Six Things That Changed When I Left Scotland

I grew up on a small island off the North coast of Scotland, moving to the South of England back in 2010. Let me tell you, my embarrassing trans-coastal accent aside, (is trans-coastal a thing?) you don't realise how much you love Scotland until you've left. And in the spirit of St. Andrew's day, here are six things that changed when I moved to England.

1. Breakfast. Only in Scotland do you specify that the sausage you want on your plate is to be a link sausage, because square (Lorne) sausage is the norm. I remember walking into a Greggs and asking for a roll and link sausage. They looked at me like I was mad. Worse still was when I worked at a Greggs in England, the customer asked for a roll and sausage and I replied "Link or Lorne?". And have you ever tried asking an English person for a tattie scone?Breakfast just isn't the same down here.

2. The weather. I'm not saying I miss Scottish weather, because you were twice as likely to have plans ruined by a rainy day in July up in Scotland, but I feel like if the rain isn't horizontally whipping you across the cheeks as you walk, it isn't real coat weather. And what's with the lack of snow down here? Facebook is a sad place every November; all of my relatives are frolicking and making snowmen, and here I am stepping in puddles. Rubbish. 

3. The insults. They're just not as good here in England. Scotland, the land where 'cunt' is thrown in casually into conversation, has perfected the art of the insult. So much so, that I have noticed a southern English tendency to emulate the Scottish method of speech when particularly angry - what would normally said 'baarstard' becomes 'BASS-tard' in a fit of rage. And, honestly, shouting "BYE NOO!" sarcastically after a disgruntled customer just doesn't have the same effect in England, where 'noo' isn't even a word but a vaccuum cleaner in the Teletubbies.

4. The terms of endearment. Why can't I call everyone 'hen'? Why does everybody need to be 'mate'? And to link back in to the last point, nothing disproves a lady talking shit better than "NAW HEN". It just doesn't have the same effect south of the border.

5. The drinks. Now, I'm not a heavy drinker whatsoever - to the detriment of my motherland's stereotype. But I did enjoy a tipple or two in my teenage years. Southern Comfort was my drink of choice, and it has come to light that my comfort-to-coke ratio has always been a little off. In fact, when Jay asks me for a drink, he now specifies whether he wants me to pour him Scotland or England measures. If you want to make a drink Scottish, just pour your nip of spirit as you normally would, and then pour it two inches higher. What's the point in a spirit if it doesn't fill the bottom third of your glass?

6. My accent. And I don't just mean the fact that my accent has actually changed in itself, I mean the attitudes towards my accent. When I grew up in the north of Scotland, I was mocked for the way I said certain words 'English'. Then I moved to Glasgow, where I was told I sounded like I was from Yorkshire. Then I moved down here, where my accent stood out and nobody could understand me. Five years on, my accent has mellowed following years of working with the public and being frustrated at not being understood. I now get constant comments from Scottish people about how "omg sooo English" I sound. I get constant comments from English people about how Scottish I sound. And instead of cringing at the occasional word, I now cringe at every word I speak. Because, um, who the hell sounds like this?! I feel like I'm putting on a fake accent!

So there you have it. I hated growing up in the middle of nowhere and I love my life here, but part of me thinks I would love to return to the motherland one day. For now, I have retired my tartan, binned my haggis and am living live as a filthy Sassenach. But on this St. Andrews Day I am tipping my bowler hat to my roots and acknowledging all the ways my life changed when I crossed the border. And now I'm older, I quite like that my accent may be English, but part of me will always be Scottish.

And no I'm not going to translate Auld Lang Syne for you. Why do people always ask me that?

The 'One Day' Dress

A month or so ago a 'motivational' photograph was posted on Facebook. "Every woman has a pair of 'they will fit me one day' jeans". I smirked; it wasn't so long ago that maybe I'd have been consumed by that kind of mindset. Obsessing over the notion that "things will get better IF I lose weight", that seems to over-arch the common experience of adulthood. How sad, I thought, to delay happiness because of the size of your clothing, and how well your body fills material based on the number on the label.

And then it hit me. I've still got my 'one day' dress. 

It was 2012 and I was in a charity shop in Kingston, Milton Keynes. Jay found a suit jacket in his size and was really pleased; it was almost brand new and super cheap. I spotted a gorgeous cream dress with a floral pattern on it, and an adorable heart-shaped cut-out over the cleavage area. My eyes were drawn instantly and I needed to have it. Unfortunately, when I grabbed the tag, I saw 'size 18' slapping me across the face. "No matter", thought 21-year-old Sophie. "I'll fit into it one day".

