Keep talkin’, whooaoaaaa, keep talkin’!

I didn’t think it would be appreciated if I’d titled this post “a real pussy wagon” but I can’t stop laughing about the idea of it.

Happy Sunday everyone!

We made it! We beat out all the others who tried to fight off the zombie apocalypse. We left them behind and stole their tins! Yay! Soup for everyone! Except you. Yeah, the one judging tinned soup. We can’t all make amazing soup from scratch, okay? Sometimes things burn. Sometimes they end up on ceilings. That’s life.

I’ll admit it took me a lot to get to this point of fingers on keys and typing. I had a bit of a moment. I made a huge mistake and before beginning this blog post I thought it would be safe to look up Greased Lightning… yes, I know there are some of you who right now are shaking your heads and muttering “You fool, child” beneath your breath. The Grease soundtrack is like the pringles of the musical world… but, oh (please imagine that oh as the “oh…” from Summer Lovin’ that John Travolta is famous for) I’m already readying myself to start listening to The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

My boyfriend wasn’t quite as thrilled about all this music as I was. We’d sat down, he to play Final Fantasy and me to write, and well… things happened on YouTube. But look, just listen, it’s not my fault that game is made up of multiple cut scenes! And that’s what the pause button is for, right? To pause the game every few seconds! I tried to make it up to him by telling him I had written Hopelessly Devoted for him and singing it to him, that didn’t work, so I switched to My Heart Will Go On, that didn’t work either (I know right? I even told him I wrote it while on a boat) my final attempt was Your Song but when that didn’t work either I thought fuck it and blasted Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush. I sang it like a champ, arm movements and all. He’s already packed his bags but it’s okay because Heathcliff, better open up yer window, baby, because I’m comin’ home!

I think my teenage crush on Heathcliff explains my taste in men.

So does my crush on this guy:

I really need to stop listening to that song because I don’t think all the wriggling and couch strutting is appreciated. It’s doable! You just sit and shimmy a little, put one hand on your hip but lean forward and bam bam bam, that’s it! Jiggle what Dr Frank n Furter gave ya! I realise this blog post will mean very little to only a few people, and that’s okay. I’m sorry.

I’m actually too busy dancing to be sorry. And I actually do think that The Rocky Horror Picture show is brilliantly written.

So is The Good Place! See what I tried to do there? It’s hard to write links when listening to Magic Dance from Labyrinth! We finished watching season one this weekend and it had such a great twist. It had us looking back on everything that had happened and thinking oh yeah! I love anything like that because I really like to be outsmarted. I mean it’s not hard in the smarts department but in the things I’ve seen before and so connect the dots department it’s a little trickier. I’d like to be able to write something clever, something that hits people with that feeling of satisfaction at the end like the first season of The Good Place did for me. Of course other things have too, Stonehearst Asylum rings a bell, but The Good Place is what’s on my mind right now.

It’s what I want to do with Jack. Thank you to those who have read the first chapter by the way! I’m sure you’ve already guessed that it’s a book centred around the mysterious Victorian serial killer Jack the Ripper, and as such you’ll know he’s a tough cookie to write something new about. It’s all been done before pretty much. I’m not going to let that deter me though. I do want to try and be clever with it, but I also want to focus on what I would like to see in a Jack the Ripper book along with my usual style of writing and characters that crop up. I know the basics of where I want to go with the story but I think in a murder mystery plotting is very important and it’s something I am dire at. I’m better than I was when I wrote my first novel but I don’t think I’ll ever be the person to sit down with a beautifully constructed timeline. In the end, my way can make everything take twice as long as it needed, all that going back and fixing things, but it’s how I’ve developed as a writer unfortunately. I will keep changing and learning though, I’m sure!


I took this photo a few days ago while fooling around with make up and that wig (which I’ve since locked away from myself like some occult object) and hilariously I unknowingly made myself look like Frank n Furter’s sister. I’m down with it!

