Diamonds and Dysons - My Happiness Non Negotiables

When I was tasked to write about my happiness non-negotiables, I thought it would be easy, but I ended up thinking more about `why` certain things made me happy - what they did that made me actually "happy" and content - why they had the innate power to do so.

I'm not sure what I, as someone with intermittent depression and panic disorder, even mean by happiness. Even at my most depressed, I have experienced happiness or joy. If material objects make us happy, does that mean someone with "nothing" (eg latest gadget, expensive handbag, gig tickets) is not happy. Is happiness a state of being - does it mean being "not-sad" or does it mean "content"? 

If it means the opposite of sad - "not-sad"- does that mean that rather than being elated with our life it more about being "satisfied" or content with our lot in life - whether that be a 40 bedroom mansion or mud hut? It's often said that money can't buy happiness, but it certainly makes life much easier and can reduce worries leaving a person "not sad".  I guess, for this post, I went with what keeps me on an even keel and helps me enjoy the good things in my life. whether I'm simply content, or euphoric at times.

Let's assume that we know that the basics are covered - food/water, shelter/safety, good health. Those are standard requirements and in any context or time in my life, have not caused me worry - thus creating a feeling of "not sad". Ditto with books, music, good relationships and good food/wine - things that nourish the soul, regardless of how much they change within my lifetime - the books that make me happy as an adult, would not have made me happy aged 5. 

So then, what are my happiness non negotiables and what have they got to do with vacuums and jewellery. They break down into 3 main areas.

Depression + Anxiety in Pregnancy 1: Early Days

*This is the first in a series of 4 posts on my experience of depression and anxiety in pregnancy. I hope it is useful and helpful for people to read about, much as this brave post helped me. Warning - trigger post, self harming, risks in pregnancy, mental health*

 Mental health during pregnancy is not talked about - either in books or online anywhere near as much as it should be. I have a history of mental health issues - mostly depression, anxiety, panic attacks and self-harming. All sounding like a great basis from which to become a mum (!) but I've always wanted kids and wanted to be well for them.

Looking back at my pregnancy as a whole, I can see I was subconsciously in denial about being pregnant. I spent most of my pregnancy terrified and anxious - for various rational and irrational reasons. I often felt extreme fear that I just wasn't going to be good enough for this. I wasn't going to be "perfect". 

I felt I was failing because I wasn't dealing with the pregnancy symptoms "well enough". I compared myself to other mums who seemed to carry on as normal when just wanted to lie down in a dark room for the entire time. I beat myself up for for finishing work at 34 weeks not 36 or 37 "like everyone else" because I couldn't cope anymore. I felt inadequate and unprepared for the demands on me - mentally and physically. 

I bought and read a couple of "what to expect when you're expecting" type books. They had sections on colouring your hair in pregnancy, or continuing with botox. The mental health sections were minimal, useless to me. Pregnancy changes you hugely - and with the force of a sledgehammer. There was no going back, I couldn't stop what was happening.

Despite all this, i loved my unborn son with a fierce passion. I talked to him all the time, I played him a lot of music, maybe not the recommended genres (why hello there Rage Against the Machine), I was so excited to feel him wriggle and kick and battle away inside me. And on my psychiatric notes, it was commented that I'd bonded well in pregnancy. So one thing I was doing well. 

Me with small bump 

I knew I was pregnant very early - and this only fueled my anxiety, instead of waiting an extra week or so to test. When I spotted for the first few weeks of  I was crazed with worry that I'd done something wrong. We had a scan at 5weeks - before the heart develops. They could tell very little and could I come back in a couple of weeks? Our next scan was on Valentines day. Everything was fine, I needn't have worried. But nothing stopped the ravenous terror inside me.

I didn't have the best start to having good mental health during my pregnancy. I had to come off my anti-depressants as a major side effect was nausea - this, combined with morning sickness was not fun! Also despite my GP knowing my mental state, I wasn't referred to the specialist pregnancy mental health team at St Thomas' in London, until my lovely midwife (hi there Streatham Valley team) pushed for my referral and spent an hour listening to my worries and history. 

It was humiliating having to list my past mental health trials and tribulations but I put myself through it because I so wanted to be well for my baby and to be the best mum I could be. I put a lot of pressure on myself throughout my pregnancy in this way. (Here's a post on depression from me). I wasn't convinced that anyone could or even would deem me worthy of help but I was very scared of going through my pregnancy at my current level of paranoia and anxiety. Which in itself was a vicious cycle.