A screenshot from my instagram in 2012. Seeing my own words, and my own insecurities thrown out there for all to see in an attempt at justifying my own body, makes me so sad. Why shouldn't I have "rewarded" myself for the beautiful body I was in, instead of punishing it? My body is capable of brilliant things: in fact, at that very moment there were cells dividing without my knowledge, beginning the wonderful adventure that I now call Moo.

Because that's what I did. I dieted, I got depressed, I binged, I put on weight, I got depressed, and then the cycle began again. But each time was the last time. Every time, I started with a heart full of hope because all of my problems would go away if there was less weight on my body. How could I be sad when I was confident? Who could help but respect me if my stomach was flat? What would I have to worry about if I was fit and healthy? I could go shopping with friends and family without spiralling into depression because all of my attention was focussed on how nothing would fit me. In my mind, if my stomach didn't hang, I could conquer the world.

Anxiety doesn't work like that, and neither does depression. People don't work like that - they don't automatically decide somebody must be a bad person because they weigh more than them - and if they do, they're not people I want to know. I am happier and more confident than I've ever been; I have modelled for a plus size brand (and would be happy to do so again), I take more pride in my appearance than ever [unless I'm at  University. University would be lucky if I washed, let alone brushed my hair or even put some make-up on], I'm super happy to take outfit photos and promote my fat body in all its glory, and I have a solid group of friends who promote body positivity at any size. And so, just like that, I decided to get rid of the 'one day' dress.

I didn't make a fortune; it sold on eBay for about £1.50 plus postage. But it wasn't about the money I could gain, it was about my mental health. This was the last step in accepting that I am who I am and every body, at every size, deserves love and respect. And actually I would encourage anybody who is punishing themselves for being who they are to challenge their mindsets. If not now, then when? 

Navigating University With A Mental Illness.

I have often felt overwhelmed and just quit situations when they got too difficult in the interest of self-preservation, and part of me honestly figured that University would be the same. But I've worked really hard and I've changed a few things in order to make sure that I stay on top of everything and I keep my head and my heart in my studies. Here are some things you can do to make life in University easier when you have a mental illness.

1. Keep an open dialogue with your doctor and/or counsellor. He or she will be able to adjust medication accordingly, identify the things that make you struggle and recognise the difference between ordinary 'not coping' and 'not coping' because of your mental illness.

2. Work two weeks ahead. You don't necessarily have to do this, and actually I've had three assignments in quick succession this month so haven't been able to keep up to date with this, but I've found reading without a time pressure meant I was able to take a breath, read it slowly and even re-read it if I found something I was struggling with.

3. Maintain your system of organisation. In first year, my system was one notebook, rip the pages out and file them in the relevant folders once a week. Did I do that? Well, I still have most of my notes from the second half of the year laying around the house. This year I have one book per module and my weekly reading notes go in the back half of the book. That way, I only need to remember one item per module and everything is on hand.

4. Read fiction, too. Or other kinds of factual books, if that's your thing. Heck, even blogs! Things were not clicking last year and I was having a huge crisis of confidence, until I started reading some really easy-going fiction and I realised I was just overloading myself and my brain needed a break. 

5. Let your personal tutor know what is going on. I haven't gone into ins and outs with mine, but he knows I am on medication, he knows I signed up to University counselling (I didn't actually use it, only because local counselling became available) and he knows I stressed myself out so much that I ended up in A&E last December. Your personal tutor's job is to guide you through your studies, making sure you achieve the best grades that you can, so of course he or she is going to offer you tips for organising your time and lightening your own load. They are there to help, not to judge.

6. Utilise the resources your University has available for you. If your University offers mental health support, it'd be a shame not to take it. If you are struggling and need an extension on an assignment, don't put it off - things are easier if you speak up sooner rather than later. Join societies and study groups if you feel like you work better in a group, use the silent study areas if you want to work on your own. 

7. Lean on your friends and family. I have ranted away to family and friends at times, and I have been distracted at other times and it has just made approaching my work seem all the easier. If they understand your mental state, they will want to help you.

8. Pat yourself on the back for every achievement. Did you hand in an assignment that you found difficult? AWESOME! Did you achieve a 'pass' grade? Even better! At the start of first year it was the end of the world if I got a B, and now I just feel amazing when I hand something in or even speak up in a seminar. It's about singling out achievements and celebrating them instead of seeing them in the bigger picture and devaluing them.