Speaking of video games all the way back up there, I’ve started to play Pokemon Go again (yellow team represent!) and it’s been great. Not just for the novelty of catching all the pokemon and leaving Ash Ketchum behind like a chump, but getting out and walking at night has been really good for me. I don’t really like walking for the hell of it during the day, not in busy places especially. I’m much more of a night walker but it isn’t the safest thing to do alone as late as I like to, so having my boyfriend around as a pokemon hunting buddy has served for some much needed nightly fresh air. He also got to see his first two badgers, real badgers this is.

We were about to head down a road but heard what sounded like a dog whimpering and decided to check in case something was hurt. There was no dog and the sound stopped soon after we started down the steps to a more wooded area where just ahead of us we saw two badgers snuffling around in the dirt. Unfortunately we disturbed them, but they didn’t run far so I’m sure they went back to their spots once we had walked further enough away.

Badgers are so neat. So are foxes. No idea where the hedgehogs have all got to. Some hedgehog party we weren’t invited to as honorary guests, I bet. Jerks.

Let’s wrap this up with the weekly ferret update.

Seb has been up and down a bit this week but thankfully will be seeing the specialist next week. He seems very enthusiastic so I’m looking forward to the meeting and hoping that we might be able to get to the bottom of what is wrong with her.


Seb dreaming of being a DJ. Look at that little paw!

As for Pandora, who I now mostly refer to as Pandooks, she’s as spoiled and lazy as ever.


I hope you have all had a wonderful weekend and that you’re ready for the week ahead of you!

Take the rest of your Sunday easy! Eat something tasty! That’s it… oh yeah that’s the good stuff. Mmmmm. What was it?

 *grumbles* I want to be  T Bird…

still laughing




Dear Boss,

Funny this, my letter lying before you. Don’t think that it came without reason, and don’t be so coy as to think you wouldn’t have sought me had I not you. Soon everyone will. You, though, I think you will have a particular interest in me.

News of my deed will reach you on the morrow, I’m sure.






In London the chameleon dwells.

Each and every spectre that haunts its streets,

A player in the city’s masquerade,

A reversed tarot, a bearer of another self to one with which they should be familiar.

Those paid to be familiar to the gentlemen of the city,

the connoisseurs of its alleys,

often the least to be feared for their numerous façades.

These women of midnight, their graces fewer than those who commission them,

they have become what was expected,

and for that they suffer.


Yes, in London the chameleon dwells, and under the sun it may bask, but beneath the moon it will hunt.

For some, this suits them just fine.



Chapter One

Cramped between its claustrophobic houses and choked by the smoke of its fires, Thomas Alderdice took a moment’s pause. He neatened the buttons on his tunic, adjusted the truncheon on his belt, all the while watching the rain lash against the road in front of him. It splashed into puddles and against his trousers, soaking his socks and leaving his shoes to squelch as he moved from his position and headed north.

“Cold night, Tom.”

Tucked in against a storefront, John Griffiths nodded his helmet covered head down, water spilling forth, droplets to join the storm.

“See it got you, too, John,” Thomas nodded, before turning his gaze to the sky. A flash across it summoned thunder. Knowing of its arrival, he hesitated to flinch, smirking instead at Griffith’s shuddered response to the noise.

“Bastard has us all,” Griffiths replied, drawing his shoulders in tighter to his body, resembling a snail soon to retreat into its shell. “Even the whores are calling it, and I’d be last to say it had been a busy eve’ for them. Most are already down the penny. They’ll be seeing the finest of the night, we’ll no doubt be called down.”

“No point to that and you know it. You’re looking for an excuse to stay dry.”

Griffiths crossed his arms across his chest, pushing the thick of his tunic’s material more closely against his body. He gave no reply, but a quick upturn from the side of his mouth gave Thomas the impression he’d guessed right.

“I’ll be carrying on, beat change at the stroke.”

“Go on with you then, pray your wears aren’t scratching the fuck out of you like mine are.”

They were, and the wool of the high collar catching against his neck as he continued down Whitechapel Road placed him in a bitter mood. The rain only made it worse, but, had he huddled beside John beneath a shop door roof that served no further purpose than a pigeon shitting point, coming back into the rain after a brief spell of dryness would have made his mood worse still. For now, the swell of bitterness in his chest that caught in his eyes with a glare dared any East end thief to test him.

