How different life might have been....

Reader, when I was 18 years old, had hair down to my bum and had only just got a facebook account, I was invited to become a Suicide Girl.

(Me age 18)

 I was offered a large amount of money to go and do a vintage style vaguely cheeky shoot in a super kitch Brighton hotel and boy was I tempted. I loved pin up girls. Being a child of the Myspace generation, I was also a huge Suicide Girls fan, loving the funky, non-cookie-cutter girls in the pictures and the message of proud female sexuality they sold. But I was also an 18 year old just out of Catholic 6th Form, who'd never had a boyfriend or had any clue about myself as a woman apart from the fact that I liked vintage clothes and acting and feminism. I thought for maybe 14 hours about the offer before I turned it down, not wanting to have a negative effect on my not-even-yet-in-existence-acting-career, or to have pictures of myself that I may later regret online. I sent the 'thank you but no thank you' email with no small degree of regret. I loved Suicide Girls. They were like the cool, alternative, fun girls who don't play by the rules but are still popular and offered fame and fortune-something which, as a naive and exceptionally innocent 18 year old, was hard to turn down.

Now, looking back I don't regret my decision at all. I still think Suicide Girls are incredible, but at 18 years old I had none of the street savvy required to do a shoot that would have sexualised me to such an extent, nor any of the self confidence. I am happy to do burlesque or vargas style shoots these days, but as a woman nearing the end of my twenties, I have the life experience and knowledge to be able to say no to anything I'm uncomfortable with and put my foot down if I don't like shots. I do however wonder if I'd be any different had I done the shoot....

So here's a little idea of who I'd be in my imagination if I did....

So, acting work would have come in after the shoot, as being a SG was very trendy at that point in time. I likely would have taken a year out of uni to do some acting work (and knowing myself as I do, I wouldn't have gone back). I would have missed out on meeting some wonderful people and having experiences that I treasure like crazy now, but I also would have done the young model/actor thing, travelling and staying in a million hotels with a crazy group of people. Being as impressionable as I was at that age, I would probably have got myself into some sticky situations. I would have got more tattoos and probably dyed my hair wackier colours to fit with my new, alternative friends. My casting would be fairly different. Without the 'little sister' tag I had at university, I would have ended up with boyfriends a lot earlier, and probably would have had my heart broken a whole lot. Would I have done drugs? I'd like to say no, but at that age? Who knows? At 18 I'd never been offered drugs, my knowledge of them was purely theoretical. I might have ended up going to drama school, but I think after starting in the professional world at 18, without knowing who I was as a person, I would now be a very different person-probably someone who was a lot wearier emotionally, a lot harder, probably a lot less level headed. I'd maybe have more of a name for myself but not in the same kind of projects I love doing now-I probably would never have met my gorgeous, life changing partner, have started vlogging or have spent 5 years in education. I feel like at the age I am now, I'd be sick of the industry and would have started a coffee shop or worked as a journalist or something completely different.

All in all, Reader, I'm exceptionally happy with my choice. I may not be able to call myself a SG, but I love my career, my personal life and I wouldn't change a thing about how I got here. Because I wouldn't be the same person-and I kind of like me.

Ash
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5 Reasons To Wear Good Pants....

Reader, I tried writing a blog post last week about what I'd been up to in the time since I last blogged and I had to stop because to be honest, I just sounded really smug, and I was pissing even myself off. So let's just say that I'm really happy at the moment and then there won't be complaints of people vomiting at their computers and throwing rocks through my windows. Instead I decided to talk about something really dear to my heart.

Pants.

Well, underwear to be specific. Not many people know this about me, but I am OBSESSED by lingerie. I probably own more lingerie than most people own entire outfits. Ever since I was about 16 and had teeny tiny boobs that didn't actually need a bra, and had no one to actually SEE my undergarments, I have preferred going on lingerie shopping sprees to any other kind of spending money type activity. When people find this out about me, they tend to assume I do it for men (at which my inner Boadicea snarls and sharpens her sword). They are very wrong. I would actually challenge anyone, Male, Female, Trans, Gay, Straight, Bi, Body Confident, Body Not-So-Confident, Single, Taken and all in between to wear great underwear for a month and see what change it brings in them. I think you'd be pretty astonished! And here's the thing, great underwear to you might not mean the full ensemble of garter belt, stockings, lace et al, it might mean a pair of superman boxers with a pretty bra, or those David Beckham kecks you've always side-eyed in H&M. Great underwear is the underwear you not only feel good and comfortable in, but the underwear that you would be quite happy to show excitedly to other people.

And here are 10 reasons why it's great to do just that....

1. Great underwear makes you walk a bit taller. You walk with a swagger because what you have under your clothes is your little secret. You could be wearing baggy joggers and an old top on the outside but the underwear that makes you feel like one hot tamale underneath will make you strut like you're in Prada daaalink. And sometimes we need that boost on a Monday in a scary meeting or meeting with that guy/gal you promised yourself you'd actually ask out for once.                                                                                                                                                  
2. If you got hit by a bus, you wouldn't wake up cringing about the holey old nonsense you were wearing with Homer Simpson plastered all over them that had faded after too many washes. You could look your nurses in the eye. Yes you have to cut off my pants, but damn, aren't those pants INCREDIBLY AWESOME?! 
3. Unexpected sleepovers. Ok. Let's get real here people. In this day and age, hook ups happen when we least expect them. We're living in the era of tinder, an era where one night stands are as accessible as fast food, and people should not be judged for having healthy sex lives. But don't get caught out-if you always wear good underwear, you're far more likely to not have to turn down a night of romance for bad underwear reasons. Even if you end up choosing to share a bed with someone you've just started dating but decide not to do the deed, a great set of underwear under his T-shirt (or just a great pair of boxers) will make you feel classy as heck. People complain that liaisons are never like in the movies because 'who wears underwear like that all the time just in case?' N.B. some of us do. And it's AWESOME. 
4. Control that body. No but seriously. You know what really hurts going downstairs too fast? Boobs that aren't properly held in place. Bad bras do not protect you from droop and can cause rashes and bruises and stabby under wiring. Not so comfy. Wear underwear that feels good for you. Same for those with other equipment. Wear underwear that holds you securely in place and you're less likely to sit on....erm...things. Also less chance of cringey accidental displaying in shorts or thin jogging bottoms. From a very simplistic level, you should wear things that look after you. As if your bits are being hugged by your fairy-undies-mother. (pic related, owl is exactly how you should feel)                  
5. Underwear is, to put it frankly, brilliant. You can be displaying one face to the world with your outer garments and quite another underneath. Underwear is like a daily gift for yourself (and maybe for a significant other if you're so inclined) and should be treated as such! I have a friend who works in an office and due to office dress code has to don boring suits but has the most beautiful underwear collection ever because it's her way of sticking a finger up at the system (sure, put me in grey suits but underneath that I am all leopard print silk and you have NO IDEA). Buying underwear can give you an alter-ego no one knows about, a secret that gives you confidence-hell, with the right pants, you could be a superhero.

Till next time Reader!

Ash

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Why do weddings make us cry?

