I’ve always thought blogging about your life is self indulgent, that’s why I’ve never done it. I still do think it’s self indulgent – but now I think screw it, here I go. I have no big plans for my blog, I really just need a place to vent. If you happen to read this, I welcome comments, feedback, contradictions and healthy debates.


It’s January the 31st today.

I want to discuss New Year’s Resolutions.


Too many conversations in this month have been dominated by discussing what people are going to change in 2016. Gyms are buzzing with newbies wearing sparkling trainers, everyone is dusting off their smoothie makers, folks spent New Year’s Eve smoking their ‘last packet of fags’ and everyone seems to have decided to partake in dry January.


As the month has gone on, my frustration at the idea of having a New Year’s Resolution has grown.

I just don’t get it.

The question should NOT be “What’s you’re New Year’s Resolution this year?”

Instead, we should be asking “What was your resolution last year?”

“How did it go? Did you make the changes you wanted to?”

The sad thing is, the majority of people would dismiss the question with a pfffft sound and a wave of the hand. No one expects a resolution to actually last all year. I know I’ve never made one that I’ve kept up for longer than a month.

I’ve made my New Year’s Resolution this year to not tell people what my resolution is. Instead I encourage you, come December 2016, to ask me then.


Life’s for the Living

My brother used to tell me that grief was selfish.

He would say when you are upset that someone has died, you are crying tears for yourself because you will miss them, rather than crying for those who have gone.


He was right.

But he had never lost anyone close to him.

My brother was 25 when he died in March this year.

I’m going to write what I know about grief, loss and living.



It’s not all about yourself

When Kosta died I cried for myself, I cried because I was going to miss him walking through my front door, I was going to miss his awkward hugs and I was going to miss arguing with him all the time.

But what he didn’t understand is that a huge part of grief is crying for others. I cried because my mum and dad had lost a son and because my little brothers had lost their big brother. I cried because my family in Greece couldn’t afford tickets to England to come to his funeral and I cried for my cousin who’s last words to my brother were part of an argument.

A part of grieving is selfish. But I think that Kosta was naive in thinking that’s all it is.


How old is too young to die?

A lot of what I’m thinking at the moment is processing the things that Kosta used to believe, the ideas he lived by and died with.

He said in a conversation with his friend before he went to Syria last year that a life should not be measured in years. It should be measured in deeds. You can watch the tribute he made below.

Thinking about what he believed gives me some comfort. He died where he was happy, where he felt he belonged and he died for a cause – exactly what he wanted. I’m sad he felt that way but I’m not sad for him, as Kosta said, I don’t grieve for him – I grieve for my loss and as I said above, the loss others are feeling.

I think 25 is too young to die. Let’s take the bare bones of our existence, it is to find a mate, reproduce and keep the human race going after all? There is something unnatural about dying before that, and like my mum always said there is something unnatural about burying a child.

I do agree that life should be measured in deeds – but surely the longer you live, the more good deeds you can do?Johnny_Cash_(1964)

He would get pissed off with legendary artists growing old and losing their edge, people like Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan – he thought they would be remembered more if they had died young, at the height of their career.

I think growing old is an important process, it allows you to change and make sense of things and gain perspective. It saddens me that Kosta didn’t get past that age and get over that feeling.

Where am I?

I am constantly battling in my head as to whether I think Kosta had life completely sussed, or whether he got completely the wrong end of the stick.

On the one hand, if Kosta was right in what he believed, if life is measured in deeds and in actions – then I need to make some serious life changes in order to be a good person.

But if I think Kosta was wrong, if I don’t agree with his ideology – then I am completely denouncing what he did. This is something I just cannot live with.

I know I’m sure about the following things:

I’m a pacifist. Naive or stupid as it might be in a world where power, money, oil, greed and stupidity exist – If everyone was a pacifist I’m pretty sure we’d be better off than we are now. Because of this I cannot be happy with Kosta’s decision to fight. I find the idea that a member of my family has probably killed another human being no matter what that other person has done.

I respect what he did. Even if I cannot fully stand behind him, I know that he lived with conviction, he did what he thought was right and he found where he was content, where he belonged, which is something many of us still need to do.


It’s not all about big sweeping messages. A ‘deed’ doesn’t have to be a huge gesture, we don’t all have to go to Syria and fight ISIS.

We can tell someone in the street that they look great.

Or we can volunteer our time for a charity.

We can make cakes for the family next door.

We can tip generously.

We can love greatly.

I like to think that maybe a life time of generally being a good person and living a quiet life for yourself and the people close to you and treading lightly on the Earth might be enough.

I don’t know though.

I’m sure only time will tell.


Facebook, and the crap that comes with it.

I want to talk about Facebook.

I have recently deleted my Facebook account. There are a couple of reasons behind this, but the overarching reason is that it makes me bloody miserable.


Now this isn’t the first time I’ve gone all out and deleted Facebook, I got rid about four years ago before doing my degree in Broadcast Journalism. But as you can probably guess, doing a degree that was based around knowing people, networking and news – Facebook was a necessary commodity and therefore the defiant deletion of my account was short lived.

Facebook materialised in my last couple of years at school – I remember getting it because the boy I fancied told me over MSN that it was the new Myspace.

As a result of this, my Facebook news feed housed every single person I went to school with, plus every single person that went to all the neighbouring schools. It contained every person that went to my college, everyone I had ever met on a night out, everyone I had ever worked with plus anyone who was friends with those people.

I now knew everything that was going on in the lives of people that I have only exchanged a maximum of 3 sentences with, ever. I also knew everything that ex boyfriends were doing (the few that I had), I knew how many kids people were having, what they named them, I saw christening pictures, wedding pictures, 90th birthday pictures. I knew what universities people were going to and who was still friends and who had fallen out and who was in a deep depression and who voted for the BNP and who lost their job and who just had a hair cut and who just won money on a scratch card… AGGHHH TOO. MUCH. INFORMATION.

Mainly, Facebook made me miserable because it brought out two grim personality traits –

  1. Jealousy – scrolling incessantly through albums of people who are traveling round South America or Thailand on their parents’ credit cards whilst on the 44 bus on the way home from work made me just a little miserable.
  2. Arrogance – I don’t know if this is the right word for it, it could be pompous, pretentious, boastful or vain. But I was tired of needing to post something great. Tired of trying to make other people jealous of me through my posts on Facebook. Euggh!

Now, I know the wonderful things that can happen over Facebook – I know that people who haven’t seen each other for years are reunited, global movements are organised, I know it can make people feel valued and loved and like they aren’t alone. It’s a fantastic marketing tool, it unites the world and gives people strength.

But for me, right now, and I’m sure many others, Facebook is not good. It makes me feel both isolated, and the same as everyone else. It makes me angry and sad and down. It turns me into a really crap version of myself.

I implore anyone who can relate to this in any way to do it, even if just for a weekend of freedom (Facebook make it very hard to leave for good). Just see how you feel.




I am re learning how to tap-dance. I would love to be Eleanor Powell here.