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself, soon dropping the act of knowing what he’d do should a gang come upon him. He kicked at a puddle without looking down for it. He knew it would be there, they’d been there all Summer. The usual muck of the London streets turned to a sludge, the only good thing about the rain was the heat it failed to bring with it. At least the cold gave his nostrils what his eyes couldn’t have: a break from the City.

Half way up Whitechapel Road he heard the four strokes of the bell and knew that soon a cry would go out. He was waiting on five, then he’d give his own cry and make his way back home to an empty bed.

He preferred it that way. Two nights before he’d found a letter on his pillow, a note: “Dear Boss” it had begun, and quite playfully continued with intentions to clear up the City. One of these nights, it had said.

Tom gave a snort, it would take more than one night.

His walk was to take him further up Whitechapel Road, but the flashing of a lantern down a narrow path to his left caught his attention. It was not unusual to see another officer on patrol or nearing on their new beat, but for one to be rushing as these footsteps sounded, the light of the lantern swinging back and forth and catching off the dull fronts of buildings with the man’s unsteady gait, gave Thomas cause to follow.

His own footsteps had the man quickly turning on him, his truncheon pulled from his belt with a speed that Thomas recognized as fueled by fear.

“Alderdice, this isn’t your beat, why are you here?” He looked on Tom with suspicion, but he could only look back with confusion. His expression calmed the man’s nerves before his words could.

Jonas Mizen replaced his truncheon and brought his hand to his dark moustache. In the light of the lantern Tom was unsure whether it was the rain or sweat that dripped from his brow.

“What’s got in to you? Seen one of the City’s ghosts?”

“Just the dead, Tom,” Mizen replied, “Just the fucking dead.” He turned from him and continued down to Buck’s Row.

Tom followed, his feet moving before he’d even had the chance to decide whether or not he should.

They exited the street and found a new road stretching ahead and behind them. Half way up, in an area that would be lit by a sole gas lamp on any ordinary night, lanterns flashed.

A woman lay on her back, her dress stained and a bonnet to the side. In the lantern light, Thomas’ found that his gaze was fixed upon her throat. A cut, jagged and deep, crossed it with such depth that in the shadows that passed over with each lantern sway her head appeared to be attached by only slithers of flesh.


At Tom’s utterance, a man that kneeled over the body glanced over his shoulder. He gave a grunt of acknowledgement, before looking to another officer.

“Thain, you accompanied me here, now you’re to accompany me to the mortuary. She’ll be more of a spectacle should the workers come on morning break and more arrive for shift. We must have her removed.”

“Agreed, Sir,” Thain replied before turning to Thomas, his awareness of him seemingly only now apparent after the doctor’s acknowledgement. “Alderdice,” he said, his lips held tight. “Your morbid curiosity will see you a part of this.”

Thomas bowed his head for one singular beat, his eyes drawn once again to the wound across the woman’s throat, his thoughts on words not from Thain, but from another.


Dear Boss,

Your nights must be awfully grim, this dreadful city your moonlight companion. The streets need a clear up the likes the rain will never serve.  The end of this fine month will see the beginning of my helpful hand. Perhaps you will, too.

You’ll try to catch up with me soon, but you won’t.



Quote #4 – Robin – Kidnapping Death’s Daughter



Hey everyone! Tomorrow is Robin’s picture day and so I wanted to post a quote with my boy out first! He’s one of the two lads that sets about to find Death’s daughter, it is he who is on the quest to bring his brother back from the dead. This snippet is as Robin steps out on the streets of York.

This quote doesn’t describe York so I’m posting two incredible pictures I’ve found of York streets so that if you haven’t seen it you can now. I did not take these photographs. I am a photograph thief, although I am seriously trying to work out who to credit. I found these on pinterest.

I believe this is by Matt Cornock.
I think it’s from a blog called yetanotherbloomingblog although the blog is private so I don’t know how it ended up on Pinterest. I don’t know the first thing about pinterest other than I had to make an account to see these. Great, now I’m rambling in captions. Shhhh.


