Tag: creative writing

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Finally thin?

What taking GLP-1 medication taught me about food, time, and myself.

Photo by Renee B on Pexels.com

I’m one of those early deriders of GLP-1 medication. Convinced entirely that this miracle solution, is nothing more than a passing fad. The people who were going to lose weight would do it anyway, those that weren’t would ultimately fail.

Then what happened? More people in my life started taking the medication, all saying the same thing. Their lifetime of thinking non-stop food thoughts, gone in an instant. What would that even feel like? A huge emotional void where the snacks used to be? Well, not quite.

By the end of 2024, I was firmly in the curious camp. No, I was telling Rob, my long suffering partner, I was going to take the leap. Eventually. I just needed a reason, something to push me in the right direction and finally complete the now infamous online consultation. After all, I want to be absolutely sure if I’m going to subject myself to what practically amounts to ritual humiliation.

For those not in the know, most online pharmacies or telemedicine services require you to take various unflattering photos of your body, as well as evidence of you tipping the scale into ungodly numbers. Don’t worry – you can always ask a friend or family member to do this for you, so you can keep your eyes firmly closed.

Given I still hadn’t received an engagement ring, or any wedding invitations for that matter, it was time to just bite the bullet. And that I did. Within the hour, the doctor had reviewed my information and prescribed my requested medication. Now it was real.

I won’t bore you with me injecting myself at the kitchen counter, but any needle-phobic readers, a loved one can always jab you in the back of the arm if you’ve not got the stomach to stab your tummy or thighs.

The following week, I spent waiting for side effects. Side effects that, for the most part, so far, never came. Thank God. What did come was even more horrifying though. A mortifying realisation that without the ‘Food Noise’ as it is often called, I felt like I had about 12 extra hours a day. Had I really lost that much time, for most of my life, just thinking about food?

When I was 17, after a childhood and adolescence of being overweight, I decided to join the local gym. Freshly equipped with money from my very first job, it became my soul focus. Every hour of the day, I spent hungry and googling which snacks were the lowest in calories. Coming across as much borderline problematic weight loss content as you can imagine.

Life went from spending time with friends, eating pizza and Oreos, to, in all honesty, a lot of isolation. I lost weight by removing myself, almost entirely, from any social situation I couldn’t spend counting the calories and constantly moving. This new distraction meant I did so poorly in school, I failed my AS Levels. Resulting in me leaving school, and starting the whole process again the following autumn at my local further education college.

Come September, a few months before I turned 18, things had improved slightly. A new setting had shocked me out of my all-consuming calorie counting. Instead, it went to the back burner. I could get essays written, I’d just have to think about food on my breaks. Or I could have snacks, I’d just have to walk home instead of getting the bus.

I did well, went to university, had a great time, and put all the weight back on. Spending most of my twenties, back in the overweight body I’d starved myself to get rid of. Unable to imagine how this could ever possibly end, I tried every fad diet you could think of.

There was not a chance in hell I could imagine ever feeling the way I do, right now, as I write this; completely and unimaginably unbothered by food.

Finally, for the first time in my life am I able to just eat breakfast, lunch and dinner – as well a small mid-morning snack with my coffee. Proper, healthy portions, of nutritious food, without even once thinking about what I was going to have between meals.

So, as all the talk of the rising cost of Mounjaro bubbles away on daytime television, and entire forums of fellow jabbers spiral that this peace of mind might be snatched out of their hands, I beg of you one thing. For those who don’t struggle with the near constant weight of food noise, have some compassion for those of us that do. This whole, being normal about eating thing is new to many of us. It’s something we never imagined might be possible for ourselves. Something, I pray, you never have to deal with.

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Zero Waste – 1 Month Update

So, how’s it going?

Photo by Adrienne Andersen on Pexels.com

Well, not as poorly as I’d worried. But not as good as I’d hoped.

Let’s begin with the struggles, because getting this out the way might help me feel better. Why does it cost so much to refill things? Initially, my impression of the refill shop wasn’t so bad. I was purchasing the refillable bottles, making an investment that would help me save money in the long run. By my second visit, I couldn’t help but wonder why one refill of laundry detergent (in a very small bottle) would cost so much more than one of the main brands washing powder (which comes in a large cardboard box). This is the kind of price disparity that makes doing the right thing and making environmentally conscious choices, very difficult.