So, as you guys know, The Bride recently did something rather incredible-she got hitched! And it was the wedding of a lifetime! A gorgeous manor that looked like something straight out of a period drama, so much good food that I felt like I'd eaten more than I'd had in weeks, she looked like a princess, he glowed with pride when he caught her eye, we all danced to a live band and I taught a bunch of people to headbang. It was lovely. And there were lots and lots of tears.

I cried watching her get into her dress, I cried when she couldn't help but kiss her soon-to-be husband as soon as she got down the aisle, I cried as they exchanged their vows and I cried during the speeches. I welled up giving her the book me and her other oldest friend had compiled for her, I shed a tear when we chased her bridal car down the road. Everyone cried at the groom's speech, and then again when we did the bridesmaids' speech. I couldn't express how happy I was without welling up.

So what is it about weddings that make us get misty eyed?

Well I've noticed the crying thing has only come about as I've got old enough for my friends to start getting married off. Now don't get me wrong, these aren't sad tears-nope, anything but! They're happy tears, proud tears, overwhelmed tears. They're tears which are hopeful for the couple but also hopeful for yourself.



The thing is, unless you're not a believer in marriage, the wedding day is like this really awesome chance to celebrate love. And what's so bad about that? You get to shout from the rooftops how important that person is to you. It's like saying to that person-'You are it. You're my best friend, my family and the person I want to share my bed with forever and a day.' And that's a huge deal. Marriage isn't something to be entered into lightly, you do it because you know that the person you're meeting at the end of the aisle is someone you don't only want in your life forever, but that you need. Which is why divorce is such a terribly sad thing.

Watching friends you've watched grow up get married is incredible. You see it all in your head-what they looked like when you were kids, arguing about who would get your period first, that time you designed your dream dresses (and laughing to yourself as you compare her incredibly stylish and elegant ivory gown with her old vision of a turquoise monstrosity with sequins and puffy sleeves, topped with a tiara...eight year old's visions of wedding dresses are fairly Big Fat Gypsy Wedding-esque), confiding in each other about your first kisses and talking about what you wanted to be when you grew up. You remember teenage angst, and worries over spots, greasy hair and the boys that didn't like you back, and you then you watch as it all melts away and your friend, that same one who used to wear owl-like glasses and play with furbies, turn into royalty. And it's not the dress that does it, it's not the big venue, the presents or throwing the bouquet. It's love. I've never seen The Bride look so beautiful as she did when she looked at her new husband, or glow quite so much as she did with pride when he gave his speech.

My tears were out of pure happiness-because the little girl I played Tomb Raider and hopscotch with was a woman. And that day, I saw her whole future in front of her-the ups, the downs, the laughter, the tears, the late nights and the early mornings. And I knew all of it would be ok, because she'd be doing it all with a partner in crime who knew her better than anyone, loved her more than anyone and wanted her happiness more than anyone. It's a weird sensation when you realise that you're not your oldest friend's port of call any more, but when you're handing over to someone who loves them that much, it's also one of the best feelings in the world.

So, to The Bride and her lovely new husband- with all my heart I wish you that long, wonderful future.(I promise next time I see you both I won't cry. Well, probably.)
Ash
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The Richard Curtis Effect...

Reader, living in London is a pretty wonderful thing sometimes. But it sometimes has a rather odd effect on me. I'll be walking across London Bridge with a friend, and suddenly it's as if we've entered a strange dimension, where we're endearingly bumbling English folk. Suddenly we start making grand statements and doing really wanky things, like holding hands and running across in the rain hollering and whooping, or yelling across the Thames. What a bunch of knobatrons.



I call this The Richard Curtis Effect. It's when the feeling of being in London overwhelms you to the point where it feels like your life has become a scene in Bridget Jones or Four Weddings and A Funeral and you start imagining that everyone pauses for comedic effects and certain moments go by in slow motion.

Now, obviously, this has its good points-somehow, cringey moments are less awful when you're imagining what Hugh Grant or Domnhall Gleeson would do during them (and as someone who has truly embarrassing moments day to day, this is cheering). I have learnt to laugh at myself when I do something ridiculous, and just think of it as a story to tell my friends when they need a giggle. Also, how cross can you get with yourself when you think that Richard Curtis is directing your story and thus this is all just a prelude to you being about to fall in love with the guy who reached for that book at the same time as you in the tiny second hand shop?



Because that's the thing about The Richard Curtis Effect-you think that there's always going to be a happy ending, no matter how dire things get. Incarcerated for a drugs offence you didn't commit? The dishy lawyer you're in love with is about to break you out and start your career as an internationally acclaimed journo. Wife dead, leaving you with tiny, angry blond stepson? You're going to get off with Claudia Schiffer and form a bond deeper than most biological father/sons with the sprog. Born ginger? You get to TIME TRAVEL and spend your life with the woman of your dreams. Always late for weddings and leaving a trail of mental ex girlfriends behind you?...Oh...ok, this one is a bit awkward, you're in love with this total dickhead American lady who can't tell when it's raining. (I like to imagine when Four Weddings ends, Hugh sorts his shit out and gets with his fantastically sarcastic best friend who has forever loved him from afar). Your career always goes stellar, your house is always either a cosy one bed above the globe with french windows, a rambling country estate or a snug little cottage covered in roses. You may have some heartbreak, but that makes the story SO much better. As does the fact that you're a little bit fat and you sometimes wear some really, really dire outfits.



When I walk around Southbank, you know what I hear? Well, it depends on my mood actually. If I'm happy, it's 'AIN'T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH etc etc', if I'm sad it's always 'Sorry seems to be the hardest word' and there is inevitably a lot of standing looking across the water, clutching a coat to myself. I know. I am RIDICULOUS. I am not Bridget Jones by any stretch of the imagination (apart from the clumsy side, the love of all cheese, the lack of a tidy bedroom...erm....shut up) but when The Richard Curtis Effect looms, I just go with it, and so does my internal soundtrack.



This has also affected my taste in men. You know who I get crushes on? Boys with posh voices. Floppy hair also leaves me wooed. Men who are polite and gentlemanly, but then also hysterically funny and you could imagine them doing really mad but sweet things for someone they liked (Domnhall travelled through time guys. I'm just saying). I am a SUCKER for romance. I try to deny it, but I am. It's atrocious. I blame things like Love, Actually and Four Weddings ENTIRELY. I fear that without their influence, I would be a far more cynical, realistic woman.



Saying that though-who wants to be cynical? I am a massive optimist, and if that means seeing through the rose tinted glasses of British rom-coms with people with large teeth and larger hats, so be it! I may say things that come out ridiculously wanky sometimes, but I always say them with genuine feeling, I know you can use prescription goggles instead of glasses whilst at the cinema if you lose your specs and I know to never, ever, EVER go back to a man who cheats on you with a lithe American model. Life lessons people.

So go out in London today Reader (if you in fact live there-if you don't...erm...I don't know...watch Four Weddings or something) and enjoy looking through the rom-com goggles!
Ash
x
P.s. Richard Curtis is also responsible for the Mr.Bean movie. Yeah.

It's just (just) a little crush (crush)...

Hey Reader! How are you today? Gosh, isn't that a smart outfit you have on?

