The first time I realised I was a woman

I was walking home, at night

It was dark, not the kind of dark you get in the countryside,

City dark, big town no city status dark

Streetlights and headlights, and the biting cold

Nipping at the back of your legs

Prickling your skin under your tights

Like needles.


The first time I realised I was a woman I thanked god

For the woman holding onto my arm

And the loud women on either side of us

Because at least we were together

Which meant when a man rolled down his ford fiesta window,

And shouted like an asshole at a football match

At the girl beside me

We could laugh about it.


The second time I realised I was a woman

I was in a club,

It was dark, not outside dark, club dark,

No one to see wandering hands and sharp words dark.

Lights flashing like they’re trying to hypnotise you

And guys talking in riddles, saying one thing and meaning the opposite

Like novice snake charmers, like lion tamers

Like the guys with the whips at roadside animal shows.


The second time I realised I was a woman

Some guy at the same club

Tried to back my friend into a corner

Not realising that she was not drunk enough,

And we were not carless enough,

To let him do anything more than smirk

Before we were between them

And he could see our growling





The third time I realised I was a woman

I walked home alone

With my keys held loose in my hand

My heels louder than my heartbeat

My head held high

Not because I was not scared

But because my fear was a palpable thing around me

A blanket of protection, pricked ears and

The solid feeling of a phone in my pocket


The third time I realised I was a woman

I knew there was nothing I could do

So I promised to text when I got home

And I regretted not attaching that rape alarm to my keys

And I thanked god

That I was not drunk or careless enough

To be a liability


An Ode to My Inner Bitch

My inner bitch is beautiful

Her lipstick is the colour of blood on the throats,

Of men who will not let her finish a sentence.

Her winged eyeliner is tipped with razor blades,

And she wears insults around her neck.


Her hair is thick and long and plaited with my insecurities,

Great flowers of expletives pinned through it.

She wears my confidence as a mini skirt,

And does not shave her legs


An ode to my inner bitch,

She is loud and brash and people take notice when she speaks,

She screams and screams within me

As I lay down and take it again


An ode to my inner bitch,

Whose words run over my lips like a waterfall,

And flood the ears of those who will not listen to me


An ode to my inner bitch,

Who is everything I want to be

And reminds me everyday that bitch

Is just a synonym for strong

A self-involved update

You know when nothing has happened and yet a lot has happened? Yeah.

I suppose I should start by saying it’s February and I’ve yet to fail anything or drop out, so life is good. That being said, the best friend I had so come to rely on has all but faded from my life completely, leaving me for a time entirely distraught. She has taken with her her now definitely someone, my flatmate, my friend, and so I am again left with this feeling of abandonment. It’s been hard.

In her wake I have grown ever closer to the people I live with, I have opened my social circle a little wider, and I better appreciate the other people I have around me. My problem wasn’t that I needed her, or indeed that I was so wrapped up in our friendship that her loss was like a killing blow, my issue is this: she imposed herself on me in those few initial weeks, she was a daily occurrence, a routine and a habit and I loved- love- her dearly, and so when she vanished so quickly it felt like I had done something wrong, it felt like I was rebuffed having not even known I had ventured something rebuffable. It sucked. But I’ve come to realise that I haven’t been rejected, rather she is so caught up and entirely in love with her definitely someone that she did not even consider how her sudden departure from the lives of her friends would feel. And so I forgive her for making me feel alone, and I recognise that if, and when, she wants to be my friend the ball is very much in her court.

The expansion of my circle of friends was interesting, it’s rare that I find myself feeling popular, and yet I am left in the peculiar situation of nearly always knowing someone in the room, nearly always being approached with a smile and a wave, as though I was someone worth knowing. It’s a very nice feeling, very affirming, and I could get used to it. It started when I ran into someone I had met weeks ago, we were friends in the sense that we spent hours together, laughing, drinking, knowing each other. We were friends in the sense that as soon as I met him, as soon as we spoke, I felt like I knew him, we were kindred spirits, kindred cynics. We were not friends in the sense that that night was the first and last time we had spoken before two weeks ago. Now we are friends in the sense that I sit next to him in seminars, and hopefully that means we are friends, truly. He is joined in this new expansion by a man with a German name and an American accent, and a very sweet- if slightly angry- vegan who owes me a bottle of wine. Life’s definitely getting interesting.

It’s honestly been an experience this past few weeks, losing people and then gaining new ones. Hopefully from here on out it’s plain sailing.

I hope you guys have had a good January, lord knows it lasted long enough.


TheSarcastic Blogger

Ps. I got a first in something, go me!

2017- A Summary

The year is almost over and as midnight fast approaches I’m looking back on 2017 so far and you know what? I’m pretty happy all in all.