9 Reasons I Love Vanessa Jenkins

For anybody who is not familiar with the wonder that is Vanessa Shannessa Jenkins, allow me to introduce her: she is the foulmouthed, sexually deviant best friend of Stacey from Gavin and Stacey, whose age remains a mystery and has anecdotal evidence for most of the world's leading figures of the 20th century (and 1/5 of noughties flop, Hear'Say).

I get it, guys. Anybody who has seen Gavin and Stacey will be raising an eyebrow and saying "really?" - why would anybody want to be emulate a chain-smoking con artist from a small town along the coast of Wales? Well allow me to let you in on my train of thought! 

1. She is a dedicated mother. Okay, so she smokes around "Neil the baby" without a second thought, and speaks through the baby monitor by starting "Oh, Neil, it's me. Vanessa." but the point is that she's always there. She's a clear advocate of babywearing, she co-sleeps (albeit using the baby monitor so she doesn't need to roll over to comfort Neil the baby) and she has made a clear effort to involve Neil the baby's father in his life, despite her general disgust towards said father.

2. She is a beacon of body positivity. Nessa wears whatever the hell she wants, raising a middle finger to the two F words - "fashion" and "flattering". As it happens, she rocks everything she wears, and in the case of her wedding dress she shows that she can flaunt what her mama gave her in whatever colour and style SHE likes.

3. She has a strong sexual identity. I don't think even Nessa knows how many people she has slept with, but I also don't think she cares. She's completely comfortable with her sexuality, challenging taboos such as female masturbation and why men can sleep around but women can't.

4. She is a good friend. Nessa is an honest and upfront friend who will tell you when you're acting out of order. She's comfortable around her best friend's family and will defend your honour in a heart beat.

5. She always honours her debts. In fact, she has been repaying Doris a pound a week since the 90s, and was sure to give Gwen the fiver she owed her back asap. And she was even honest enough to be upfront about the fact that it was a repayment, not a kind gesture.

6. She is up to date on current events. She has travelled the world, working from the ground up, dipping her toes into politics and is well read in different religions and ideologies. Fair enough, she doesn't always end her interest in politicians at the bedroom door, but at least she KNOWS stuff, right?!

7. Her honour system is flawless. You get what you pay for. So if you pay half for a visit to sit on Santa's lap, you get half the experience. If you pay for one full curry, you eat one full curry. While some might argue she is tight-fisted and squeezes money out of everybody she can, I would call her thrifty and sensible. Times are tough and she's a single mother who went between kipping in her best mate's mum's spare room, and living in a caravan next to the Welsh nationalists.

8. She won't turn down any work. Through the series we witness her being a fortune teller, Santa Claus, a street performer and an arcade attendant among references to previous roles in media and politics, and I totally identify with someone who wants to earn their living in any way they can. A job's a job, and she'll do it all if it means Neil the baby is fed and warm.

9. Nessa is one strong lady. It doesn't cross her mind that women should stereotypically be delicate and dainty, because that's just not who she is. I don't think Nessa would call herself a feminist, because I'm not entirely sure she even knows there are gender inequalities in the world. She just lives her life, breaking legs when she needs to. You've got to appreciate that level of self-sufficiency.

I get it: to some, Nessa is just brash. She's too much. But to me she represents a kick-arse, confident woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. I wish I was a little bit more like Nessa sometimes.

Bletchley Park

I talked a couple of days ago about visiting Bletchley Park, and thought I'd share a couple of photos we took on the day. 

Jay is actually working with Bletchley Park as part of a project for University. He studies Interactive Digital Technologies, and his group have been challenged with a way to make the site more interactive and exciting. I won't go into the details of his idea yet (mostly because it's still very much a concept, not a design!) but we've had a couple of brainstorming sessions about it where he has bounced his ideas off me and I helped him land a pretty exciting idea. We decided to go along and get season passes today so we could explore the park together and figure out what would go where and such, and as a history student I was pretty excited to be going along.

I'm not going to lie. I was pretty disappointed. BUT, I see this as a good thing. There were a lot of spaces that could be utilised, a lot of dry information and I don't see children being interested in this at all, which is exactly where I think Jay's project is going to be perfect. If I, a second year history student with the benefit of a local connection, was not hooked, then what chance does an eight year old have?

What it lacked in interest, however, it more than made up for in props. A lot of the park I shuffled around feeling awkward because it was super quiet and I was incredibly aware of the staff in the room (which might have contributed to me just not being in the mood for a museum - I can't see why else I didn't like it because I love museums!) but whenever we found we were on our own and around props which weren't nailed down (literally), I grabbed them, pulled silly faces [I was mostly trying to look like Churchill] and made the most of our time. Okay so it wasn't the most exciting morning, but it was awesome to spend some time together without worrying about kids or animals, and just have a bit of fun on our own for a bit.