I hope you enjoyed the quote and I look forward to sharing Shio’s portrait of Robin tomorrow! X

P.S If the takers of these photos somehow stumble upon here please don’t hex me, either let me know how to credit correctly or tell me to take them down! I’m easy! Not that kind of….again, shhhh.



Today I’m doing this thing where I love who I am

because the other side of the coin is hating that same self

that wouldn’t pay to become something

“nice to look at when you come home”


You see I’m sick of writing poems about how you broke me

So here’s me showing you how I put myself back together


I took the same mirror I’ve been looking into

watching my self-esteem drown

said Bloody Mary three times

and stared into the eyes of a woman I’ve been taught to fear


Her eyes were dark blue

and when she looked back at me

I felt something ignite


I smashed the glass for a chance at seven years bad luck

so that when fate might arrive at my door

my lips would turn up

and when she said you’ve been waiting for me

I’d laugh, say yes, and lay down the conditions of a new contract


One where how I look is gold

meaning it’s worthless

meaning in the end it equates to nothing

but one thing

that my eyes will be that of a childhood ghost

staring back at any man that sees me as prey


My body is fire

the tears I cried weren’t enough to put me out

The shame you made me feel just for existing in this form

wasn’t enough to turn me to ash


When I dance I move like the flames that entranced you on a dark night

and I am the light that beckoned you forward

My heart still burns with the same heat

despite the cold you let in when I opened the door

and bade you enter


This is not the story of me rising

like the phoenix

on a new day

This is the tale

of a woman

that never let herself die



Hey everyone!

I’m using the word chance as a word prompt today. It’s one that I gave a friend to try and then we thought it would be fun for me to try too! This is what I came up with and I hope you like it.

Thanks for reading!



Under an unknown sky I waited

to press my body against yours

beneath the moonlight you claim to adore


Watching for your eyes to meet mine

and see all of me

not afraid to be taken in your arms

because mine will push you down with more ferocity

than you thought me capable


You’ll tell me you didn’t think sex could be like that

that you could be held like that

kissed like that

or that a woman could love like that


I’d feel like I’m the one your mother warned you about

not because I would break your heart

but that I would capture it in a vice like grip

and I’d be the girl to say I do


I’d remember what it was to sleep at night

to rest my eyes without need to dream

because you would be my tomorrow


While in another place you’d take me for granted

forgetting that one day I’ll wake

and how secrets fear the dark


You thought to tame me was to have me say I love you

that those words would mean all sins forgiven

but you don’t fuck like that

kiss like that

hold like that

or love like that

when you’ve been brought to your knees, unwilling


You’ll learn you cannot tame a storm

or shield your eyes from the fire

when its lightning crashes down in front of you


When its rain pours down outside your window

and the same moon shines shadows into your night

a silhouette in its light

and a memory of my body moving upon yours

will be all that’s left

because even in our midnight

you never learned

what it meant

to love a woman like that



Hey everyone!

Here is my response to The Daily Post’s prompt Tame. I wanted to do something for this one but I fell asleep and so put something together a little late. But in some places it’s still the right day! Eheheheh. This one might be a little rough around the edges but by George it’s something and better than me thumb twiddling.

Thank you for reading! I’m going to go back to bed now and, uh, most likely twiddle my thumbs! Night night!


“I believe in ghosts,” I said

“I enjoy how they fill me with dread.”

“Ghosts,” you laughed,

“bored memories of a broken past.”


“Not mine,” I state, finger lifted in the air,

“I mean spirits rising, swaying through a misty tear.”

“Ah,” you sigh, “you believe this world before the next,

is ours as no more than a test?”