This year I finished school, and by school I mean sixth form, I got not entirely terrible a-level results, I got into a pretty awesome uni, moved away from home and moved in with people who I hope I will only continue to get closer to. I ditched people, I can’t deny it, and I felt freer and lighter for it (even if it was childish). I grew acquaintances into friends and friends into best friends, and I can hardly figure out how. I signed the contract on a house and I got a new job, I became an adult.

I read a lot and I wrote a lot and I started to consider what I actually want to do with my life. I realised it’s not too late to be whoever I want to be and I recognised that I need help and support. I got better at being selfish, at knowing what I need and what I want. I got better at being selfless, at loving and caring and being the support network for someone else. I discovered the people I want in my life and added to that list everyday. I worked hard, and I tried hard and I didn’t let anyone tell me I couldn’t do what I wanted to.

2017 was a shit show politically, the UK is a little bit fucked and the sheer number of sexual predators in the US is growing by the day, but from a personal pov 2017 wasn’t all that bad.


Until next year.

Wishing you love and prosperity,

TheSarcastic Blogger


Signing Contracts, General Adulting, and Inexplicable Loneliness

This week marks the last week of my first semester of University. I’ve signed my first contract (here meaning I signed the first contract I’ve ever properly read and/ or cared about, I’m sure terms and conditions come under contract law somewhere), I behaved more or less like an adult, and I may or may not find myself slipping back into unhealthy habits and a generalised feeling of supreme loneliness.

Lets start with the fun bit huh? I signed a contract, a good one (well not a good one actually) for a house, a good house (a very good house) and it was stressful and exciting and genuinely terrifying for a minute there. The contract itself was quite possibly the worst thing I have ever read ever (and I’ve read Pamela.) The spelling was atrocious, the grammar was terrible and the fact that at one point one of my flatmates looked like she was gonna cry really only begins to describe how absolutely shhhhhhhocking this piece of writing was. But we signed it anyways. Why I hear you ask? Surely signing a shitty contract is, like, the worst thing ever??????

I mean, you’re not wrong.

But the fact is the house is amazing; good area; close to the uni; round the corner from town, and the main student pub; seven absolutely massive double bedrooms and original Georgian features. With my student debt I’m never gonna be able to live in somewhere as spectacular as this again. So, good contract or shitty contract, I’ll take it.

I’m not going to lie to you, the speed and confidence required to find a property, let alone a solid property for next year, whilst simultaneously dealing with your unchanged work load (and the fact that you can’t be certain of your choice in housemates because there’s months before move-in day) is stressful. House hunting sucks, and you have to answer unknown phone calls and talk to random blokes called Steve from XXX-Properties, who absolutely could run two viewings, but won’t, even if getting seven people with different schedules in one place at the same time is fucking impossible. It is truly terrifying, but needs must.

The less fun part of this semester has been the general adulting required to navigate it. Bus timetables and shopping lists and laundry and assignments with mean word counts. It’s hard, and it makes you want to cry, and then it started snowing, so now you’re sad and cold. Really student life is just a cycle of sad/cold and hot/drunk with some bad R’n’B music, a lot of pasta and some quality time in the library chucked in for variety.

I made a Christmas dinner, that was fun. And it went well. Unbelievably well, actually. I made Brussel sprouts for the first time, and they went so well I even got my veg-phobic flatmate eating them (the secret is pan-frying and smoked garlic, 60p in Morrrisons invest people, invest.) I never truly understood why my Mum drinks wine with dinner until I sat down with a burnt finger, cold potatoes and nine people wearing silver paper hats to eat a minimal amount of chicken and some frankly incredible Brussels. Stress.

Final part of my semester is loneliness, for want of a better word, and bad habits. It’s not so much that I’m alone, although I am and sometimes you notice your singledom more than others, its just that I feel pretty isolated. I’ve never been brilliant with the whole feeling left out thing, I was bullied quite badly as a child and the result was me spending a lot of time alone, as such I tend to get pretty sad and mopey when I feel left out of things. Like my best friends group of friends for example. It’s not necessarily that they don’t like me, although it would probably be best if they did, it’s that they don’t like me enough for me to be included in things, but like me just enough that I know I could ask for an invitation and receive one. Although I’d feel rude and imposter-y the whole time. And because I know they don’t really like me every time I see them I’m on edge; I feel jittery and sweaty and a little bit like a failure and there isn’t really any reason to. And yes, I know I should just talk to her, but old habits die hard and I’m still in the suffering in silence stage of angry-sad.

