Pretty good footing

Running Part 1.

I have runner’s feet.


And I am okay with this.

(Most of the time.)

I am fine with my blisters and callouses, my rough skin and my high arches. My second toe on both feet remind me a bit of aliens, which is funny to myself and a source of hilarity to Marc.

I really like painting my nails during the summer months, because I think (but really mostly hope) that the colours take the focus away from all of the above.

Because as much as I’d love to think that everyone is as okay with my feet as I am – I cannot begin to imagine that this is the truth.

Last night I was at a dinner party and wasn’t wearing any socks. Incredibly aware of the now long-suffering (and completely innocuous) blood-blister on my left right toe, I felt as though I needed to head the message off at the pass, and immediately told my hosts:

“THAT’S NOT A WART IT’S A BLOOD BLOSTER FROM RUNNING,” while pointing at my foot.

They were suitably caught off guard, and told me that hadn’t even noticed it.

Which made me feel weird having called attention to it in the first place, and then I spent a large portion of the night simultaneously trying to hide my toe, and wondering if they were now, in fact, checking out the blister.

I also have a ridge of callouses that begins on my right big toe, and then migrates down the length of my in-step. I like to call it the Queensborough Ridge, as I think it sounds both regale and fun, and because I regularly run over the Queensborough Bridge on my very long runs.

(I can be such a silly girl.)

Feet truly are such incredible things.

Mine have taken me to some of the most beautiful places in the world. They fit into ridiculous heels, and float about in my favourite pair of men’s oxfords. They are the reason that I can run like the wind and dance like a mad woman, and they are the reason that my husband screams in agony when I put them up against his back in the middle of the night (because they are freezing and he is warm.)

They are awesome.

And I love them.

Running Part 2.

So I think I may have just watched eight episodes of House of Cards?

I can no longer keep count.

I’m really not into the show, I’ve just invested too much time that I need to find out what happens.

Otherwise, URGH.

The one thing I’ll give Clair Underwood is that she has some absolutely badass running outfits. But other than that, she and Frank are just the worst.

And the writing is absolute bollocks.

Double URGH.

When it comes to shows about US political shows, I’ll take Veep over anything else.

But I do want her running outfits.

Running Part 3.

The other morning I was out running before work and a man who was out walking his dog shouted at me, “GIRL YOU’RE MAKING MY DAY!”

Normally I get a little shirty when random men shout things in my direction, but this actually made my little heart smile.

Which is pretty great.

(But good thing he never saw my feet.)

Laugh it up! Laugh it up fuzzball!


First things first –

I am internet famous (kind of!)

Just check out this bio on little ol’ me over at the comedy festival’s website.


And in the immortal words of Rod Stewart: Tonight’s the night!

(Only, you know, without all the sexual stuff.)

Now, excuse me while I jump up and down like the excitable jumping thing that I am.

Friday Fry-up time!

Well that’s offensive.

I was buying my sister a birthday card the other day in Hallmark when I espied these:



First of all, let’s get one thing straight.

Porn is porn is porn.

por·nog·ra·phy /pôrˈnägrəfē/ Noun

Printed or visual material containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity.

This whole idea that women somehow get off on seeing dudes BUY FLOWERS or WIPE A BABY’S BUM is so unbelievably offensive TO BOTH WOMEN AND MEN that it makes me head spin.

Oh yeah…seeing that guy ACT LIKE A HUMAN BEING makes me so hot…I mean, holy crap – a man COOKING!? AND CLEANING TOO?! HOW SEXY IS THAT!?

I need a cold shower just thinking about it!

Like, cuz, those things are normally just for the womenz to do, RIGHT PEEPS?



Just no.

American beauty?

Are you dudes watching House of Cards?

Here are ye olde House of Mad, we are big Netflix connoisseurs and as such we’ve recently started watching this program.

It’s a show that was actually made for Netflix, which is pretty darn cool in and out of itself. I imagine that as viewership of traditional cable continues to drop, more shows will go the way of the live-streaming route.

(Allowing viewers to binge-watch at their leisure.)

Anyway, back to the show. Am I the only person who thinks that Mr. Spacey is a bit of a psychopath? I mean, the dude comes across as creepy as heck.

Also, I never thought I would hate someone as much as Walter White (Breaking Bad), but Francis Underwood is giving him a pretty good run for his money.

And that’s saying quite a bit.

But don’t let that detour you – if you have access to this show do check it out. It’s a pretty good glimpse into how morally bankrupt and incestuous our political systems truly are, not to mention how we’ll probably never know 99.9 per cent of the machinations that take place behind the capital’s closed doors.

Looking at what these horrible (fictional) people do, that gives me one good case of the shivers.

Sister, sister.

Today is my beauty cat of a little sister’s birthday!

She is a firecracker, a butt-kicker, an amazing chef, and a lass who can rock a vintage dress like no other.

I wish so very much that I could be with her today to celebrate this auspicious occasion, but as I cannot, I send her all my biggest and best birthday wishes.

Also, we are very good looking when we hang out together:


Like, the most.

So there you have it my darlings!

I will let you all know how the show goes tonight.

And in return, I’d love to hear how everything is going for you all, wherever in the world that may be.