23 Signs That You Need More Excitement in Your Life


1. Obsessively checking hour-by-hour weather updates. 

2. Feeling smug when you make it out the house and back in time before the afternoon downpour.

3. Worrying that your dog is looking bored.

4. Explaining out loud to your dog that things could be a lot worse right now.

5. Instead of dreaming about wonderful holidays or fantasy romances, your nighttime thoughts revolve around those really exciting plans you’ve got coming up. In six weeks’ time.

6. Or you sleep restlessly under the impression that someone is trying to force-feed you wilted broccoli stems.

7. Letting out an involuntary squeal in the dairy aisle when you discover there is an offer on the yoghurts.

8. Feeling accomplished that you made it a whole week without being forced by necessity to change your outfit.

Should probably be more worried by the fact that the broccoli has better developed hands than I....

Should probably be more worried by the fact that the broccoli has better developed hands than I….

9. Saying, out loud, “Ooh, I can’t wait to have a shower this evening,” because you’re so excited to use the new shampoo that was on sale.

10. Considering the earliest acceptable time to get to bed on a Saturday night.

11. Feeling excited just before you fall asleep, because when you wake up it will be breakfast time.

12. Reflecting that breakfast is probably as good as it will get today.

13. Envying your dog’s life of sleeping, eating, and occasional exercise.

14. Bulking up your daily To-Do List with points such as, “Take a shower” and “Remember to have the last egg in the fridge for lunch.”

15. Your alter-ego’s back story is more fleshed out than the characters from Twilight.

16. You find yourself wondering if people would have anything more to say than “She really liked weak tea” in remembrance of your planetary existence.

17. Staring forlornly on more than one occasion at your old school uniform.

18. A ‘big night out’ now means driving to pick up a takeaway and falling asleep on the couch at 10PM.

19. You start saying, “God that makes me feel so OLD!” and telling everyone about it when you realise the kid from the soap you used to watch is now teen-age. “But, I mean, he’s AGED! Actual YEARS!”badge

20. Thinking ‘to hell with it’ and ‘you only live once’ when deciding to order a normal latte rather than a skinny one.

21. Having to use physical restraint on yourself to prevent any reckless behaviour in the local haberdashery shop. SEQUIIIINS.

22. Using household chores as a way to break up the day a bit.

23. Watching internet videos of fading popstars attempting to stage a ‘comeback’ and being unable to conclusively say whether their situation is less desirable than your own.


*NB – The author would like to point out that all these points are the product of an active imagination, and have no baring whatsoever on events from her own life. 

Now if you’ll excuse her, she has to unstack the dishwasher and research glue guns. 


A Letter To… An Old Friend

Christmas is a good time for reflection, though in truth there are plenty of other times throughout the year that I think of you. Often because something reminds me of you, and occasionally you just pop into my head for no apparent reason. We haven’t spoken for over five years now; I wonder if you ever think of me. I ask after you where I can, but our mutual friends have dwindled since we grew up, moved out, and moved on. I think you’re happy.

We were an odd pair right from the start. You were outgoing, gregarious, and girly; I was quiet, socially anxious, and forever attempting to reject the obvious aspects of my femininity. (You may smile to know this is pretty much still the case.) You were also one of the warmest people I had ever met. You took me under your wing when I found myself, after a certain turn of events, alone and isolated, and you accepted me wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t long before we were inseparable. I will give you all the credit in this instance, as lord knows that I always have been, and probably always will be, hopeless at picking up the phone. You coaxed me out of my shell and planned things for us to do, to go, to see. We spent many nights sitting on each other’s sofas in sweatpants or our pyjamas, stuffing our faces and watching some of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. But it was such good fun. I’ve never found anyone else to do it with.

As I got to know you, I discovered that underneath your confident demeanour ran an insecure streak that I always sought to erase. I couldn’t understand it. You were always the one the boys fancied; I was who they came to in order to ask you out. I had my own worries to begin with (you found me friendless, remember), and overtime, watching you charm a room while I hung back, and picking you up when your bold surface threatened to give way to your inner fragility, I became utterly dependent on you, and I think you did on me.