Want to know what happened next? Here's part two, part three and part four!

A letter to my teenage self

*Warning, this post may have triggers around thoughts of suicide and self-harm*

Dear Stupidgirl45,

I see you, aged 15, sitting on your bed, wondering if you'll always be this lonely, unable to imagine a life past school, a life as an adult. Feeling invisible, as if you might just dissolve and no one would even notice. I see you doubting whether you are likeable, or clever, or pretty. Wondering if popularity is all that matters. Itching to be accepted but wanting to be different. 

I see you wishing you had the guts to kill yourself. Contemplating pills or razor blades. Researching the correct way to cut, wondering if you could swallow *that* many tablets. But not wanting your family to find you and also, the humiliation of the possibility of failure. Of people knowing that you were so useless, you couldn't even kill yourself properly. Feeling like you lack the guts to try, not knowing that your instinct for survival is stronger than you think.

I see you cry, I feel your pain, I watch scars from cutting heal up as if it never happened. I know you wonder, is this really it?  can I ever hope for more? will i always be on the outside looking in? and finding it hard to believe that the lives you read about in books really happen to people. I know you think you're worthless and ugly, of no value or importance, that it terrifies you to speak to people - to strangers, to order a drink in a shop.

I see you, I hear you and I know you. I am you and clichéd as it sounds, I promise it gets better, You will learn to apply liquid eye liner. You will grow boobs. And one day, to the right people, to the people that matter you will be really very incredibly important to them. But mostly one day you will have some confidence and some shreds of self-esteem. You will survive this, this nuclear landscape that your social life is now. You will not be a pariah forever, and things that matter now - about being a homogeneous clone - will drop away. 

The things that make you different now, that make you value yourself so little, will become what makes you distinctive - apart but apart on your own terms. You'll learn, again a cliché, that being different is good - and that it takes strength to be different, to strike out on your own and form your own identity and thoughts. And not give a fuck.

You won't die, you won't dissolve and you won't give up. You didn't give up on life back then and now you treasure it so you don't give up on what matters now - relationships, passions, work. You fight, and it might make you tough but you're soft where it counts, not just round the middle but inside where it matters. You might be building up those walls now, but in time, for the right people, you can take them right back down again.

So don't give up, don't despair. Life is out there and when you've finished surviving, you're going to be grabbing it with both hands and hugging it to your scarred heart. Winged eye liner, boobs and all.

Thank you and good night,

Stupidgirl has left the building

PS This post was inspired by this very touching (and much cheerier) post by @jumprunscrap about her dreams for her daughter. It's very good reading.

Three Tantrums and and a Red Pen

I wanted to update on how I'm feeling after this post. To be clear, as I said in it, it was not a cry for help. I simply blogged how I was that day as part of my #nofilter series. And I'm okay, honest guv!

It was just a last straw day where lots of things I've been juggling, weren't juggle-able that day. I was tired and fed up and so I cried on the train home from work. Not massively and only for a few minutes. 

For me to have been a bit tearful when things got on top of me, is a huge achievement after years battling with depression and anxiety. I cried on the train instead of going home and persuading myself not to self harm (or just going ahead and doing it). 

I couldn't deal as well as normal with stuff because I had 10 hours sleep in 52 at one point this week due to toddler ill-health. And I had to go to work. And parent my (sick) toddler. And I'm not alone in this type of parenting experience. 

I think it's really important to be able to be honest about how shitty parenting is at times. As much as I utterly adore Baby45 more than anything else (especially sleep) I'm not going to paint a rose tinted version of parenthood because it's not always like that and it can put a lot of pressure on parents to ALWAYS BE SMILEY AND HAPPY.

It's hard work because to me it's a really important job. Everything you do has an affect on them. So if you're trying to do the best job you can and go to bed most nights fretting about how you fucked up today in some tiny capacity and hope to do better tomorrow, it's hard to love every minute. 

I'm sorry but I didn't love the tantrum today because I wouldn't let Baby45 have my (hard earned) piece of cake or because I thought he should wear trousers (it's 5 degrees out) or because I wouldn't let him push the buggy by himself next to a very busy road. 

I wasn't depriving him of these things on a whim (well, maybe the cake...) but because I have his best interests at heart (keeping warm, not being hit by a car...) But I still try to keep calm and attempt to help him deal with his emotions - and control mine inside as I'm the adult not the kid.

