Merry what?

Christmas is a time for giving and seeing as I ain’t giving anyone shit apart from me existing on this planet and touching lives and people inappropriately as I meander through my ‘late twenties’, I feel my Christmas should be aptly named Encouraged Indulgence as it is only acceptable at this time of year AND encouraged. 
From January to early December there are rules and restrictions thrown in your face the day January kicks in to gear.
“Now the holiday period is over, start the year right and shed those unwanted kilos from Christmas indulgence!” 

“Make your new year resolution matter and cut back on the calories today!”Then comes March, April, May – Easter and other such bullshit. The endless public holidays and long weekends. 

“Indulged in too many chocolate Easter eggs? Try *insert new gym class or juice cleanse here* today!”

May is fine, my birthday is thrown in there for good measure (and one day I will be loved enough by the people to have a surprise party thrown in my honor and carried around on a chair while people smash plates around me, linking arms and dancing. Or is that a Bat Mitzvah that I’ve seen in a movie? Either way, it looks cool and I want it) 

June, July, August, September…. For us kids in New Zealand this is autumn and winter time setting in…. Boring unless you love going down south for snow activities and such. But if you’re like me you will carry on as normal, eating and drinking your way through anything and everything in sight, layering up my clothes badly because I refuse to admit winter happens, so I never have the appropriate and fashionable cold weather clothing options that my friends do. I just end up looking like the garbage lady in the Labyrinth who gives Sarah the soft toys, telling her she will need them for her journey.   All the while the subtle hints are beginning to drop… festival season and summer is creeping up from behind our wintery white cottage cheese bodies.

October, November and early December are riddled with the summer ready-summer body-summer impending doom-whitewash reminding us that soon it will be well and truly upon us at the flick of a cellulite thigh. Once again, summer for New Zealander’s means Christmas time.  That means for me, malls jammed to the rafters with noddies shuffling about having a difficult time in deciding whether to buy their loved one the mirror tiled mosaic photo frame with ‘love, laugh, live’ scrawled on it in comic sans or the Turkish brothel smelling scented candle in the shape of a high heel shoe. 

It means the bad taste boyfriends spend an extortionate amount of money at Pandora to support their girlfriend’s equally terrible fashion sense. 

It means Dads wearing comedic aprons whilst manning the BBQ with a picture of a muscular body and slogans like “kiss the chef”.

It also means the indulgence that comes with the ‘silly season’. A type of indulgence that I expertly practice all year round. So I use Christmas as a time to reflect on my no holds bared indulgence and look forward to the stories I will create with myself in the coming new year.   Indulgence. Indulgence. Indulgence. 

Good word isn’t it? So good that it reminds me of all the weddings I have ever been to, I get so excited about the free food and champagne that I eat absolutely EVERYTHING I can get my hands on and drink on an equal scale, resulting in me vomiting before the night is even half way through. 

Opening a block of choc or cookies is not about me having one or two – I’m an all or nothing kinda gal. 3 blocks of chocolate and 1 packet of Oreos later whilst on a road trip by myself resulted in a road side chunder at 12 in the afternoon while fellow motorists beeped at me as they went past. 

Now, there’s plenty more where that came from and I feel I completely lost the point to this pointless story anyway, so as I lie here typing, on the top floor of a two story beachfront villa in southern Sri Lanka, trying not to lift my head too far like a hungover person trying to drink Powerade in bed, I will sign off. 

Signing off for the year, the 2015 that we know and love slash hate like swapping stories about losing your virginity. 

Signing off to sign on to another debaucherous, adventure filled year that I hope to live out with a soundtrack of Foals and Tame Impala, with soft lighting and all my hot friends dancing with careless abandon, throwing their glossy haired heads back with laughter like the perfect tampon ad. 


Life is too short to be vegetarian and spend too much time at the gym.

Love from,


Life with Jones

I didn’t finish high school and I didn’t go to university but sometimes I see those cool as photos of people and their families when someone graduates from uni, and they’re wearing those fun hats and wizards capes holding extremely large bunches of flowers and I’m all like, that’s so great, I wish I did lots of after school activities like you, then I remember where I am – driving through Johor Bahru sans wizards cape and hat, with equally cool mates, listening to Madonna at full tit, lolling about in the back seat after too many red wines and D&M’s, dreaming about Mc Donald’s drive through, thinking that I might be ok and that Griffendor would accept me.