The 7 year bitch.

7 years ago today, it was the day of atonement. A crowd of us were busier than I’d ever been, atoning the shit out of ourselves. Some of my favourite people got more wankered than I thought they could. I put on the kind of dress you can’t wear twice and I took my arse to church, slightly pissed. I married a man wearing a Dr Who (David Tenant ) style suit and white converse. When others cry for joy, I grinned and giggled my fat arse through it.

17 years ago today, I left London in avoidance of work. Taking up residence with my new found freedom up north. Uni taught me that almost everyone is richer, smarter and prettier than me. I learned not to care because none of them were anywhere near as cool as me. I learned you don’t have to do that much work to get a degree and that I feel freer in the countryside than I ever could the city. The most important thing I learned was that meeting someone randomly one day, can really change your life. And even though they might not be so, the best things in life will feel predestined.

This time last year he moved out and by this time next year i’m sure we will be divorced.

I always loved autumn the best. The start of a time of year i prefer to summer. I don’t know when this began but i know it was long before i’d known him. I loved that the gently falling brown leaves held a weighty romantic significance: i reveled in it. I know now that life dried the bloom out of those leaves and the process, though painful, holds a kind of majesty that its hard to ignore.

There comes a time when you stop being all the things you once were. I am no longer a student. I am no longer a girl. I am no longer married and no longer will i cling to the romance of nostalgia and pain as though it’s the only thing that gives me worth. I’ll throw it out with the other things I no longer need. And hope to fuck i have nothing else bad to come. I hope to buggery that I have atoned for all my sins with my fair share of rotten shitting luck.

I’m looking forward to a winter of smiles. No more slowly pacing down the isle with a pause between each step, the snow-white deceit of the dress holding me upright and giving me confidence.Instead i’ll adopt the nature of that great white bear, moving slowly with grace and threat, no longer afraid, protected from the cold. And perhaps i’ll develop instead a genuine love of Christmas. Who knows, stranger things have happened.


Not just for the L of it.


Sexuality is fluid: like the pouring of a cold coke on a hot day. And haven’t I always said that ‘it’s about the peanut and not the shell’? So this new romance shouldn’t surprise those that know me. And if it does, well, what can I say, life is full of surprises.

So I fell for someone who wasn’t Phil. I never thought that would be possible. I didn’t want it to be possible, because moving on means you’re really finished…and I’ve never been good with endings. God knows I’ve said goodbye to too many people to now start doing it willingly. But life is a constant lesson in impermanence, and I feel like I’m learning it the hard way. He went one way, and I went the other. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Looking over my shoulder constantly, remembering how sweet it used to be…before either of us knew really what devastation was. I drag myself forward kicking and screaming, the way my mother took me to school every day. I brat it up big style, sulking my fucking socks off till finally I look up: huffy, over the top of my glasses, arms folded, chin squashed to tits and what do I see? Something that was already there to begin with, right under my nose. The sympathetic blue of her eyes met with the begrudging brunt of my brown. A shining smiling patient beautiful soul that always saw something other than just darkness within me. Offering her hand, ‘come on you silly cow, get up’. And she was there. More ‘there’ than I ever allowed a friend to be. And although it took me a while, eventually I took her hand.

It’s been that way ever since. And now everyone knows about it and fuck knows what they really think but I’m not going to ask because quite frankly….I couldn’t give a flying fuck. Nope. Not one. I really couldn’t. All they really need to know is I’m happy…after a really long time. I’m happy. And no happiness it isn’t conducive to dark edgy writing and god knows this gay new image doesn’t suit the sorrow that’s been my shawl for so long. But fuck it, it’s what I need and it’s what I want. That should be all that matters but I know it isn’t always going to be to everyone, to some of the people who love me the most, to random fuckwits on the street. But I’m not repentant and I’m certainly not reluctant, instead I’m revelling in this romance that leaves me swooning like a sap and I’ll do everything I did when I dated a guy. I’ll hold hands in public, I wont refer to her ambiguously as my ‘partner’ or my ‘friend’ and I wont suddenly crop my long locks dyke short and act all geeze, ogling everybody’s tits thinking I can get away with it because I’m a girl. No I won’t, because my friends, this isn’t a political movement, it’s an eternal moment. It’s a romance between two souls and when all’s said and done surely THAT is the meaning of life. I don’t kiss her soft pink lips to make a political point. I don’t flaunt my attraction for her to show off or get attention or to rub anyone’s nose in it. I do it because it feels natural and it should be taken so. I do it because a new romance should always piss people off and nauseate with its cutesiness. A new romance is something to be thankful for because your friends can now stop worrying about you being bereft of a kindred. They can rest easy, knowing you’re looked after and the panic is over.

And what will be of him, I hear you ask? The him that will always have a special place in my heart. The him that was here before her. He will simply be. We chose this: he as well as I. And when the two of us meet there’s no hatred. A little sadness, sure, but that’s to be expected. We can smile and we can be honest and we have respect for one another and that is more than I could have ever asked for. That’s more than most ex-marriages have. I want it to be this way because I’m fucked if I lied before all the people we know and respect when I said ’till death do us part’. I meant it and I will always mean it. Granted, not in the same way, but certainly with the same strength and with the same conviction. And I know one day in the future I’ll be proud to say I loved both the best man AND the best woman. Through my terrible misfortune I’ll hopefully be able to come out the other side and say I was one lucky fucker to have had this.

If you saw her, you’d know how we came to be. Because she has a soul the size of a galaxy and a capacity for love and laughter that I cant help but adore. And me, with my tiny shrivelled sultana of a soul, how could I not be moved and amazing and quietly in awe? She is quite something in her own right and she sees both the wood AND the trees. When they get to know her, they’ll see she is both the birds AND the bees. I know they’ll instantly see what I see: a true sister of my soul. Hopefully then gender will be as irrelevant to them as the urinals that segregate it because the really worrying thing isn’t that I’m sleeping with a woman: it’s that I’m now listening to dance music!