So you know, parenting can be tough. It sucks at times. That doesn't mean you love your child any less. It doesn't mean you don't want constantly to be better. It just means you're human. So if you too have had a tough day or week or month or you're just generally struggling a bit...take heart from the fact that most of the rest of us often are too. 

Thank you and good night,

Stupidgirl has left the building

PS. Despite all the drama, kids always do something to make it all utterly worth it. Here's a gem from this morning Chez 45...After an ominous silence OH walked into our study to find Baby45 wielding a red marker pen, scribbling away "I writing an email daddy". Passes over scribbled on business card "there go, sent!"

End of Tether

So aside from the whole #nofilter thing referring to house/style/parenting and health, I think it also refers to attitude. And apparently one cannot always be upbeat. Despite being well set up for the day - lie in, snow, make up, nice outfit, toddler had minimal tantrums, trains on time, space in coffee shop and wifi, I was worried I wouldn't find something no filter worthy aside from a less-messy house.

Well I was wrong. My mood today, if it was a colour, would be a sort of Rothko-esque, muddy shades of brown fading into deepest dog turd. Not sure that's something you're ever likely to see hanging in the Tate. I wonder if Rothko ever did a brown series, imagine a series of poo shaded colour charts.

Anyway, I'm being deliberately evasive, because as ever I'm not loving talking about feeling pretty rubbish today. So here's a quick recap - I have depression, anxiety and I'm an ex-self harmer. Joyous isn't it. You can read more here on why I outed myself as having mental health issues. Scariest post I ever wrote, that one. Today my mood change surprised me. I'm not entirely sure what triggered it.

I guess lack of sleep was the biggest thing - I had 10 hours sleep between Monday morning and midnight wednesday. I feel like I haven't been the most patient mummy either despite sleeping with Baby45 in the bed both nights to help him sleep and sitting with him until he fell asleep at bedtime. And then there's other stuff going on, I won't elaborate, nothing major but just at a low level just grinds you down.

Everything just feels gray and bleugh and meh. Descriptive I know. But it's hard to describe. Also this is not a cry for help. This is just a bit of a day-in-the-life. I had a down day. Sometimes they're pretty shit. Sometimes not so much. Sometimes it leads into a full blown depressive episode. I don't know which this is but it's a #nofilters post about how I felt today.

So anyway I cried on the train home this even. But hey, I don't think anyone noticed, I totally styled it out by putting up my furry hood and looking like an overgrown emo. And I listened to Arcade Fire at full volume. I've not really done much this evening but seeing a friend and having a laugh has cheered me up.

I know this isn't the greatest blog post either - but I'm pleased I've blogged every day of February so far. I think I'm starting to see this as being like training in a sport. You have good days, amazing days, bad days and mediocre days - but as long as you still get your ass out there, that's the main thing. So if you're still out there reading, thanks for sticking with me on my off colour #nofilter day. I hope tomorrow is better.

Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building

PS Trailer for the new Magic Mike movie here - this did cheer me up. You're welcome :P

Outing myself - Mental Health 101

**Warning** This is a) a really really really long post (sorry!) possibly the longest I've written, if you stick with it, thank you, but also b) it might have some triggers for people with depression/anxiety/self harm. Just wanted to flag that up now

It's hard to explain depression to people who don't have it. I don't really talk about it much, even to those closest to me. It's like something that's just locked up inside my head and it's hard to put into actual meaningful words, because doing that means thinking about it all and that's kind of painful. And also, humiliating. 

I've alluded to my depression and anxiety a fair few times on this blog and toyed with doing " a day in the life" type post. But when I'm having a bad day, the last thing I want to do it write about it. But when sad sad things like Robin Williams' suicide happen, I realise that I have a voice - and a mouth piece in this blog - and the more that people with depression are able to open up about it, the less lonely those who don't talk about it feel and the easier it is for those to understand who don't have it. (wow that was a long sentence...)

For a long time I didn't realise I had depression or the way I felt was different from everyone else. I mean yes I'd been to the GP a few times over the years but I just couldn't face talking about some of the things I thought about. The way I hated myself so much it was just built into my psyche, I couldn't imagine not feeling that way. How I didn't so much want to die or commit suicide so much as just simply not exist. Because it was just too hard. 

Nanoo Nanoo - Goodnight, travel well.....