Reader, I'm in a good mood at the moment. Why's that? Well, I have the beginnings of a bit of a crush, and whether it comes to anything or not, crushes are lovely things to have.

'But Ash!' (I hear you collectively cry) 'Crushes are terrible things! They could mean unrequited love! Pain! Anxiety! Stress-sweating!'

Calm yourself Reader. Deep breaths. Chill the fuck out.

If you let yourself get hopelessly lost in the crush, well, yes. There is the chance of all of the above happening. Or the crush might be mutual and you might end up getting to have kisses under the moon and stars (see previous blog entry for my aforementioned romance-addiction). Or the crush might just fade when you find out the person picks their nose, or snorts, or votes BNP *shudder*.

The joy of a crush is that you don't know which of the above is going to happen. You get excited when they contact you (particularly if you haven't instigated the contact), you find yourself wearing the good knickers (just in case you get run over by a bus in their company, obviously. n.b. why is this a thing? My gran always told me to wear good undies in case I got hit by a bus, but I feel like if I was hit by a bus a) my clothes probably wouldn't fly off my body and into a neat pile by the side of the road and b) I'd probably have slightly bigger worries), you have dreams where they make a move on you (which, at least in my case, are always vaguely like an episode of Friends. Or Buffy. Or Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog-Neil Patrick Harris, I will wait for you till you're reincarnated into a body that likes lady bits. Promise), you blush when they're mentioned as if people magically can see into your brain and watch said dreams, you find random, insignificant things that you have in common ('LOOK! I FROWN WHEN I READ TOO!') and lots of other brilliant but odd stuff. And crushes have enormous health benefits!



1) I've just seen a face...

When you have a crush, you don't release as much cortisol, so your skin is clearer! How fabulous is that?!



2) Unbreak my heart

Having romantic feelings toward someone decreases your blood pressure and heart rate! (even though it can sometimes feel like it's going to burst out of your chest...Particularly whilst playing footsie or when you're THAT CLOSE to kissing)




3) Everybody hurts

Crushes release similar drugs to pain meds, so aches and scrapes hurt less! Don't believe me? Check this report on the very subject!



4) Sweet like chocolate boy

When you're lusting after someone and you have a suspicion they feel the same way, everything tastes sweeter-which is partly why people tend to gain a little weight in happy relationships. It's all good though, it's happy chub! And it makes food taste gooood. (even the veggie smoothies that I'm currently making myself)



5) Then I got high, then I got high, then I got high

A crush can make you have a reaction similar to getting high-it releases large levels of dopamine into your brain, which make you feel all good. It's a pretty addictive feeling! (And may explain why I'm so dopey around people I fancy)



6) I see the want to in your eyes

Last but not least, when you're around someone you LIKE like, your eyes get all huge and sparkly. Your pupils dilate, giving you the sort of eyes craved by most anime-enthusiasts!




The thing about crushes, Reader, is that we don't enjoy them enough whilst we have them. And then we spend the rest of the time complaining that our love lives are dull. So go! Enjoy your crushes! Just remember that they're not the be all and end all-that title belongs to Asian food, Netflix and how many colours you've painted your nails today.

Cheerio Reader!
Ash
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Ten reasons it's great to be single...

Reader, as you may have gathered from some of my previous entries, I am single. Which can be a pain in the arse, given that most of my friends are getting married and having babies and I spend most of my life wondering how much ice cream I can eat before I have to exercise, but it also has a variety of plus points (when I can avoid married friends making sympathetic clucking noises at me). Here are ten of my favourites!

Ten reasons being single is fabulous

1. The bed situation

Shh, you filthy minded lot! I'm talking about the fact that because no one will be IN your bed you can keep it in exactly the state you prefer. In my case (and because my bed is also my office) that means piled high with books, notepads, clothes and scripts (which I end up contorting my body round in order to find space to sleep). When I'm seeing someone I end up grudgingly making my bed every day. When I'm single I can be a messy bint.

    2. Not having to hide the fact that you're actually not that interested in intellectual stuff

The moment when you realise that you don't have to pretend to like searingly smart documentaries about the world ending due to humans being dickheads is really, really satisfying. You can just switch over to yet ANOTHER episode of Friends. Or Charmed. Or even Footballer's Wives. AND NO ONE NEED EVER KNOW (Tanya's flicky eyes were the best thing on the box back in the day...). Also, newspapers. You don't have to read them. Apart from The Metro (which doesn't really count) and The Evening Standard (but only to flick to the crossword at the back). And you can lie about it and there will be no one to jump in with 'What are you talking about, you NEVER read the newspapers!'

    3. Not having to plan your schedule around someone else's

You know what I bloody love about being single? That I don't have to diary plan with anyone. I am so busy. ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME. When you're in a relationship, you also have to plan in couple time. As a singleton, I work very hard to plan in ice cream and watching Netflix time (I somehow always manage to squeeze it in somewhere...)

    4. Clothes that few men understand

There are items of clothes in my wardrobe that only women (and a VERY select few high fashion obsessed men) understand. These items are not items that make me look like Jessica Rabbit, they've got interesting cuts and kitch prints and in general I only wear them when I'm single. Because the response I get when I wear them is that women go 'ooohhh that's a fabulous look' and men go 'erm...you look weird'. (Often I do look weird, so this is fine but when I am single I am much happier to experiment with my wardrobe, as I am less likely to show anyone up-my patterned tights have a FIELD DAY)

      5. Inappropriate crushes

When I'm in a relationship with someone I love, I don't get crushes on other people generally-all of my attention and affection is just aimed at that one special person. But when I'm single, there is a WHOLE LOT of inappropriate going on. I had a crush on an 18 year old the other day. Eighteen. As in, almost a decade younger than me and barely legal. AND HE WAS FLIRTING WITH ME. I think. I was mostly trying to stop blushing and telling myself to shape up so I could be wrong. I get crushes on people in relationships, I get crushes on friends. I don't let myself fall for them, sometimes the crushes only last a day and nothing ever comes of them, it's just that for that brief period of time I go all woogly over them (shut up, I can't think of a real word). Being single means life is full of potential. Delicious, entirely inappropriate potential!

   6. Flirting

Ok, so this leads on from the last point. But when you're single you can flirt. Not only that, you can flirt WITH INTENT. Which is ever so much fun.

   7. Kissing takes on more importance

Ok Reader, here's a question-why do people stop kissing in relationships? Ok, so I know that it's a precursor to sex and when you're in a relationship, you're pretty much guaranteed action, but I LOVE kissing! Kissing is the best! And when you're single, kissing is so thrilling. You spend dates thinking feverishly that tonight might lead to that first, wonderful kiss. You have conversations with the person you're crushing on, not actually listening to what they're saying because you're dreaming that they'll grab you and kiss you in the style of Rhett Butler. You carry mints around with you just in case you bump into Nicholas Hoult and he decides to pucker up. Kissing is MAGICAL. I put a lot of meaning on first kisses-if I don't feel a spark then I tend to lose interest fairly quickly-which is probably unfair, but I think kissing is super important. Don't you? Answers on the back of a postcard people...

