Things I would love to be but I’m not…


I love music. I love dancing. I love to sing.

I am no Adele, but I can hold a note, in so far as I haven’t yet caused the OH to deliberately smash the car into a wall whilst driving to escape my singing along to Spotify.

I went to a secondary school that prided itself on its choir and musicality. I remember sitting through musicianship class completely bewildered, as my fellow students seemed to just naturally grasp the difference between a crochet and a quaver and effortlessly read sheet music. I never learned to play any instrument, not counting the obligatory “The Gypsy Rover” on the tin whistle that all Irish primary school children were forced to learn.

To this day I would love to play guitar but my lack of musical confidence inhibits me. I don’t think I have the ‘ear’ for it. How would I know if I am in tune or not? My brother in law tried to teach me a basic chord on his acoustic but my tiny hands couldn’t span the neck. Maybe I need a child size one?

My other dream is to get proper singing lessons, learn how to control my breath and all that jazz. I actually contacted an instructor who told me her timetable was full. A silly part of me felt rejected, as if she could somehow sense I would be a hopeless student and I never followed up on it.

So, my singing stays in the kitchen, (sorry neighbours!), car, (sorry OH!), and shower, which provides marvelous acoustics!

Don’t expect to see me headlining at Wembly any day soon.


I am, and have always been, that girl with the messy hair. I can spend time, money and effort perfecting my hair and still look as if I had just been dragged through a bush backwards. I see other women who look stylish, put together, groomed and grown up and then there’s me… the awkward tomboy, scruffy little sister with the smudged mascara and flyaway hair.

It is one reason I dress as I do, mainly in jeans, tee-shirts and converse sneakers. If I try to dress like a grown-ass woman I feel and look ridiculous, like a little girl trying on her mom’s clothes and heels. I am naturally clumsy. I can fall over my own foot, walk into walls and trip on my own shadow, so walking in heels would fall under the pedestrian equivalent of drunk driving. I would be a danger to myself and others.


If I am teaching something I can have endless patience. I enjoy the challenge of finding ways to make a subject make sense to a person. I love helping someone get to that place where the idea clicks. That is fun in my opinion.

But if it comes to waiting for a person to arrive or a thing or start, I am the worst! I value punctuality and consider it rude to be late or to faff about wasting time when you have somewhere to be. The OH is very guilty of this. We agree to leave the house, I put on my shoes and coat and stand by the door while he, taking his sweet time, mooches around finding his wallet, keys etc, then announces he needs to fix his hair and disappears upstairs, leaving me ready to go at the door. Usually, a good 10 minutes will pass before we actually leave the house. I never learn. I always get ready and wait. It is an endless, hopeless cycle.

(He insists it is never 10 minutes. He says 30 seconds. A bit like cock size in reverse right?)

Weirdly, I can wait in line, even if someone cuts in front of me, with perfect Zenlike calm…


When it comes to standing up for other people I will do so with ferocious passion. When it comes to standing up for me… I crawl away like a timid mouse, terrified of causing a scene or creating a confrontation.

I am not sure where this comes from. Maybe it is a reflection of my sense of self worth, maybe I don’t feel I am worth standing up for. I tend to say nothing, to put up with being put down.

It is not good, I know this. I know I should defend myself as much as I would a friend or loved one. This is something I will continue to work on.

A good sleeper

I have never been a good sleeper. My sister can fall asleep any time, anywhere and I envy her.

I am Princess and the Pea level fussy… I require total darkness, total silence, the ‘just right’ temperature, blah blah blah. I have an incredibly expensive, NASA style mattress which I adore; it is like lying on a bed of clouds. I only use high thread count Egyptian cotton bedding. I have blackout blinds and ear plugs, (a futile attempt to drown out his snoring). I have tried different bedtimes, hot milk, relaxation exercises, herbal remedies.

Sleep evades me. Sleep is my enemy. The bags under my eyes have bags. I have resigned myself to a life of sleepless nights, curled on the sofa under a blanket, watching strange nighttime TV. Such is life…

A flirt

I would love to be a… wait… exactly who the fuck am I trying to kid here?