The news about Robin Williams' passing is all over the media today. And it's just really, really sad. I thought I'd blog about it because of something that someone said at work today. They wanted to know why everyone was just so upset about  Robin Williams when there was so much other stuff going on across the world (Gaza, Syria, ISIS, Ebola....to name a few.)

And I thought about it because, fair enough, at the moment a lot of people - a lot of children especially - are going through some terrible, terrible things. But first, that doesn't take away from the grief of the Williams' family, who have just lost a much loved husband/father/brother/son/friend etc. But also for us, his fans, his audience, we have lost too.

And by fan, I don't mean autograph book wielding loon. I mean anyone really, anyone who has been touched by Williams' outstanding performances in any of his films - from Disney through to When Dreams May Come via Jumaniji, Mrs Doubtfire, Good Will Hunting and of course, Dead Poets' Society to name a few.

No, we are saddened by Williams' passing because we have lost a rare talent that provided a chink of light in the darkest of days. With poignant bittersweet humour, displayed in almost every role he had, Williams made all of us who watched him (and presumably those fortunate enough to know him in real life) feel like we were never alone and that there was always hope - and always a smile and humour.

So what makes it worse is to know that despite all this love, life was still just too painful for him. It's just so sad. But like he says in Good Will Hunting, it's not your fault Robin. Depression is a fucker, it really and truly is, I know first hand. 

I don't want this to be a post about me and my depression, but also I wanted to properly "out" myself as someone with mental health issues. So if you're interested in a little snippet of what it's like in the dark parts of my brain, it's coming up after these messages, in another post.

And Robin, to paraphrase your line in Good Morning, Vietnam. "Oh" is for "oh" you were taken too early, but I hope the sun is shining where you are. 

Thank you and good night,

Stupidgirl has left the building

Good-bye To All That - Word of The Week

(Goodbye n: Used to express an acknowledgment of parting. Ety: derived from the phrase "God be with you. Earlier forms of the expression,  God be wy you, god b'w'y, godbwye, god buy' ye, and good-b'wy)


I am standing on a train, pulling out of the station, watching a figure waving to me from the platform. The setting sun silhouettes her against the mountains. She is smiling and we are saying goodbye. I do not think we will ever see each other again and the golden light that surrounds us feels like a blessing. It's okay to say goodbye and to be leaving part of myself behind.


She is so young, so hopeful - and so happy for me. I have never seen her smile before, or feel anything other than numb. Her hair drifts in the breeze and rush from the train but she does not push it behind her ears. I can see her squinting in the light to see me, from behind thick, clunky glasses. Normally so awkward and clumsy, in this moment of parting I see her for who she really is; beautiful. She is finally serene and at peace, no longer hurting or fearful. We are no longer the same person and although the parting has been painful - we have been so close, so inextricably entwined for so many years - it is the right thing to do.


As when any relationship ends, we have moved through the process first of denial, then anger, bargaining, grief and now we have reached acceptance. It has been a hard. gruelling journey. We were stuck in denial for so long we didn't even realise we'd decided to split. But then the anger finally hit and I knew we were on our way. The exhaustion of living a life in fear and anxiety, when one person gets fed up of the other, there is nothing left do but leave. And though the leaving hurts so much - and you question the decision you've made - when you get to the other side you know you've made the right decision. We don't love each other anymore - I don't think we ever did. I need to love myself for who I am now - and not how I was then, which is why I'm leaving her behind and getting on with the rest of my life.


I've pictured myself on this train many times and I've had the sensation that I've been travelling someplace, but I've never felt in control or certain of what was happening. But now I've been able to see what's I'm leaving behind and more importantly, I can see what's up ahead. And that's not clear, but  seeing it for the first time, makes me realise that for once, I'm optimistic about the future.

Behind the Masks - Word of The Week

(Identity n: The collective aspect of the set of characteristics by which a thing is definitively recognizable or known, The distinct personality of an individual regarded as a persisting entity; individuality. Ety: from Latin idem, the same, being, and identidem, repeatedly, from id, it; see i- in Indo-European roots.)

Tonight's WoTW is a bit naughty of me. As some of you might know, I've been seeing a counselor to deal with my er, black dog issues. She knows I write this blog and she asked me to write a blog post on `identity` as my homework for our next session. However, I don't think she expected me to post this online.