   8.   Shoe choices

I love high heels. I have far too many of them. But I love them. When I'm in a relationship, I tend to live in flats. This is for a number of reasons. 1) Men get weird if you're taller or as tall as them 2) They get pissy when you're walking slow because it's hard to walk in what are essentially stilts 3) They get embarrassed when you go barefoot at the end of the night. So I end up just giving in and wearing flats. When I'm single, I am super tall. In fact, generally people are shocked when they realise quite how short I really am (it's like my secret identity! Short arse girl!) 

   9. Male friends

I love my boy mates. They make me laugh like a drain, we take the piss out of each other something silly and they give the best hugs. But boyfriends get funny about how close I am with them. Ironically, most of my boy mates are so like brothers to me that I would never go there, but partners seem to think they have something to be jealous of. To be fair, even the most laid back partner might get annoyed to see his girlfriend playfighting with a hunky man she gets on with really well. I'm not saying I ditch my male friends when I have a partner, but it definitely makes it easier being single. (Also, then you can also do number 6 without feeling too guilty)

   10. Being a career girl

I love my career. I love being an actress, a writer and a vlogger. I love it. And when I'm single, I can get properly lost in it. I can spend my days doing the admin stuff that pays the bills and the nights learning lines and recording vlogs. I can spend weeks rehearsing, then getting pissed with cast members in the pub below the theatre. I can become my character with no risk of it affecting my relationship. It's like, so method dahlink. Poncy though this is, it is kind of true-being in a relationship is distracting. If they're not in the industry then they don't understand how you can dedicate so much of your life to something that doesn't pay, if they are then there's always underlying jealousy or resentment (or just the fact that both of you are flighty creative types who might have to leave at a minutes notice). 

Ok, so let's be honest for a second Reader, if I fell in love-like, actual, proper, head over heels love? That would win out over all of these things, because love is very important and wonderful. But at the moment I am not in love, and I am single and I am still happy. And you can be too. Go on, think of a few reasons why being a singleton works for you! 

Tarrah Reader!

Ash

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S*** no one tells you about depression...

So Reader, one thing you might not know about me is that when I was at university, many years ago, I was diagnosed with depression. Now, don't freak out on me (people have done in the past), this doesn't mean what the media sometimes makes it out to mean. I'm not suicidal, I'm not really sad all the time, nor am I the quiet po-faced one in the corner at parties.

First off, I am actually very lucky. I'm on the much much lower end of the depression spectrum compared to most people. A couple of times in a year, it flares up a bit, and it's like the chemicals inside my brain go a bit out of wack when it comes to coping with things and my emotions. The rest of the year, I am an incredibly happy little bunny. I have been known as 'Little miss optimist' and 'Lady cheery' in my time. I am inevitably the one offering solutions to problems with a side of cupcake and wishing on stars and generally acting like a Disney princess on a lot of sugar. In the times that I am sad (which I what I normally say, as the term 'Depression' never seemss quite right), I will rarely tell anyone, which is why very few people know I have the big D (yes, I just laughed at the innuendo there too). Most of the time I don't even realise it's happening until I'm deep into it and then I go 'Oooohhh, yeah-that's what that is!' I don't medicate, when I was at uni a really lovely doctor gave me great lifestyle and food advice to help as I wasn't up for taking anything strong and I find that stuff like eating nice food and getting light exercise and as much sunshine as possible tends to help. Even when I am suffering from a bout of it, I'm pretty functional and able to laugh and socialise with my friends and dates etc. What is pretty interesting to me though, is that, because I only developed depression later in life, I had read a lot of mentions to it in books and magazines, and seen it on films and tv, which I think is why I didn't recognise it when it happened to me-because it's actually different for everyone, which the media doesn't really show. So here's a little list of some things I discovered myself...

SHIT NO ONE TELLS YOU ABOUT DEPRESSION

• You're not necessarily sad

I'm going to be honest with you folks, the sad bit doesn't always turn up. Sometimes it does, and that sucks in its own special way, but a lot of time in my experience, depression is like the absence of emotion. Nothing affects you. It's like you're down a well, or as my dear friend says 'bubbled'. I tend to find that I veer from being utterly unable to feel or be affected by anything to being panicky and sad in one fell swoop-usually I won't even know what about. Which reminds me....

• There is rarely a reason for you being depressed

When they hear I'm depressed, usually the first thing they ask is 'Why?' More often than not, the answer is 'I have no freakin' idea!' Although situations can be the trigger for depressed phases, more often than not it's just your body chemistry being a twat. Women with depression often find that flare ups happen pre-period or around pregnancy, because hormones also play a huge part in it (but ask if we're sad because of our period and you will likely get a punch in the face). Despite this, sometimes it helps to rant about everything that sucks in your life and cry about it (note, most of the time I think my life is awesome and wonderful-when I'm depressed everything develops a really long shadow and my mind palace turns into a mind dungeon, where even the nice things are slime-covered. Metaphors for THE WIN). I actually did this a few nights ago with my parents (my mum has a terrifying ability to notice I'm on the edge of emotional freak out before even I do) and it really helps. 

• Depression makes your sleep cycle freak out

One of my friends can't sleep when she's depressed. When mine flares up, I am constantly exhausted and tend to need naps, early nights and still can't function without caffeine. For me, the trick is to push through that and go on walks and do exercise classes. When I was first diagnosed, I would wake up in the middle of the night and have to clean my room or check my banking stuff. Now I just fall asleep everywhere-on buses, sofas, trains...it's pretty weird.

•  It can make you super productive...or unable to do anything

One of the few ways I know to escape my depression is by making myself keep very busy (which ironically is how I sometimes wind up having a flare up) and because my brain doesn't want to think about the chemical chaos going on inside it, it's only too happy to allow itself to be distracted. So sometimes in the midst of depression I'm wildly productive, cleaning my room within an inch of its life, bleaching floors, doing so much admin my laptop smokes-and then at other times, the lethargy takes over and I have such small amounts of energy, even the thought of getting out of bed seems like the most impossible thing in the world. The latter is obviously far worse, because the more you feel like that, the harder it is to battle out of the murk. And given that I'm a freelancer, time not spent working is time that I don't get paid-not ideal to say the least. Interestingly, I've never found it's affected my ability to perform-even at my worst, I've been able to get up, go to rehearsal and do my best. I find that because I'm focussing on the character's issues rather than my own, I'm able to escape from it all for a while, or at times, use it to give the character more honesty. Which is one of the reasons that I think the prospect of schools removing drama from the syllabus is ridiculous, for some kids drama is a lifeline. Sadly our conservative government doesn't realise how important a wide range of classes truly is. 

• You can sometimes go for a few years without a flare up

For a while after drama school, my depression didn't flare up at all. I had about a year and a half where I had normal emotions, normal reactions to things and I sort of thought I'd escaped it. When I was sad, it was normal levels of sadness. When I was stressed, it was normal levels of stress. It was fabulous! And then, without warning, one day it hit again. I felt so ashamed and sad that it was back that I hid it from everyone until it had passed. My ex didn't even know I had depression until the 4th year of us being together, mainly because I didn't tell him until we were living together and I had my first flare up in ages. This is a bit of a routine, the shame and the hiding. I think everyone normally sees me as so positive they could puke, so when I can't be like that I feel like I've let people down. And the guilt of being so unhappy when there's nothing really 'wrong' is killer. I've got a lot more used to it over the years, but I still have issues talking about it and vocalising how I'm feeling. I've never been particularly good at accepting help. 