I popped out of my mother with a shimmy and winked at the OBGYN.

I flirt with my own reflection.

I flirt with men, women, babies, dogs… I am powerless to resist the urge to flirt.

It’s fun. It makes everyone feel good.

Hey, how you doin??????



Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

Words That Changed My Life…

Sometimes we can trace back how our lives have turned out to the smallest of things, like words that were spoken to you or by you.


The OH was a shy guy when I met him, chatty once he was comfortable with you, but never the type to make the first move, (more about that later!). We made friends in second year of college.  I always tried to copy his homework because he was better at Chemistry than I was. I laughed at his jokes and stories in class and I liked him, but never really saw him as anything more than a mate.

I was walking home from the pub one night, a bit brokenhearted that my latest crush wasn’t showing me much reciprocal interest, and there he was on the bridge. We stopped to chat and, out of the blue, (and very unlike the shy guy I had come to know), he offered to walk me home… in the direction he had just come from, even though his house was just around the corner.

That moment of bravery on his part, when he uttered the words, “Can I walk you home?” was the start of something bigger than either of us could ever have imagined. I do believe, in that moment, everything I felt about him changed, just like that.


Fast forward a month or so, during which time the OH and I spent a lot more time together. I loved being with him, but we were still just buddies, even though I knew I wanted more. I was always around him, finding excuses to hang out. I even fell asleep on his sofa with him one night and when I woke in the morning I angled my face up so our lips were almost meeting and waited for him to wake up and accidentally kiss me. It didn’t work… he woke up and nearly fell off the sofa with shock!

[Sidenote: it sounds as if he wasn’t interested which is not true. Years later I asked about how we got together and he told me he had seen me on the very first day of college, a year prior to us ever talking, and he remembered what I was wearing and where I sat in class. He just never thought, (his words), he had a shot with me.]

As the weeks went on, and he remained as gentlemanly as ever, I became more and more frustrated, but with the cocky confidence of youth on my side, I was not going to admit defeat. I wanted this guy and I intended to get him.

After a half-term break we all returned to college and on the Sunday night before class hit the nightclub. We danced as a large group, no one-on-one dancing at all, we drank and had a laugh. Once the ‘slow set’ came on my friend Linda pushed the two of us out onto the dance floor, (as we had planned!), and we did the slow dance shuffle thing awkwardly. I kept my face very available for any kisses he might have wanted to plant but sadly the set ended and my lips remained untouched.

Linda took me aside, “WTF?!” and I decided it was time for me to ‘man up’ and take charge of this situation.

Slow set number two began and I gave him the “Are you dancin?” eyebrow raise and nod towards the floor and he got up.

We danced for all of a minute, my heart beating out of my chest with nerves, when I looked up at him and said the line, “If I do something, will we still be friends tomorrow?” He smiled down at me, (I think he knew what was about to happen), and said “Of course!” I leaned up and planted a very chaste kiss on his lips and as I pulled away he wrapped his arms around me and drew me in for a very deep kiss. We kissed all night and he walked me home.


In Ireland, certainly back in 1991, people didn’t ‘date’. We ‘went out’ with people, we would “go” with someone. If you liked someone you were exclusive from day one until you broke up. As we stood at my door, arms around each other, I said, “So…” and waited to see what would happen.

“So…” he replied smiling, I repeated, “So…” and then he said the next couple of words that changed my life.

“So, do ya wanna go with me or what?”

Romantic huh? Of course, I said yes!


Fast forward seven years. We lived together practically from day one, he bought me a toothbrush and a hairbrush for his flat and I basically moved in one piece of clothes at a time.

One day we both had to get formally dressed to get headshots done for some CVs we were sending out to find work. We were lying on our double bed after we got home, me wearing my little business skirt, nylons, a bra and his necktie, (there’s an image!), and him in his open collared shirt trousers.

My parents had both died and I had a bit of inheritance. I was telling him about a chat I’d had with my older brother at the weekend about spending it and that life is short, see the world etc. etc.