Also, I’ve started going out more, and that somehow makes me feel lonely too, I didn’t know it was possible to feel more entirely isolated in a humid room full of people and bass, than when you’re actually by yourself; but here I am. I think a big part of it is the separation I feel between me and the other people there. I’m never quite drunk enough, I never feel sexy enough or like my dancing is any good, I never feel in place. And its really fucking tiring. And I think the worst part is how entirely aware I am of how I look as well. Because I know facially I’m not terrible, my skin can be a bit shit and my foundation and my blush don’t always get on but I’m not ugly, sometimes actually I’m quite pretty. It’s not my face, It’s my size. I’m bigger. Not BIG, but bigger, curvy in the right clothes, but flat-out bad looking in the wrong ones. And looking sexy when you’re very aware of you’re own size is hard; you get self-concious and it knocks your confidence and you start wondering if this is why you’re single, and if it is what can you do about it.

So thats my semester in a nutshell, adulting and contracts and feeling lonely. Bad mental health days and Brussel sprouts. It’s been a time.

Until after my next accidental hiatus

Yours with love and Christmas (or Holiday) wishes

TheSarcastic Blogger




Poetry in Motion

I would like to say that my life is a series of poetic moments

held together by the string of chronology.

That I look for the poetry in my life,

the great heart wrenching,

soul swelling,

life affirming moments

that define me.

I would like to say that I have people that fill me,

with a such a warmth,

as though I am my own sun,

my own springtime.

As though the love I feel cannot be contained,

and it bursts forth,

golden beams from my soul,

from my eyes.


the truth,

is that I am without poetry.

My life,

is a series of mundane moments.

A string of the day to day with no variety,

with no love to give me warmth,

with nothing except the reality

of a smile,

of a hug,

of a laugh.

With nothing but the honesty

of a cup of coffee

and a chat on the bus.

With nothing more, and nothing less,

than friendship.

Which maybe, just maybe,

is poetry in motion


To the guy that makes her smile

like the sun has taken up residence behind her eyes

I trust you,

I trust that you will not hurt her

I trust that you know the treasure that now sits in the palm of your hand,

the jewel that sleeps curled up on your chest

I trust that you know her worth as well as I do.

To the guy that makes her gush

like the entire universe is living in her mouth,

I trust you,

I trust that you will keep her safe,

I trust that you will no let harm befall her

and that you yourself are not harmful,

I trust that you know her heart as you know your own.

To the guy that makes her happy,

I trust you,

I know she makes you happy too

Feeling Not OK

It’s a difficult thing to define, feeling not OK. In this case it’s feeling tired and warn down and like I’ve had a very, very long day even though I didn’t get up until 12 and haven’t left the house.

It may or may not have something to do with my realisation that even though I definitely have friends here, people that I genuinely care about and of course my lovely best friend, I don’t really feel, well, OK telling them I’m not alright. I have spent the last half hour debating whether or not I should message said best friend and tell her I’m not OK. One part of me knows she’ll help, she won’t get mad, she won’t get pissy, she won’t tell me I’ve ruined her night and ask me to come talk to her in the morning instead. Because she cares. The rest of me is telling me that she’s a) definitely hanging out with her flatmates (they’re having a movie night) and b) possibly hanging out with her maybe something, (who happens to be a fab guy who will also not get pissy), and thus the notion of sending her something totally out of the blue asking for her support makes me feel guilty. which is really not helping matters, just for the record.

And so, here we are, instead of messaging her, I’m going to write this, and I might even post it.

I’m not OK. I’m not OK because today I had a several hour conversation first over DM and later on the phone with one of my friends from home. Don’t get me wrong I love her, I really do. She’s had a shitty last couple of months and, as much as I feel like sometimes we’re very uneven in the way responsibility and support falls in our relationship, I do genuinely enjoy hearing from her. During the course of this conversation we arranged times she would come up and visit and times I would go home and see her, we figured out, kinda, where the others life is at, I told her I was going to seek some mental health support (which I will as soon as I successfully book an appointment), oh, and another one of my friends (not friend, we are not friends) started weird one sided drama.

The drama got to me. Bad. Some days are better than others and today was a bad day. I honest to God just couldn’t cope. I was sat on the floor of my bedroom verging on a panic attack and trying to keep myself calm enough to remember that she is much, much too far away from me to do anything. It didn’t really help. Then I fought the urge to reach out to my best friend on the basis that she was out watching her flatmate play football and I would feel really terribly, awfully, guilty if I dragged her away. At the same time I really needed her, but I didn’t want to do that, and a tiny terrible self-deprecating part of me honestly believed that even if I messaged her she wouldn’t come, she wouldn’t leave for me. I’m not worth it. And then I felt bad for thinking that of her. Of course she would.