So, identity - it's something that I think I'm becoming more and more aware of as I wade deeper into that pool that calls itself `Social Media`. Increasingly it seems, we are required to define ourselves - and as briefly as possible, from the elevator speech to Twitter's 140 character limit on profile descriptions. Who are we - or more importantly how do we wish to be perceived? Sometimes I don't even think that people are conscious of their words coming to define themselves. 

Something I've noticed a lot on Twitter is that women seem to define themselves predominantly by their relationships to others; I would say 60% of the women I follow do this. Their profile definition is always `wife/mother/sister/daugher/aunt` etc. Clearly these relationships are very important to them - as they are to the majority of us - but do they come to define you as a person and are they the first thing that you want people to notice about you? 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder - My Top 10 Works of Art

Evening everyone, can't believe it's sunday evening *again*, how did that happen? This weekend has flown by even though I've not done much except chores, visit the mothership and eat. Hey ho, onwards and upwards (clicks neck boxer style) `bring it ON, monday`. However before we get to monday, perhaps you might like to see this week's top 10 list. I've gone for an art theme this time - and again as with poetry and love songs, I don't claim to have hugely original taste, but hopefully there will be something on here you've not see before. Anyhoo, let's get on with the show

1. Flaming June by Lord Leighton
This is, without doubt, one of my favourite paintings, ever! And I don't even like the colour orange. I've blogged about Leighton - and how you can visit his house - before, but this picture speaks for itself and no trite comments from me can really do it justice. However...all I can say is that there is so much more to this picture than meets the eye, I love the images in the background, I love the curve and heft of June's thigh. This painting is at once sensous and also, given that June is sleeping, seems oddly innocent, It's a painting I always find myself drawn to over the years. For proper info on the painting, click here

2. Guernica - Picasso
I'd never even heard of this painting before I read the book of the same name - and about the same incident - by Dave Boling. Both the book and the painting are incredibly moving and Picasso's talent at rendering the effect of war on innocent civilians seems to transcend his regular genius! The painting I believe, is now seen as a potent anti-war symbol and an `embodiment of peace`. Whatever you see when you look at it, I think that this painting changes your perception of war forever.

3. The Kiss - Klimt
There's lots of proper analysis of this painting online, but for me it perfectly embodies love and sex at the same time. I know that really the man + woman are wearing separate outfits but when you first look at the picture it seems as though they are wrapped up in an intricate blanket of gold. It is an incredibly intimate picture - I feel almost voyeuristic looking at it, so wrapped up are the couple. Oh, it's just so beautiful - and it's a visual representation of how I feel when I'm with husbando. PS Check out the link to wikipedia (above) for how this painting is also, apparently, a penis...

4. Four Darks in Red - Rothko
I never really `got` abstract art properly until I went to the Rothko exhibition at the Tate a few years ago. And then I fell head over heels in love with Rothko. Looking at one - or several - of his paintings at a time made me almost dizzy with colour. It sounds kinda weird but I wasn't sure if the paintings were inside or outside of me. The colour was so intense it felt three dimensional, the paintings seem to wrap themselves around you. Anyway...I've picked Four Darks in Red simply because the maroon hues felt so friendly and comforting to me, but really Rothko's works need to appreciated in bulk because that way you get their true, transcendent affect.

5. Girl With A Pearl Earring - Vermeer 
Not the most original choice, I give you that, but something about this painting just really gets to me. I love the expression on the girl's face - and the look in her eyes. I'm not sure it's as overtly sexy as the book/film would lead us to believe, there is something in her knowing gaze. Aside from the girl herself, what I also love about this picture is the light that plays across it even though the background is black. Where is the light source and why does it make the girl glow? Finally, the blue of her headscarf is just so beautiful.

6. Ophelia - Millais
I don't have anything big or clever to say about this painting, I just think the intricate detail of the riverbank and the use of colour makes it so very beautiful. Ophelia, as we know is, a character from Hamlet and her death is described by Queen Gertrude. Although the painting is almost photographic in its clarity, the patterns and colours used actually remind me of the clothing in Klimt's Kiss (above). What do you think?

7. The Scream - Munch
I'd like to quote Munch himself on the inspiration for this painting:
"I was walking along a path with two friends – the sun was setting – suddenly the sky turned blood red – I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence – there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city – my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety – and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature."