We started fantasising about places we would like to holiday in, safari in Africa, the Caribbean, the Seychelles, The Maldives and I said, “Jesus, they are like… not just holidays! Those are serious honeymoon type places,” and he looked down at me and said, “Well let’s do that,” to which I replied something along the lines of “Yeah right, feck off!”

He looked at me and said it… “So, you wanna marry me or what?”, (the romantic devil).

He did have to ask me a few more times before I believed he was deadly serious. I said yes and then proceeded to get the shakes, trembling uncontrollably. So, he took my hand, brought me downstairs, made me beans on toast and fed me until I stopped shaking. (Even back then the guy knew how to give aftercare!)


I look back at my life, and at how I got here, and the four most important lines that were ever said to me or that I ever said are imprinted on my memory:

“Can I walk you home?”

“If I do something will we still be friends tomorrow?”

“Wanna go with me or what?”

“Wanna marry me or what?”


Such small little sentences that made such a difference. 53f5b35c2fa1d41015025c2a0c19fb21

I hold them in my heart always.



Copyright, 2015,

All rights reserved.

25 Songs, 25 Days (Day 17)



Day 17

Bruno Mars – Uptown Funk (2015)

How can you NOT dance to this song???

I want to be in his gang! Those are the coolest damn cats I’ve ever seen and I want to be the tiny white lady that gets to dance with them!

I am jigging about on my high stool as I type, listening to it. The fact that I have pleurisy right now is the only thing stopping me jumping off and dancing around my kitchen… and just barely!

So, click the link people and get your groove on!


Copyright, 2015,
All rights reserved.

Feeling sexy…

What makes you feel sexy?

I have been in a low mood the last few days and feeling decidedly unsexy, ugly and just plain gross.

So, in an effort to lift myself I started playing music… then the inevitable urge to dance came over me.

When I dance, I do so with a total absence of inhibition.

I sway and kick my hips to the beat. I twerk, I grind, I grab the counter or sink and use it as a prop to grind and dip against.

My dogs watch and sometimes join in. My neighbours have probably watched me swinging my hips all sexy-style around my kitchen and I do not care a jot.

And after about all of 30 seconds, I start to feel like the sexiest little bitch on earth. Something about the sensuality of moving around to a grinding beat, an awesome guitar riff and a sexy voice singing even sexier words make me feel… like a sex kitten. Grinding and swaying my hips always results in me feeling, (pardon my crude language, so unusual for me!), horny as hell.

Maybe it’s the sensation of the seam of my jeans rubbing against a certain area.

Maybe it’s the sheer physicality of the dancing.

Maybe it’s the way my movements mirror movements that happen during sex.

I do not know exactly why it makes me feel this way, it simply does.

The effect is heightened if I am being watched. (I must have a touch of exhibitionism about me, who’da thunk it right?!)

If the OH is in the room I ramp the sexy up a bit. I like to think it has the same effect on him.

When I am alone I settle for picturing my neighbour watching, hoping he likes what he sees!

And I admit I tweet my music and declare my dancing to the twitterverse… (oops! Definitely more than a touch of exhibitionism/voyeur fetish I suspect!)


Something has occurred to me as I write this piece, which was intended to focus on what makes me feel sexy, so please forgive my momentary digression…

Aren’t all of us bloggers exhibitionists at heart?

We all seem to nurse a deep-seated desire to share our lives, our thoughts, our fantasies, our fears and our dreams with each other.

I know for a fact that the OH, although he is always very supportive and generous in his praise of my writing, cannot wrap his head around my need to be so open and honest about my life with complete strangers.

I do not have much more insight into it other than I find writing my shit down helps me work out how I feel, why I behave in certain ways, its like my therapy. Perhaps the reason I want to share it all is in the hope that someone else will respond, saying they too have shared whatever experience I am writing about?

Perhaps I am seeking a sense of connection and understanding?

Please leave me a comment explaining why you blog, why you feel the need to share yourself, what rewards you get from it.


Now, back to sexy…

I feel sexy after I have had sex or an orgasm. I find I walk differently. I carry myself differently. I make eye contact with more people and hold it for longer.