“A spectral test!” I cry

“Oh, but should I die,

my answers will be all too dim,

a fear of what lacks deep within,

when truth revealed, weightless on a dusty scale,

a feather sinking ever lower, causing yawning angels pale


and tried and weak and all but meek,

fingers pat on heaven’s gate

ba dum ba dum

a stolen sound from final breaths

ba dum ba dum

my final beats played on holy drum

ba dum ba –


– but, oh! A boring life,

of lack of sin

How I but laugh and I do grin,

while gates turn in

my feet brought down on marble floors,

as I venture through Lord’s –”


“You lie!”

your voice is cold and raw,

all kinship vanished from before


A sigh, a laugh, a sneer, a jeer,

as footsteps gather ever near

How does this darkness,

all consume

this sudden confusion

clouding room

once known, once mine,

or so I thought, in other time


I pause, I wait, in silence seek

a calmer mind, until I find

your breath soon whisper beside my ear,

your form silhouette of ancient fear,

“You dare deceive of your life crimes,

as death knell marks your final chimes?”


At this I fall before your feet,

a demon I pray never meet

“Oh cruel decider of my fate,

I could not dream at heaven’s gate,

I did once stand,

my toes dipped in blessed sand,

fingertips in reach of forgiving hand.


Could not you reach and grasp,

as I do for forgotten past,

a sinner yes, believer no,

never guided down which path to go.


If god forgives as I have heard,

then surely redemption I deserve

as by a trickster I was lured!”


You stand before my destined door,

I kneel and tremble as afore

A hand does grasp as I did beg,

yet upon unholy pastures I soon tread.”



Hey everyone!

This is my response to The Daily Post’s prompt Believe. It’s weird where a starting line can go, ain’t it? I don’t know what I intended to do with this when I first wrote down “I believe in ghosts” but here we are iiiinnn hellllll! Damnatttiiiooonnn! Ahahah. That’s right! If I’m going I’m dragging you all with me. Sorry, not sorry, and all that. How else am I supposed to sit in a corner creepily while there’s a party going on?

Anyway, I hope this was alright and that someone enjoyed it. You, yes, you there! You enjoyed it right? Right?!

Okay, time to wrap this up. You know how easily I can go on for a ten page ramble.

Thanks for reading!



When I count my windows and doors

locked locked

is it with the fashionably OCD?

Do I show that the cuts on my fingers and hands

are small marks of an illness that’s been killing me…

Or that I like my lipstick to match my handbag, just right,


I’m so OCD

Me too!

I should cry

I, too, am so OCD

When I try to walk up the stairs

I turn back

I must

locked locked

Stave off that panic attack





Go back, check again, go back, check again, check again,

check again, check again, check a fucking ‘gain

Are you bleeding yet?

Have you felt the rise of frustration,

of “please make this stop”

that will help you remember,

you must not forget

in bed is where the other threats rest

The mind doesn’t tick,

doesn’t tock,

with pleasantries of day,

but with whispers I can’t keep away.

“Here, let me show you,

the images you dare no others see.”

In slithers the misery

that makes me so OCD!

The bones of my animals,

their flesh rotten raw,

all because I fucked up locking a door

A murderer’s victim, is fuel for the mind,

to poison eyes, lids closed, until another in kind

is brought to the fore

A child laid down

and oh, how she weeps

Don’t show me

Don’t tell me

I beg,

it just keeps coming back

when I try to






I dream

a lonesome ghost

whose compulsions have

been haunting me

Since I was…

The child I see weep?

Chunks from my mouth

my own teeth have torn free

and grated on wool

nails grated on ground until




I wake




And here I have found,

hands tear at skin with no fight left within

Only the laughter

The triumph

It won

I lost

You see, I understand, the cost

how you turn on yourself

when things aren’t as should be

what it is to be, just so fashionably OCD


Hey friends!

Here be lurking my response to The Daily Press daily prompt (oooh that’s a mouthful): Fashionable. I was going to write a blog post about mental health but instead this happened. Sorry about that, will clean up the mess on the way out! Mental health has been an upwards (sometimes stumbling downwards) battle for a while and although I didn’t really scrape the surface of what this is like to live with I hope it at least pulls the curtain back a little bit. It ended up being pretty blunt and in terms of poetry I know it falls short, but in spoken word it might work a bit better. I might give it a go. But you know I’m lazy … lead an incredibly busy life as a super villain herding ferrets, so I probably won’t.

Would you believe one of the most agonizing things about this entire bit of writing was whether or not to put an exclamation mark at the end. I’m still not sure. Sod it.

Thanks for reading!