• Talking about it doesn't always help

Sometimes it does. Sometimes I really don't want to discuss it. Because it will make me think about it more. And actually, pretending it's a small child having a temper tantrum is sometimes the best way to cope with it. Don't get me wrong, at times a good talk is very much needed, but on days where I'm just about holding it together, I don't want to explain my feelings because I have too much to get on with to wallow in it. Which brings up another point...

• It's really hard not to wallow in it

Depression is like really warm, comfy quicksand. You know it's bad for you. You know the longer you're in it, the worse it's going to be for you in the long run, but it's so easy just to lay back and let it happen. One of the hardest parts for me in a flare up is not indulging myself, because it would be so easy just to stay in bed all day, lock my door and cry. When I'm feeling like this I keep reaaaally busy, so that I don't even have the choice to stay in all day. I know out of experience that if I give into it, it's much harder to lever myself out and into normality. But this has to be something that I do myself-if someone who doesn't know what it's like were to tell me to 'snap out of it' it would increase the guilt, worry and panic ten fold. 

So yeah! Some stuff about depression and some of the crap that the books don't really talk about. The thing is Reader, it's completely different for everyone. I cannot stress how lucky I am that I only have to deal with this crap a couple of days or weeks in the year-I have friends that deal with it on a day to day basis and I can't imagine how hard it must be for them. I have friends who have manic depression, schizophrenia or bi-polar who you would never guess had it because they are incredibly good at hiding it. 

Anyway, cheerio Reader! I hope you've learnt things from this little blog entry!

Ash

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For SERIOUS?

Reader, there are moments in life, where you have to stop, raise a cynical eyebrow and say 'For SERIOUS?' These moments always leave you a little speechless afterwards, like you can't believe how bloody ridiculous people/life can be. A fair amount of these have happened to me fairly recently. I feel like my eyebrow is perpetually raised, like a funny facial impression frozen by the wind changing direction.

• When a total stranger gives you the sleaziest, weirdest chat up line. 

This week I have had two. One man, wearing far too many layers for the spring warmth and smelling like spoiled milk hissed 'I'd wear you like a sock'. So many issues with this. First grossness levels-off the charts. Secondly-a sock? On your foot? That's really bloody weird mate. It would take a very specific type of gal to respond to that. It was so odd that I had the same inquiring smile that I'd had on when he'd leaned over to me frozen on my face for 10 minutes after. The second one was 'That bitch is f****n' unreal mate!' First off-calling me a bitch unless I know you and you're being hilarious-not going to evoke the best reaction. Secondly-given that you spoke up and pointed at me as you said it, I'm assuming you wanted me to hear. What did you expect was going to happen? That I would stop and say 'Why, so is that bastard! Good for you sir! You are as f****ng unreal as a unicorn!' I mean....what?

• When you pay a bill just to have another, even bigger one turn up. 

HOW ARE THERE SO MANY BILLS?! What, pray tell, are they going to start charging me for next? Air? Dancing in my kitchen without a licence?

• When a friend tells you their view on something and it is RIDICULOUS. 

Sorry-you're staying with the boyfriend that just cheated on you and hasn't said he loves you after two years? Because he could change? You think that foreigners should be sent back to their countries? But that it shouldn't count for you because you're 'second generation'? You are £4000 in debt but just bought a designer handbag? Oh yeah. You are all kinds of confused.

• Messages out of the blue from people who didn't want to date you before but now suddenly want a booty call. 

When I liked you, you couldn't be bothered with me. But now I'm no longer interested, the texts, emails and messages at 2am start streaming in. No. Bog off. You don't hold my attention any more because clearly I wasn't interesting enough to you when I was available. I am worth more than that thanks very much, but cheers for the late night offer!

• When you tell someone what you do for a living and they ask what you're really going to do as a job. 

Excuse you...I don't judge your incredibly dull but well earning office job, please do not judge my incredibly fulfilling dream job which pays just enough for me to pay my rent. 

• People who try and tempt you into having a cigarette. 

This is the second time I've managed to beat the addiction. There is literally NOTHING good about smoking and as an asthmatic who can't afford to buy fags, you should be delighted that I've managed to give up. Waving one under my nose going 'oh go on....just the one' will get you either a punch in the back of the head or soggy fags mixed in with your next meal. Please, you decide.

• When men you don't know call you 'babe' or 'sweetheart' in the workplace or when they're trying to sell something. 

Would you call a bloke that? No. Calling me things like this makes me feel like you're about to ask me if the man of the house is in. My friends, family and partners are allowed to use terms of endearments-the only strangers that can get away with that are elderly people who are being very lovely or anyone I allow to do my hair, make up or nails (the bond between beauty professionals and women knows no bounds)

What gives you the 'For SERIOUS?' face Reader? List answers below!

Ash

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Women, ladies, girls....

Morning Reader! Gosh, it's a nasty cloudy ol' day in London-the sky is so grey it looks brown. But I am in a great mood. Why am I so smiley? Because over the next week many wonderful things are happening!

First off, it's my birthday week. Last year, my birthday was a wash out, I was so unwell that I had to cancel my birthday party and ended up on my sofa feeling very very sad instead of wearing a fabulous dress and seeing all my lovely friends. This year, I am going to dance on a BOAT. On the THAMES. And it shall be lovely. My real birthday (Tuesday) falls on Shrove Tuesday. Which is a brilliant excuse to eat pancakes. Then, on the 8th of March, my wonderful parents are taking me out to celebrate. And it's International Women's Day!

Now, normally IWD creeps up on me, and then I see it on Twitter and give a half hearted 'Whoop, I have a womb'. This year, which has been a year of seeing the incredible women in my life go from strength to strength, I'm actually going to mark it by making a couple of vlogs about being a woman.

Here's the first of the vlogs, which was inspired by beautiful-inside-and-out spoken word poet Natalie Patterson about 10 things every woman should know:CLICK HERE FOR VLOGGY GOODNESS

If you go back through my archives you can also find some blogs about being a woman:

What does it mean to be a woman

The Good Girl Dichotomy 

My Womb Is Not Marked With Your Name Sir

And also, please go and check out the work of wonderful feminist photographer Hannah Nagle, who at 19 years of age takes incredible photos and is a generally awesome lady:FOR PRETTY PICTURES CLICK HERE

Anyway, that's all for now folks,
Have a delightful day, wherever you are!
Ash
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Vive La Smug...

Reader, in the past year or so, me and one of my favourite girls, Lady Luxe, have come up with a new way of living. It's a very un-British way of approaching life, but we rather like it. So here it is:

Vive La Smug.

Confused? Don't worry, I'll explain.