I may have felt isolated before I met you, but there was also a sense of freedom in not having to answer to anyone. With you, I think I became isolated in a different way. I felt I couldn’t hang out with other people in case it upset you. I wanted to expand our circle of friends – of course, we’d still be each other’s BFF – to reduce our reliance on one another somewhat, but you were largely against this. Our once brilliant friendship started to feel a bit unhealthy.

I said earlier that you are one of the warmest people I’ve ever known, and it’s true. You have a heart of gold. There have been so many occasions that I wish I could have confided in you, because I know I can trust you, and you’d know what to say. There were also times during our friendship, though, that I felt I didn’t really get a chance to speak. Your issues were always our issues: boys, family, school; and I was more than happy for the focus to be on you – I hate being in the spotlight, even in a circle of two.

But as time went by, there were occasions when I couldn’t help feeling resentful. It was made worse by the fact that I internalise everything. You knew more than most, but you didn’t know everything about me. There are some things that I can only bring myself to say to the wind. So I cannot begrudge you for not acknowledging the changes in my mood and not being sympathetic on particular days. I just wish – I don’t know really. That you were more perceptive?

During what was to be the last year of our friendship, something happened that turned my world upside down and made me re-evaluate everything in my life. At first, you were great. You gave me space, as you knew I wouldn’t want to talk. I withdrew into myself, and shut you out because I didn’t think you could understand.

I remember sitting down with you one day and apologising, and told you I was willing to continue as we were, if you still wanted to. I was relieved that you agreed, but something nagged. It didn’t feel the same anymore – didn’t feel the same anymore. And as I started to slowly unfurl from the tight knot I’d wound myself into, you carried on as if nothing had really happened. The conversation went back to you, only this time, I wasn’t listening anymore. I was too filled with rage, too hurt that you couldn’t see there were more important considerations in life than which boy to go to the cinema with.

I feel bad at how our friendship ended. I basically shut you out again, but for good this time. I didn’t have the guts to tell you how I felt, so I just let you interpret what you wanted from my silence. You swapped seats to move away from me in class; I deleted my social media account so I wouldn’t have to see any of our old messages.

I understand that you were horribly betrayed and hurt by my actions, and I can only apologise. I was young and angry, and blamed you while you were blaming me. For a while after our ‘separation’ I felt free again. I was back to only having myself to answer to. You soon enough found people to replace me, but I never did the same with you. I don’t know how you feel about me now; I have made peace with our situation, but I understand if you don’t or can’t forgive me.

I hope you have a great life and meet some wonderful people. You deserve it. Love, Izzi.

“The Time Has Come,” The Walrus Said…

This is not a blog post as such, just an added note.

Since I started my blog over I have been publishing my posts with a quote instead of a title. I have been choosing them from a notebook filled with lines that I have come across and wanted to remember.

I have tried to match the quotes to the theme of my writing, but some have been a little obscure or tenuous!

Someone pointed out to me that it’s probably better to at least give some idea of what will be in each post, and so from now on I shall properly title everything.

It has been nice to hide behind other people’s words; and, so that I still have some outlet for all these quotes I have written down, I shall occasionally upload them as individual posts.

In every end, there is also a beginning.

“The Moment You Doubt Whether You Can Fly, You Cease Forever To Be Able To Do It”

While I coo at babies looking over their mum’s shoulder in shopping queues and risk questioning looks and/or sectioning, my sister does everything possible to avoid coming into contact with kids. We’ve always joked that we didn’t get a 50:50 split of the genes – it was a case of all or nothing. So I’ve got my mum’s gaga-ness over any and every child, whereas my sister is as baffled as my dad by this obsession with little people.

I have gone out of my way to work with children in the past: I’ve been a nursery attendant, a classroom assistant, and a swimming instructor. I spent more weekends between the ages of 15-18 in other people’s living rooms than my own, having managed to sell babysitting services to just about every young family within my postcode.