It hasn’t really stopped since then. I feel bad, I feel guilty, I feel like I might cry, or I might shut down at any moment. It probably doesn’t help that I just finished and submitted the first ever film studies essay I have ever done, ever, and It’s at degree level. It probably doesn’t help that today I woke up to a bad day for my mental health and one of my flatmate’s parents in the kitchen. It probably doesn’t help that I spent my first three hours awake today shut up in my room, that I feel like I haven’t seen anyone today and that I’m now (by virtue of that) some kind of social pariah, even though I know full well that no one in my flat has really seen anyone today. It probably doesn’t help that I have a bunch of stuff I was supposed to get done and that I just haven’t done. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve had a headache for the last hour and a half at least. And it definitely doesn’t help that if my best friend is hanging out with her maybe something and her flat at hers tonight that I won’t see her until tomorrow, and I won’t see her maybe something (my flatmate) until tomorrow when he brings two of his mates round, which is a shame, because he is one of the easiest people to be around ever, and right now I feel like even sitting here in the kitchen with one of my other flatmates, my typing the only sound in the room other than the constant hum of the heaters, is taking more effort than it should, and maybe he would alleviate that.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m not OK, and the thought of reaching out to the only person in the world I want to talk to right now is really, really scary. I don’t want to push her away, and I don’t want to feel like I’m relying too heavily on her, but at the same time, I really need her.

But I’m a coward at heart. And so instead I’m going to post this under oversharing, I’m gonna make some dinner that I don’t really want on the basis that I should eat, and I’m going to try and do the required reading for tomorrow before my head explodes.


TheSarcastic Blogger


Kinda Rapey Roommates and Being So Poor You Don’t Even Worry About Money Anymore

So I can now say I have officially been at university for a month, and in that time I have made new friends, gotten impossibly closer to old ones, and somehow lost almost £100 worth of rings. It’s been eventful.

University is one of those weird places where you have to act like you’re at home from day one to really get anywhere. You have to be already friends with your flatmates, which is pretty hard when you haven’t met or spoken to any of them and two of them move in the day after you anyways, you have to be ahead on reading you haven’t been given yet, and kind of aware of how to get home from a club you haven’t visited. But I think I managed, mostly. That is, I definitely managed to make friends (and the other day one of them called me “Queen of the Flat”, so I guess I’m going up in the world), the reading isn’t going great but its been mostly done, and as of yet I haven’t lost a single flatmate on the way home from the club (well, not accidentally at least.)

I have to say the weirdest part of my university experience so far was moving in with three guys and two girls I’d never met before. Now as someone with two sisters moving in with two girls (randoms or not) didn’t worry me at all, I knew I could cope. The issue was the three geezers, but two out the three are totally sound and having lived with both of them for a month its strange to imagine not living with them really. Coming in to see one or both of them in the kitchen looking entirely too tired to be awake is a key part of my day, and I look forward to talking to both of them, the third is a bit hit and miss. Hence the title. Now I should stress that I do not take that term lightly, and I do not for a minute think he is genuinely capable of anything truly violent or even mildly aggressive, BUT… I’ve tried other adjectives and that’s the only one that really fits. He’s a bit rapey, bit creepy, bit… weird.

I’m not the only one that’s struggled with rapey flatmates, I was lucky enough to move to uni with my best mate, and having her with me every step of this month was god’s gift. I’ve become impossibly closer to her and cannot imagine not hearing from her everyday, it’s incredible how relationships grow when you’re both under pressure, and I can’t imagine loving this girl more. Now, rather unfortunately for her she is also stuck with a rapey roomie, this bloke is big enough and oblivious enough to be just a little worrying. He also has a nasty habit of black marking nights out if he can’t find any single girls to creep on. But her flat’s keeping an eye, an ear and a restraining hand on him, so I’m not worried.

In fact the only thing I’m even a bit worried about is the fact I am so entirely skint I can’t even afford to think about it. And I managed to lose almost £100 worth of rings fuck knows where?????!!!!!!!!! And fuck knows how. But hey ho. Freshers is supposed to be a shit show right? (The worst part was I lost the rings totally sober, and I spent the money on more boring things than VKs, like books.)

If you’re ever in the position, or inclination, to go to University you absolutely should,


TheSarcastic Blogger




Kindred spirits

When most people declare a new friend a kindred spirit they mean they’re the kind of people they could go to weird glittery festivals with, and whilst I’m sure I could drag my new friends to glittery festivals, thats not quite what I mean.

If the title of this blog, and my multiple rants, haven’t yet tipped you off I’m a sarcastic, bitchy student, who’s too poor and too fed up with life to properly express any form of optimism, or hope, or positivity. At least not on the internet. And I’ll tell you what, these people are my people. Biting. Sarcastic. Funny. Sweet. Brilliant.

Kindred spirits. Lets hope they stay that way.

Be kind to each other, make friends, find kindred spirits,


TheSarcastic Blogger.