Sitting at Alan Turing's typewriter

Pondering the Enigma code at Turing's desk

One of the interactive activities was to turn a dial until you heard morse code, then work out what three letters were being spelled

An entirely photoshoppable image of me pretending to ring a fire bell

Standing very matronly next to a phone

Evidently outraged on the phone

Using another interactive exhibit. Blurry pic but my hair looks good so who cares ;)

I believe this was an attempt to look like Churchill...

OOTD: Polkadot Princess

Jay and I had a trip to Bletchley Park planned today (more on that to come!), so I thought it'd be fun to throw on one of my Lindy Bop dresses and take advantage of the pretty background. 

Unfortunately we couldn't find the 'good' camera so I've had to work with phone pictures, but I felt so cute with my fringe all plaited up and my make-up done that I wanted to take the time to capture the moment. 

I bought this Lindy Bop 'Audrey' polkadot dress  in their sale a couple of months ago, at the same time as two others (which will definitely be making an appearance on the blog asap) and I originally chose black and white because I thought it'd look cute with the pink petticoat I wore at my wedding. I actually found that it has amazing shape even without the petticoat, and teamed with my velvet cardigan from Scarlett & Jo for warmth purposes I felt like a vision in monochrome - despite the battered old blue and white slip-on shoes! Jay hadn't seen it before I put it on (I tend to buy things and put them in my wardrobe so it looks like I've had them for months and he just hasn't noticed), so when he saw it he told me I looked amazing, and he loved it when I wore polkadots. I got a bunch of comments about how dressed up I looked and if I was going anywhere nice, and it felt pretty good to say "nope, I just felt like getting dressed up". Long may this continue!

11 Ways I Am A Terrible Mother.

I'm not what many would call a 'natural' mother. Sure, I love my kids, but parenting didn't come easy to me. I didn't breastfeed. I used the 'cry it out' method. Exclusively those two things don't make you lazy but heck, if I see my kid choking I give it a second to see if he can figure out how to fix it himself before I jump in and fish it out. My parenting style has generally been to love them, to feed them, to hug them and anything else is on an "only if I REALLY have to" basis. I have now decided that I refuse to believe I'm the only one. Lazy Mums (lums?!) of the world unite! Here are 11 ways I suck at being Mum. No judgies.

I am a huge fan of the idle threat. When I say I'm counting to five, you'd better believe I'll be counting slowly. If I actually have to get up and do some parenting when I get to five, I WILL be mad. And I am currently going between phoning daddy and phoning Santa at least daily. They are much more scary than mummy.

I have never cut my son's nails. I don't know, I guess they're so flimsy they just fall off when they're ready. But Jay told me a story about cutting Jelly's nails when she was a baby and nicking the skin and it bleeding and bleeding. And because of that story, Moo's nails have never been cut. Hopefully he just magically learns to cut them himself and I never need to do it!

Sometimes I put Moo down for a nap just because I have shit to get done. I can't be the only mum, right? "I KNOW you're not tired, darling, but mummy scheduled two hours of revision* for today so just go to bed and watch a film". Yup. I also use Netflix as a babysitter sometimes. *Gilmore Girls

I totally have a favourite child. The favourite child is whichever one is pissing me off less that day.

I have lied about the time to make bedtime earlier. The worst part is Jelly is 9 and doesn't even check the clock, she just goes with it. Whoops!

I laugh when my kids fall over. I'm not talking "I check if they're okay and then I chuckle", I'm talking I straight-up piss my pants and IF I notice any blood or tears I half laugh, half mop them up. Sorry, kids. Mummy thrives on the comedy of your failures.

On that note, I've actually filmed my children throwing tantrums sometimes. I'm not really sure why...

I'm a moody Mummy. If I want to read "7 reasons you should be more patient with your kids", I think they should shut the fuck up and let me do it. Come ON, kids! Mummy's trying to ignore you!

I am fully aware that raising a child is not a competition, except that it is and my kids are winning it for me. Did I mention my two year old is fluent in German, Portuguese, Russian and Bulgarian*? *all a total lie. But didn't I win at parenting for just a *fraction* of a moment?

I'm one of those parents who SHAMES their children out of bad habits. IS THAT YOUR FINGER UP YOUR NOSE? I will bellow in Tesco. Yeah, my kids hate me. Grotty little buggers.

So let's have it, fellow lums. Do you suck too? A terrible admission shared is a terrible admission... Well, that I can laugh at. Do you feel like challenging me for my throne?