What I love most about kids is their total honesty. I think some parents would be horrified if they knew what their children repeat, rephrase, or just come out with on their own merit. If you ever want a straight answer, ask a child. They see things much more clearly than jaded teenagers and disillusioned adults, and aren’t worried about such trivial considerations as sparing your feelings/dignity/sense of self-importance.

I have been subjected to some painful observations and crushing remarks from the mouths of babes over the years. They are also freaking hilarious. Here are some of my favourite child-uttered truth-bombs:


Having never had to deal with many pimples during my teen years (I thought it was god’s way of making up for the fact that I was small and frizzy-haired with a high-pitched voice), I suddenly became prone to breakouts at 21. I managed to look in the mirror each morning and convince myself it wasn’t as bad as I suspected, and my friends told me the same.

One morning I went round to pick up the little boy I was dropping off at school. We were sitting eating breakfast and he came out with:

“Why have you got so many spots on your face? Don’t look at me! I don’t want to catch them.”

I was momentarily unable to respond, before I told him that wasn’t very nice to say and if he didn’t hurry up I’d dunk him in his cornflakes (said with love, obv). He was just being cheeky, but actually he told me what no one else had been willing to. So I booked a doctor’s appointment that afternoon, and found out I had developed adult acne. I then went to the hairdressers and asked for an emergency fringe cut to cover half my face. Thanks, little boy!



I also have what I’ve termed “Twilight Teeth”: basically fangs instead of incisors. Whenever I have pointed this out my dad has always responded, “no, no no! They’re supposed to be a bit pointy. Everyone’s are like that.” I remained unconvinced that mine aren’t gnash-ier than your average ivory tombstone.

This was confirmed when a young boy asked me, just as I was about to demonstrate how to dive, if I came from Hull.

I stood upright. “That’s an odd question,” I said, “why do you ask that?”

“Well,” he replied, “I know someone from there who also has really pointy teeth. Maybe it’s a northern thing. Are you from the north?”


I have spent many recent years becoming expert in all the latest video games for children under ten. Well, I would have, if the boy who likes playing Harry Potter and Pirates of the Caribbean stopped freezing me out of the action. Apparently I have inflated belief in my own ability and am in fact “rubbish and slowing up progress”.


My feet have always been a source of amusement among some friends. It’s cool, though, when you can joke about stuff like that with your friends, right? …Right?

In their favour, it did help to prepare me for the day when a girl turned up with new goggles for her swimming lesson. She proceeded to spend most of the time going under water to examine my trotters, resurfacing just to try to explain how weird my toes are.


Then there was the girl who told me that while I was good at colouring in between the lines, I was nowhere near as good at drawing as her mummy. And my attempt at Hama-beading wasn’t very impressive, either.


Some children get really nervous about swimming on their back, which is understandable given that you’re asking a five-year old to trust that this clear, non-solid substance will hold them up. I get them to lie their head on my shoulder and look up at the ceiling, and have mastered some ingenious distractions to help them relax.

I then ask if they reckon the big grey pipe that runs under the roof is a spaceship, and whether they can see any aliens hiding inside.

The most frequent response is along the lines of “you’re so weird” and “no, it’s just a pipe”. Talk about not appreciating a true imaginative force. Kids can be so sassy.


Finally, in my experience, the one time a child is not telling the truth is when they claim to have stomach ache. Nine times out of ten they are just trying to get out of whatever fun activity you have set up for them.

But, there is the odd occasion when they are being genuine. Thus far I have yet to find a foolproof way to distinguish between these instances, and submit my jumpers that have been decorated with various regurgitated lunches as evidence. If anyone has this one sussed, me and my wardrobe would be ever so grateful for your wisdom.

“I’m not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost.”

Hitmyrecord is starting all over again, right from scratch. I learnt from Julie Andrews that the best place to start is at the very beginning, and so here I am, trying to figure out where that is, and wondering if this blog will ever reach the equivalent high notes that Ms Andrews boasts in her range.

We hope you like what you find.