that’s not saying I don’t like music (quite the opposite actually) I’m just not very good at remembering artists, or lyrics, or song titles, nor am I particularly good at finding artists, or songs, or song lyrics. The result being, as I’m sure my friends noticed today, that I’m pretty clueless at festivals. But it was still wicked.

Maybe it was the company, because frankly my friends are awesome, or it could’ve been the euphoria of seeing an alpaca (yes I did just say alpaca) but regardless this festival was brill.

Opened by a variety of fairly unknown acts, the first of which we saw in full was Bad Finger (the lesser known sister group of Malcontented Wrist), Godiva may have been off to a shaky start, but Lucy Spraggan quickly remedied the situation. Reminding everyone present just why she was so popular on the X-Factor, Spraggan sang crowd pleaser after crowd pleaser, funny, cheerful and tuneful she was the highlight of this festival for me and I’m sure many others.

Spraggan was followed by the famous yet infamous Kate Nash. Playing a number of her hits (none of which I knew) she didn’t go down quite as well, that is until she pulled out the absolute banger that is Dickhead, followed not long after by her most popular song Foundation. Nash was definitely high energy, not just dancing but appearing to do pilates at one point (sorry to nick your joke there Ells) she was clearly her own biggest fan, something she later encouraged all the festival-goers to be. Nash’s politics and brilliantly feministic message was the highlight of her set in my opinion, but I’ll definitely be looking into her music in the future.

The headliner of this festival was The Darkness, famous for a number of absolute classics including I Believe In A Thing Called Love, they brilliantly finished of this free festival. Not only nostalgic for many, The Darkness drew in first time listeners as well, embodying the energy and joy of 2000s rock.

Overall, I really could not have asked for a better day, I will definitely be looking into going again next year, and I suggest you do too.

TheSarcastic Blogger

P.s. Many thanks to my fabulously beautiful friend for be-glittering me, you rock!


Not too long ago a friend asked me why I only want boys, one day hopefully, and I tried to explain. I tried to cram the wide disappointment that I felt as a woman in this world into sentences, and I couldn’t. I tried to explain that the thought of raising boys, even just one, that could understand that disappointment and want to do something about it felt to me like something massive. That raising boys who could cry in public, and wear lipstick or skirts or glitter if they wanted to felt like an achievement. That raising boys who had favourite flowers as well as favourite sports teams felt, to me, like something magical.

Now one day, I’m sure, I’ll write a post about my raging feminist views and general societal discontent. I’ll probably write a post about poisonous masculinity and reel off facts on male suicide rate, and male health, and male heartache. But today I’m simply asking you to share this dream of mine. Go forth and raise boys who are supported. Raise feminine boys, and masculine boys, and boys who go to the doctor because they’re sick, even if they are boys. Raise boys who are a boys, but never put up with boys will be boys as an excuse for anything. Raise boys that respect girls, and boys that respect boys, and boys that respect any and all other genders. Raise boys who respect themselves and others. Raise boys that are religious and boys that don’t give a toss about a higher power. Raise boys that are political and boys that are not. Raise bookish boys, and sporty boys, and artsy boys. Raise musicians, and doctors, and nurses, and teachers, and race car drivers, and bakers, and artists.

Raise happy boys, as far as you can.

And people, on the same note, support the men in your lives. Ask them how they’re doing, how they’re really doing. Help them and support them where you can, and before they ask. Ask them what their favourite flower is and buy a bunch, play their favourite song and dance with them, read their favourite book, watch their favourite movie, let them steal your hoodie. Call them out on their stress, on their self destruction, intervene when you have to. Don’t take anyones crap, and don’t let anyone give them crap either. Buy them a present ( if you can) because you can. Appreciate that society treats us like shit but, at least in some respects, its not treating them much better.

Be kind to each other guys.

TheSarcastic Blogger