So, last year was pretty intense for both Lady Luxe and I. We both went through pretty big break ups, lost a lot of self confidence and worked ourselves into the ground. I gained weight and she got scarily thin (amazing how stress can affect people in different ways!). So when we came out the other side, we decided to use our experiences to improve our lives. It all started after she finally ended things with her ex. We went out for a night, just before Christmas and had sushi, went to a night market and then got drunk on a boat, dancing under the stars in full view of the London skyline. As we danced, we laughed and laughed, suddenly feeling the weight of the world leave our shoulders. We had jobs we loved, were living in one of the greatest cities in the world, wearing the highest of heels and the kookiest jewelry. We were going on dates and planning adventures. I turned to Lady Luxe and grinned. 'We are SO BLOODY SMUG!' I yelled, jubilantly. 'Vive La Smug!' she responded, and we broke down in giggles again.

Normally, being smug is seen as a bad trait-but why shouldn't we be? We are normally incredibly self deprecating, we spend our lives doing things for other people and work really flipping hard-we deserve a bit of a smug glow when things go well!

And now it's become a life philosophy. Instead of being effacing about our successes in life, we text or call each other and proclaim 'Vive La Smug!'. The cause for the smugness could be anything, but most of the time it's stuff that we imagine would happen to women in novels-getting a promotion, having a particularly wonderful date, getting a great compliment, having a night out that was just too cool for school-any success that makes us feel delightful.

Because life is too blooming short to not be smug about the fact that you got taken dancing and kissed under the stars, or got cast in a film, or mistaken for Paloma Faith twice in one day (this has started happening with alarming frequency of late. I have decided to take it as a compliment and not a suggestion that my wardrobe is slightly too kooky). I always say 'This is one to tell the grandkids' But what if I don't have grandkids? What if I step in front of a bus tomorrow? I need to enjoy the good stuff while I can! Otherwise, it's all a bit pointless really isn't it?

So my lovely Reader, go forth and embrace the smug!
Ash
x

Through a glass darkly/what everyone else sees....

Reader, I've often found mirrors a really odd thing. I mean, a good mirror with great lighting can make you feel like an A-lister with curves (or muscles) in all the right places. Bad lighting and positioning (John Lewis, I'm looking at you) makes you feel like an obese person with sallow skin and you decide never to leave the house ever again. On a trip to John Lewis in Cardiff recently I was nearly reduced to tears by what I saw and wore baggy jumpers for a week. But mirrors lie. Because you never really see what other people are seeing and it's completely dependent on a certain light, usually in a cramped little box of a changing room. You're seeing a flipped version of yourself, distorted slightly in a flat plane of glass, not unconscious and unaware and in free flow.  And what's really interesting is that a reflection can be completely objective. There's this amazing video by Dove where they get a crime artist to sketch women as they describe themselves.  Then they get complete strangers to describe what the women look like, and inevitably the pictures described by the women themselves were far harsher than the strangers and they didn't even notice the really incredible, attractive things about themselves.

And to be fair, the pictures described by the strangers come out looking far more like the women actually look. It's a really beautiful exercise in self confidence, but I also find it really interesting as a slightly scientific study in perception. I'm quite critical of myself, but have always put that down to being an actor and needing to have an honest grasp of what other people see, because most of the time, that's how you're initially cast-on image. I try to remain very impartial, but because so many of my peers are tiny weenie and drop dead gorgeous, I always feel a bit like the chunky giant with wonky teeth and a bent nose lumbering among them. I'm not saying I feel ugly, my mum instilled a healthy dose of 'if your body works and you think nice thoughts and do nice things, then you are beautiful' into me, but I do see my imperfections very clearly. However, I sometimes wonder where the line is between an honest and objective critique of myself as someone on screen and in print and just being a human being who sees the bad more than the good (as is the natural downfall of most humans). One of my most beautiful friends Lady Luxe, who has the most incredible figure I've ever seen, an elfin, model like face and this incredible sense of style thinks she is in need of a diet, has bad skin and hair and that her boobs need to be bigger. Which always makes my jaw drop, because she is utterly stunning and I regularly describe her as 'a goddess' to people that haven't met her. Ditto one of my oldest friends, The Bride, who has the most incredible thick glossy hair, beautiful almost black eyes and this fabulous, heart shaped face. She just can't see the same reflection that I see. Isn't that weird? That we can't see the things that other people think are amazing? Or that we just see something completely different? Sometimes it's such a severe thing that it becomes an actual disease; 'Body Dismorphic Disorder', which is a leading cause of anorexia and bulimia. We create this fake, out of proportion, misshapen creature in our heads that looks vaguely like us, but isn't really.

You can watch the (really lovely and worth a view) video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=litXW91UauE

In the meantime, as a bit of an experiment, I asked my followers on facebook and twitter to privately message me with an objective and honest description of what I look like, without trying to be flattering to me, as if they were describing me to someone who had never met me. It was less about trying to boost my self confidence (as in the Dove film) than trying to work out if what I saw in the mirror was a true reflection of what I really look like, because although I pride myself about being quite sensible and practical about how I appear, I'm almost certain that others see me differently. While I was waiting, I looked in the mirror and tried to unemotionally describe myself as honestly as I could.

My description: 

I'm sort of 'alright looking'. I wouldn't call myself beautiful by any account, but I don't think I'd scare small kids away too much. My hair is coppery red, and goes down to just past my breasts. It's actually a bit too long at the moment and is in dire need of a good cut, loads of split ends from a few years of letting it grow and trimming it myself. It doesn't ever really do what I tell it to and looks scruffy most of the time, but I like the colour I have it at now. My fringe has a life of its own and likes to point upwards (particularly my cow's lick on the right hand side) as if trying to answer a question. I'm very very pale, more yellow than pink skinned and I have lots of freckles, which in the summertime come out and make me look about 12 and in the winter fade and just make my skin look a bit uneven. They're not cute-just-over-my-nose-in-a-very-sweet-way-freckles, they're sandblasted all over my chin, upper lip and forehead as well, as if a small but excitable moth decided to disco dance on my face while I was sleeping. I have quite full, very pale pink lips, and wonky teeth that I try and hide when I smile or laugh and always feel a bit self conscious about. When I talk, my mouth does odd things and makes odd shapes, it doesn't look like a normal mouth, more like a strange Picasso mouth. My nose has a bump in it from where I skiied into the french rugby team when I was 13 (don't ask) but I've actually grown to quite like that, because it makes me look a bit interesting. My eyes are a nice colour, dark green, which in direct light turn blue, and I have a streak of gold through one of them which I only noticed when I started getting headshots. I have dark patches under my eyes though, which never ever fade and make me look tired, and I'm starting to get little laughter lines. I have one very big wrinkle between my eyebrows (I blame squinting too much). I have dark, thick eyebrows, which are quite arched, making me look either quizzical or suggestive. Those definitely come from my dad, whose eyebrows regularly try to take over his forehead, but which on a man look dashing. On a woman they look a bit surprising, like someone magic markered them on. I have large (I always forget quite how large), pointy ears, quite high cheekbones and a sort of angular long face. There's a beauty mark under my right eye that make up artists keep trying to rub off because it looks a bit like I'm just grubby. I have a long, pale neck (which I like), but slightly rounded shoulders (which I don't). My arms are quite slender, but very very long. I'm a bit apelike. Or, if I'm dancing madly, like one of those inflatable armed sticks you see outside of car dealerships. My boobs are quite big and quite a nice shape (even though they're lower than they used to be, but I still pass the pencil test-hurrah!), and my waist is quite small (and ridiculously high up meaning I have to be careful what I wear because if I wear something low waisted I tend to look like a big square), but NOTHING is toned. I have what I would describe as a flubby belly that pokes out and rather than just laying flat has a slightly more pokey outey bit under my belly button (as if my womb has to be extra protected by a layer of fat), I can't really wear pencil skirts because of it and my ginormous, very rounded hips, which a kind relative recently described as 'child bearing'. They are the main reason I try to steer clear of trousers. My legs are long, but have huge thighs and my bum is enormous and not in a lovely Brazilian way (more in a flat, back of a lorry, English way with loads of cellulite, which is mostly my fault for being a lazy cow and practically never exercising) and I have very knobbly knees. My calves are quite slender and curved and I have tiny ankles (which may be my favourite part of my body) but my feet are quite flat and long, with odd looking, blobby toes. In all, in the right underwear, with my mouth closed, from quite far away, I look alright. But up close I'm sort of messy and misshapen looking. I dress a bit like someone who'd like to be a grown up at some stage but doesn't quite now how to make it look easy or fit it all together. I don't hate the way I look, because I think it's a waste of time, but I sometimes wish I had a fairy wand to wave over myself, especially when I'm with my beautiful friends who are petite and perfect. 