I suspect the reason for this is the validation sex gives me that I am actually desirable to someone and that my body is capable of giving me and another person such intense pleasure.

I feel sexy when I flirt and when someone flirts with me. (And readers, if you hadn’t guessed it by now, I flirt A LOT! I flirt with men, women, younger, older, babies, dogs…)  I could flirt with my own reflection FFS!

I feel sexy when I wear certain clothes. 

I am not the dress and high heels type and I never have been, (much to the OH’s disappointment!). But, when I wear my skinny jeans, my fuck-me biker boots and a sexy tight tee-shirt or lace blouse? Then I walk into a room with such confidence, it’s like I own it.

In fact on the occasions that I have worn the little black dress, stockings, shoes ensemble, (hey, I gotta keep the OH happy every now and then…), I have felt uncomfortable and unconfident in the extreme. Those nights rarely end with any sexy time because I have spent the evening fidgeting and adjusting my clothes rather than simply enjoyoing myself and my companion’s company.

I feel sexy when I wear makeup. I can leave the house without it, of course, but once the smokey eyes are done I feel like my real self. I know how ridiculous that sounds, that I feel like my real self when I wear make up! But, that is simply how it is.

I feel sexy when I write my sexy stories. I am not embarrassed to tell you I have frequently felt tingles as I write! I sit at my kitchen table, (in full view of the neighbours again!), and work out the moves I am writing. I often find that I have been stroking my throat or collarbones in the manner I have just described my character doing. I have been known to squirm in my seat!

The best feeling is when someone tells me they actually got off to something I wrote! The idea that I have helped someone orgasm with only my words and images is one very, very powerfully sexy feeling, let me tell you! So readers, do feel free to share if my words have hit the right spot for you!

I would love to hear what makes you feel sexy! Please do leave a comment and share with us!

However, sadly, as I stopped dancing to write this piece, I am now back to feeling grossly unattractive, unsexy and plain old ugly again… time to put more music on I guess?

If you are interested in some of my absolute favourite sexy song lyrics, the ones that give me tingles, check out my other post

If you want to know what any of the songs are just ask! I might even post a link to it!

Copyright  2014,

All rights reserved.

Things That Make Me Happy…

Inspired by a fellow blogger, the very lovely Suzie81 Speaks, I have decided to compile a list of things that always cheer me up.

My life of late has been hectic, stressful and all over pretty miserable, so this exercise could not come at a better time. I hope by taking some time to remember things that make me happy, I will be cheered up. I also hope this piece will remind you of the small things in life that bring a smile to your face, and in turn inspire you to cherish them more often.

We all let the crappy bits of life take over sometimes, so lets celebrate the good stuff!

1. My Dog

Lily is the Love Of My Life. Her beautiful little face is the last thing I see before I fall asleep and the very first thing I see every morning. At night she curls her tiny little fluffy body into mine. I often wake in the middle of the night to find her watching protectively over me. Guarding me from harm. She follows me around the house at all times, there are no secrets between us. When I return home from an errand she greets me with unbridled joy. I can honestly say I would throw myself under a train for her.

She is my saviour, my best friend and my little girl.

I love her.



2. Singing loudly in the car

I love to sing.

Sadly, I cannot claim to be any good at it, but I believe life is too short to let things like lack of talent stop you from doing what you love. My paper-thin walls sometimes inhibit me from unleashing the full force of my lungs at home, (probably not often enough though, ask the neighbours!). It is in the car that I feel free enough to really go for it. I have spoken before about how much my warbling amuses my OH on drives, and to my joy, he has finally succumbed to my pleas for him to join in on occasion. We find Foo Fighters, Green Day and Fall Out Boy mutually satisfying to belt out.

If you haven’t done this, try it! It feels amazing!

3. Dancing

Around my kitchen. Whilst washing up at the sink. In a towel after a shower. In the aisle at Tesco if the right song comes on. (Yes, I am that loon you see strutting down the freezer aisle like a self-deluded Beyoncé wannabe).

Unlike my singing, I do in fact think I’m a pretty good dancer. I got the moves baby! Canned heat in my heels and all that.