Again this is another painting that means something different to every single person who sees it but I think we can all relate to that desire to suddenly stop in the middle of everything and just let out this scream. For me it would be a scream made up of equal parts terror, sorrow, anger and frustration. It is a scream of tiredness and also clearly a cry for help. I've read before that this painting is a visual representation of depression and mental health issues and certainly that chimes with my feelings about it.

8. The Lady of Shalott - Waterhouse

This is a fabulous, all consuming painting, I feel like I am standing on the water's edge watching her pass by. Also I am assuming you're all familiar with the poem `Lady of Shalott` by Tennyson which is an awesome poem and one that nearly made it onto the poetry top 10. Anyway, the painting! Colour, shape, detail - it's all there. I used to have a big poster of this painting pinned up on my bedroom wall (around the same time as my River Phoenix RIP poster which I used to kiss goodnight....I *was* 14) and so the first thing I saw every morning when i woke up was the Lady of Shalott. Whenever I see this painting, it's like greeting an old friend.

9. Marilyn Monroe Diptych - Andy Warhol

I love Andy Warhol's pop art images - in particular the Campbell soup can work - but the Marilyn prints are the ultimate in pop art in my opinion. One of the worlds greatest cinematic actresses immortalised on canvas by the genius that is Warhol. I know that this print is everywhere - and so can get a little tired from time to time *but* it's rare that you actually get to see the diptych in its entirety - colour and black + white. I didn't realise that the images were created soon after Marilyn's death and so the idea that each side of the diptych represent both her life and her mortality is fascinating to me. Plus I've always had a bit of a girl crush on Ms. Monroe, so I'd love to own a copy of the diptych!

10. The Kiss - Rodin

I thought I'd finish with a bit of sculpture and what better than a spot of erotic romance from Mr Rodin. It's such a lovely piece, the way they're entwined around each other. Apparently the piece was originally quite shocking for its representation of a woman being an active partner in the act of love - and no longer passive. I was also surprised to learn that the sculpture was also designed to be part of a larger work by Rodin entitled "The Gates of Hell" - in which our amorous couple are in the second circle representing a 13th century noble woman who falls in love with her husband's brother. Without knowing all the background history, this piece always makes me smile.

So that's it - that's my list! I hope you liked it and please do talk about your favourites in the comments section - I love to look at new pieces. Also thanks to the following tweeps, who kindly suggested + recommended their favourite works of art - if you don't follow these people - you should!

@hecate1979

@MelancholieC

@copperhobnob

@ZaphodCamden

@veronica_henry

@nicoleg75

@jenblacker

@jenniferri

Hope you all have great weeks this week and I'll be back on Wednesday with WoTW!

Thank you and goodnight

Stupidgirl has left the building

The Black Dog

Well this is a cheery second post. The black dog. The death of Nicholas Hughes got me thinking about this one. In case you don't know, Nicholas Hughes is the son of Sylvia Plath + Ted Hughes. It must be genetic - the urge to stick one's head in a gas oven and other legacies to leave your children.

Is depression genetic? That blanket of lethargy that settles over your mind like gray candy floss. Its something that affects everyone differently. I've always thought depression is a luxury. Albeit one I've suffered from and most of my family. And I guilt trip myself by thinking *well you know the starving millions in africa don't have depression*. Sort of the grown up version of *eat your food - there are starving children in Africa* . And I've read all the feminist depression literature as per most pre and post grunge girls. Prozac Nation. The Bell Jar. The Edible Woman. All strange and yet familiar in their own way.

I am not sure this is the greatest topic for my second post. But at least I'm writing. 546 words on the last post. Better than nothing.

Today, also in my head - names for characters. Kind of like naming your children. But without the nuisance of actually having to have another person's input.

Tallulah
Ava
Naomi
Ari
Harlow
Minnaloushe (yes I know this is actually a male name)

I'm on a bit of a silver-screen trip with this one. And clearly these characters wouldn't get far. Probably not much further than the nearest gin bottle with names like these. And they'd be so bored without any men. I'm not much good with male characters it would seem. I would write an entirely female novel. But that's been done.
And besides a book featuring characters named after silver screen stars, with gin and lots of lingerie. That could lead to an entirely different sort of novel. Which would probably sell loads actually. Maybe that's where I'm going wrong. Is that a new genre? Pin up porn?

Well who knows. On that note, I think i'd better go. A post that covers gin, porn, depression and allusions to lesbianism is hard to beat. Thank you and good night.

Stupidgirl has left the building