Isn't that odd Reader? I tried to be objective and scientific, but I think it's quite obvious that as soon as my pen touched the paper that just wasn't going to happen. And for a girl who thinks she views her own image very sensibly due to her career being very image based, it turned out very emotional and weirdly trying to justify how I see myself. So I put out this call for people to describe me objectively (also asking a lot of people that I've only met in passing as well as people I've known for years who are some of my most honest critics) and waited, slightly anxiously for 'You're a bit soft around the edges' and 'Sort of oddly put together' to turn up.

An hour later I had 15 messages in my inbox. Deciding to wait till the morning I went to sleep, resisting the slightly masochistic urge to read them all at once at 1am.

When I woke up, I had even more, so I sat down and read through them all. They couldn't have been more different to what I'd written if they'd tried. Some of them I didn't include because they had misunderstood what I was asking for and just written about personality (or, in my mum's case, been family and therefore biased), but here are a few:

'Aislinn has a very feminine look with a strength that comes from her high arching eyebrows and 

pointed features. These go with a distinct Irish colouring: a pale, gently freckled face framed by 

sometimes soft, sometimes wild, waves of red  hair'

'I'd describe you as looking like Judy garland, but when you speak you also have a bit of Christian 

Bale in there - a bit weird yes, but i've always thought you could be his sister!'


'Like a red haired Venus doll who also has a look of Christian bale'


'A bubbly redhead with a sassy smile. An elegantly defined facial structure with striking eyes set 

against pastel toned skin.'


' she's shorter than me, say, about 5ft4"? And teeny tiny, like waif like, red hair, big eyes, very sort of

vintage looking, but thinner. She's got a bit of a strange look to her, like attractive but not 

conventional. '


'Striking red-head, head-turner, unique look - something out of the ordinary, fair skinned which

highlights the hair further,pretty and light-skinned, slim but curvy - looks like she keeps herself in

shape - slim but not skinny.'


'I think I'd describe your appearance on first viewing as a bit of an amalgamation; cute, elfin face

which would work well in fantasy films, combines with colourful blocks of retro clothing. And of

course, a smile on your face as if we'd been friends all our lives rather than meeting for the first time!'


'Scar-Jo, with warmth'


'Sophie Ellis Bextor but more gorgeous'


'I know I haven't seen you in a while, but I SERIOUSLY think you look like Taylor Swift who's 

classy and demure by the way'


'Tall, Slim build, finely featured, hair striking shade of red and well cared for, stylish sense of dress'


'Ash has the vintage look of Paloma Faith combined with the looks of Lana Del Rey with an enviable 

figure and a very warming face'


'A red haired Sandra Bullock, with a similar sense of humour. Very warm, open face and huge eyes.

Pin-up style body with perfect skin'


'Beautiful. In the totally British sense. An English rose likened to that of kate winslet in titanic era'


'Well, it's been a while - the last time I saw you was probably 10+ years ago, so I'd say then you looked

like an elfin Harry Potter (the hair). I'd say nowadays you look like a 1930s vamp.'


If I was going to draw a picture of my own description and the descriptions of those that have met me, they would come out like two entirely different people. What was really interesting to me was that all of the little things that I pick out about myself as being weird things, or things that aren't particularly attractive, no one else seems to notice-they explain me as a whole person, not as 'broken nosed' or 'flubby on the belly'. And while I tried to think of famous people I might look like and couldn't think of any, they found loads. The Christian Bale references made me laugh rather a lot, because a guy I fancied told me that I looked like him and I laughed my socks off, thinking he was joking but it seems to be true! 

The thing is, image is entirely subjective. Never in a million years would I describe myself as 'slim' but people seems to think I am. And I'm kind of overwhelmed by the response. It puts those days when you feel like everyone's noticing how fat and odd you look into perspective really, doesn't it? I always thought I was fair to myself, as someone who deals with how they look as part of their career-but it seems like I'm just as self conscious as everyone else. Last night, when I was explaining this post to my lovely housemate, I said 'I mean, I'm an actor, but I think I'm also a bit of a girl'. She laughed her socks off at me, yelling, 'NEWSFLASH: ASH IS A HUMAN GIRL!' but it's true! I think being an actor means you have to self critique a lot but it's easy go a bit overboard and still think you're being objective. The thing is, we are human and therefore, try as we might to suppress it, are vain, fretting creatures. 

I wonder what my friends and family would say if they described themselves-but I can bet you anything it would be very different to how I would. 

Thank you so much to everyone that contributed to this blog post-I'm really touched and-unexpectedly,  although it was not the aim of this experiment, the things that I look in the mirror and wince at seem far less obvious to me now.

Reader, I hope you realise how beautiful you are, inside and out!
Ash
x

What does it mean to be a woman?

So Reader, a lovely friend and co-creative peer of mine, Monty, asked me a very interesting question today, that I think I could probably write about till the end of time. He'd read an article in Shortlist this week asking a broad range of men 'What does being a man mean'? and although he'd very much enjoyed the article, he had struggled to answer it, finding it difficult to differentiate between being a male and being a human. In light of this, he asked me

What is your perspective of 'being a woman' or 'to be a woman'? What does it mean to you? Does

that differ from 'being a man'?


Now there's a question and a half. As I said to Monty, there is no right or wrong answer to this, because the outcome will be highly dependent on a huge variety of factors; sociological, cultural and educational. Every woman you ask will give you a different answer, as I expect men would if asked the same question. But this is my personal opinion-I'm not speaking on behalf of all women here, just myself.

In a number of ways, I agree with Monty. We are all human, we deserve the same rights and will have a lot of similar experiences. Saying that, I feel that there are a number of things that help shape us as women and mark us out as being (for want of a better word) different.