Dancing release all those feel good chemicals into the bloodstream. It’s very difficult to dance with abandon and not smile at some point. Next time you feel low put on your favourite song, close the curtains and dance it out. You will feel better. I guarantee it.

4. Smiling at babies

I have never been the maternal type. I swore off having children from an early age, found a man who felt the same and married him. (I should point out that I married him for more reasons than his aversion to fatherhood, there was some silly falling in love business involved).

However, as the years have passed and my life has been blessed by the arrival of nephews, nieces and godchildren, I have discovered that I love babies. I love their little faces, tiny hands, teeny toes. And the smell! Oh dear god the smell!

I have also been delighted to discover that babies love me! They seem to love my face for some unfathomable reason. My OH says it’s down to my big eyes, which I usually outline in dark kohl.

I prefer to think it’s because babies sense when a person likes them and feels comfortable with them. When I am out and see a baby I simply cannot resist a smile and a little wave. If they are close enough a gentle “hi” has been known to escape my lips. The OH has gotten used to this. After noticing several looks of frozen terror on his face, I reassured him I did not need a baby of my own, I just like other peoples babies.

Fact – smiling at a baby and in return getting a gummy little grin back is one of the best things in life.

5. Making other people happy

I am not claiming to be Mother Theresa here, but I genuinely get a kick out of doing things that make other peoples lives better. Complimenting someone and making them smile is a wonderful experience. Donating time or goods to a charity, knowing it will help someone else, always makes me feel better. Sending someone a card for no reason other than that you are thinking about them, knowing the happiness that will bring them, is something I do often. Letting the person behind you in the queue go first because they look stressed and seeing their eyes widen with surprise at the unexpected gesture is always satisfying.

To be honest I am not sure at all if any true altruism exists because the pleasure humans get from making others happy is payback in itself. Do you not agree?

6. Gardening

Some of my happiest moments in life have begun with me standing in an empty, muddy garden contemplating what way I will design it. Researching plants, positions, designs and learning new skills and facts is the first point of pleasure. Becoming completely lost in the physicality of digging and double digging, planting and weeding is bliss. Gathering seeds from my favourite Aquilegia flowers in autumn, storing them over winter and propagating new plants from them in spring, to be planted in a specially selected spot is beyond gratifying. Sinking into a hot bath to ease hard worked muscles and then sitting out in the finished garden with a cold beer… bliss!


7. People enjoying my food

I like to cook and bake. I think I’m good at it. I am that person who murmurs ‘mmmm’ as I eat my own dishes.

When I make something and see someone genuinely enjoy it, either by savouring eau mouthful, or gobbling it down and asking for seconds, I get a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

It must be a primal, instinctual, ancient woman-thing deep inside me, or maybe just pride… either way, if you love my food I love you.

8. Good hair days

I am Irish and suffer with typical Irish hair. This means frizz. Coupled with our glorious soft Irish weather, this is not a good thing.


To add to my misery, my hair refuses to grow below chin length. It reaches that point and simply gives up, says, “that’s it Kat, deal with it”.

I frequently lament that I will never have long luscious waves down my back, as I once had in my teens. I stare with unabashed jealousy at other women with the hair of my dreams.

Because of this, on the rare, and I mean rare, days that I get my blow dry just right and boast a shiny, sleek bob I feel on top of the world. I walk taller, with a bounce in my step, smile more and generally just feel better.

I just wish they happened more often!

9. Making my OH laugh

I love to make people laugh. I like to think I am funny and witty. But making my OH burst out laughing is special. That’s all.

10. Blogging

I am so very happy that I started this blog. It’s where I work things out for myself.

It’s where I express myself.

It’s where I connect with the outside world and share my ideas and opinions.

I love thinking up new things to write about, opening up my Mac Book and tapping away at the keyboard, completely unaware of time passing. If I get a Like or, even better, a comment, it makes my day!

I must once again, from my heart, thank you guys and gals for stopping by to read my meanderings. I love you!


I would love to hear the simple pleasures that make your life happier. Please share with me!