So first and foremost you have the obvious differences. Fat settles on us in different ways, we have ovaries, a womb, Fallopian tubes, periods and the ability the bear and feed children. We do not (with the exception of certain genetic minorities) grow facial hair, nor much in the way of body hair. Our hormonal structure is different, which lends itself to us experiencing emotions in a slightly different way to men. There is an old stereotype of women getting sad rather than angry, and it could be said that this is due to us having more estrogen than testosterone in our make up. I am a very good example of this, I am far more likely to cry than shout and can count the times I've been hot ruby red furious on less than two hands. However (and this is a big however) I have spent years on first, the contaceptive pill Yasmin (which alters your emotions), and then the contraceptive implant (which has less of an effect but still can have emotion altering qualities). I was also badly bullied as a kid and standing up for myself usually led to getting either beaten up or taunted, so anger rarely gave me desired results. As I've grown up, I've found that this happens a lot less and I am far more able to deal with anger as an emotion, although I still feel it to be a largely negative one which achieves less results than calm, measured discussion. I do, however, get very very angry on behalf of my friends. I have only slapped two people in my life. One was on a train in Paris, where a teenage boy groped me (completely unprovoked and with no one to stand up for me), the other time being when a dear friend's boyfriend took advantage of another, very drunk friend. I do not condone violence and am far less likely to resort to it these days, preferring instead to use the skills learnt from my mother (a strong, smart woman who uses her words like knives when she needs to) to undermine and defend.

Being a woman is not always a wonderful experience. Being a woman means to be constantly aware of the effect your body may be having and the need to dress in a way that may not create unwanted attention. Or to use your body to create attention. But with that comes guilt and negative connotations. Being a woman means fear of being called either frigid or a slut. Being a woman means a higher level of worry about contraception, as although men would still run the risk of impregnating their partner, they would not have to deal with the physical impact of pregnancy, abortion or childbirth. When you look at a man who is expecting a child, you would not be able to tell, wheras we may as well be wearing a sign that says 'LOOK! I HAD SEX AND NOW I'VE GOT A BABY IN ME!'

Being a woman means we have been told to 'get back in that house young lady' when we wear a skirt too short. I was told at college (a catholic college to be fair) that if we wore revealing clothes and the male teachers had impure thoughts which they acted on, it would be our fault. I have listened to men talk about rape and say 'I'm not saying she asked for it, but...'

Being a woman means that losing my virginity was a huge deal. It meant hours spent in underwear shops talking with my housemate what she could wear for her partner on valentines night. It meant furtively hiding the bags before we left so that no one thought less of us.

Being a woman meant not being allowed to play football for P.E. in primary school. It meant being told trousers were 'unhygenic' in high school.

I was aware of my body very young. I have essentially been on and off a diet since I was 16, although I have never been what would be classed as 'large'. I was flat chested at college and barely got glanced at by boys my age, then suddenly 'blossomed' in my first year of university and had no idea how to deal with the male attention, for the most part not even noticing it had happened or that men were interested in me.

Being a woman means walking past a group of men, having them say something sexually obscene to you, then calling you 'an ugly bitch' when you do not respond.

Being a woman means being told to 'get back in the kitchen', that you're only interested in geek culture to impress men, being told you're a bad driver (even though women statistically have less accidents on the road than men), getting cross in comic book shops because all the women look a certain way, of struggling to find a film where the central theme for women is not a man.

But it's not all bad.

Being a woman means your first experience of buying a bra. I got mine in Dunnes in Ireland with my grandmother and excitedly called my mum to tell her (although there was no way I needed it for a number of years after that). Being a woman means being allowed to be more fluid with your sexuality (we are actually very lucky there, men get far more flack even now for being experimental or coming out as bi or gay). Being a girl means being able to cry without being judged. Being a woman means cosy conversations with your friends where you talk openly about everything under the sun.

Being woman for me in particular means remembering all the women that have come before me. My grandmothers (one a very traditional English housewife who taught me to bake and told me hilarious stories about setting her kitchen on fire, the other a matriarchal Irish woman full of affection and generosity to all she encounters), my amazing mother who worked full time throughout me being a kid, came out with two degrees, travelled the world and found true love with my wonderful dad (who has set me incredibly high standards for what to expect in a partner) as well as always standing up for the rights of women and the belief that anyone can reach the stars. Every woman who comes into my life teaches me something new and leaves me a slightly more built up human being.

Being a woman means singing into a hairbrush, buying too many nail varnishes, discovering and then swiftly rejecting thongs, finding empowering female role models at a young age (Spice Girls anyone?), totally identifying with Anne of Green Gables when you're 13, Jane Eyre when you're 16, Dita Von Teese when you're 18, Lake Bell, Olivia Colman and Rebecca Hall when you're 25 and Bodecia the whole way through your life, knowing how to wear stockings but still having an awkward moment where one falls down halfway through the day.

Being a woman means knowing that what you wear and how you do your make up isn't about pleasing men, it's about who you want to be that day, about wearing the right pair of shoes can make you walk with confidence (like Nigella going into the courtroom of late), about the importance of really good undies, about the joy of not shaving your legs for a while, knowing exactly how long it'll take you to get ready (but somehow always needing another half hour or so), knowing that when you vote, you're not just doing it for yourself but all the women out there who can't vote still and who fought to get you where you are today.

Being a woman means wanting your period for YEARS and then when you get it, freaking out and thinking you're dying because 'that can't be NORMAL?!?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!'.

Being a woman means having friends you would kill for, dancing like an idiot, not being able to cope without a handbag to store the essential day to day bits and bobs we could probably live without, naming your boobs and occasionally having conversations with them when you're bored, coming up with rude poems, putting ice cream cones under your top and pretending to be Madonna, being able to talk for hours with the housemate you only saw yesterday, hating, hating, HATING it when people call you 'babe' when they don't know you and loving seeing someone look shocked when you swear really really fucking well when they expected you to be a 'lady' (piss right off, wank faced twat-o-matic).

Being a woman means thinking you want to be a nun for 3 months when you're 14 and then actually going to confirmation lessons and realising that organised religion isn't often very nice to women. It means having HUGE arguments with your nun/teacher about sex before marriage, gay people and contraception and leaving feeling very cross but very proud that you stood your ground.

Being a woman means dealing with your body telling you it wants babies, when you're not ready for them, with having a strange fixation on tiny versions of things, with a sense of great pride when you succeed in a male dominated career, when you stand up for other women, when you perfect applying liquid eyeliner and when you can do more DIY than any man you know.

Being a woman is not a race to rule men-all we want is to be treated equally, but it's still worthy of great pride. Because we work hard, because we are still dealing with prejudice, of stereotypes and negative attitudes. Being a woman is fighting against female circumcision, honour killings, enforced marriage, legal rape (did you know it is still legal to rape your wife in India and many parts of the Middle East?) and lack of independence.

And that, to me, is what being a woman is all about. And that's not nearly half of it. Seriously, I could go on forever.

Thank you to Monty for asking me such a provoking question, and thank you to all the women who have helped form me (and to the men too, because it wasn't just women who got me to where I am today!)

Tarrah,
Ash
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