But then I got to thinking – am I comparing the right products? Because my favourite liquid laundry detergency that comes in a plastic bottle is £10 in ASDA this week. Compared to that, it’s not so bad. But when an alternative product comes in a (very) recyclable cardboard box, for less than half the price, perhaps the responsible choice is the buy that instead.

I think this is the sort of issue that might come down to the limited brand choice we have when refilling items. So, I’m trying to be open minded about this. There are some products I love that I can’t find, or find in eco-friendly packaging, elsewhere. There are some that the refillable version isn’t economically or even sustainably worthwhile. So, I need to find the balance.

Photo by Sarah Chai on Pexels.com

There is a tendency to think of amending goals as giving in or failing. But I think when you’re trying to make meaningful change, making sure your decisions are personally sustainable, not just environmentally sustainable, is where the real battle lies. You’re going to do no good for yourself or the planet if you burn out quickly. That early period of adjustment is where you do all the experimenting, figuring out what works, what doesn’t, and where your red lines are.

The perfect example of the refill shop introducing me to a very sensible eco-friendly swap is white cleaning vinegar.  Gone are the days of fabric softener, I’m telling you. White vinegar has my washing machine smelling fresh, my clothes soft, and my oven spotless. And don’t get me started on how perfect it is for washing the cats tiny little nose smears and paw prints off the windows.

But I must caveat this with the fact that washing powder has a major advantage over liquid detergent – and that’s the inclusion of sodium percarbonate (the ‘per’ meaning peroxide). Hydrogen peroxide is fabulous for also keeping your washing machine fresh – and if you’re dealing with acne (or folliculitis), switching from liquid to powder in your washing machine may make a huge difference. AND be the sustainable swap you’ve been overlooking.

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December Reading

Well, besides buying presents for the cats (their first Christmas with us), and enjoying all the little flurries of snow we’ve had, I’ve also been quite busy reading.

2024 was a great year for reading for me, I managed my goal of 52 books. This is always my goal as it toes the line of being ambitious but still realistic. As someone with a fairly intense full time job, and other hobbies, this has always been my sweet spot. A goal I didn’t quite manage was finding 4 Christmassy books for December. But listen, I’ve never been good at planning my reading. Something always catches my eye at the Library or in Kindle Unlimited that I can’t help but keep it spontaneous.

One of my favourites was Days at the Morisaki Bookshop by Satoshi Tagisawa. I just loved it. It managed to give me exactly the cosy hit I was looking for, without losing itself in the kitsch. It had a moving plot, driven by the complex lives of the characters. Broken hearts and a place to heal are at the core of this novel.

The Bitter End by Alexa Donne was hugely enjoyable. I love a murder mystery in any form, but drop a host of rich, entitled high-schoolers about to head off to college into an isolated location and you know they’re about to drop off like flies. Donne has always proudly been a capital Y and A young adult author, and you’d be hard pressed to find anyone writing in the genre progressively becoming more ambitious and sharply tuned to wider social issues. She reminds me a lot of the British author Juno Dawson, who similarly writes complex young adults, unafraid of wading into the dark and often sinister realities of today’s world. There is no coddling, no sugar coating, and it’s somehow still massively grounded – even as things escalate by the second. A fun, murderous romp with a massive impact.

This Charming Man by Marian Keyes was the only book of hers I hadn’t yet read. I came onto Keyes’ books during the pandemic, when I was grateful for their epic lengths and the dose of hilarious escapism they offer. Somehow, I’d missed this one, though I suspect in part because I knew it had a relatively weighty core plot. A politician wreaking havoc in the lives of the women he abuses. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a writer who can so comfortably inject humour into the darkest of themes, without ever once seeming insensitive about how she handles them. Yes, this is a book about domestic violence. But it’s also a story of survivors healing and finding each other. You know you’re in safe hands with Marian Keyes because no matter what, she never lets the sense of hope die. Even deep in the weeds, you know you’ll be safely delivered out the other side eventually.

Forest of Noise by Mosab Abu Toha. First published at the beginning of 2024, this is an essential collection of poems for anyone looking to understand the reality of life under occupation. A work I believe has the potential to reveal important truths better than any social media post, news story, or documentary. For the author to have offered up his family’s lives in such a generous way, immortalising them so beautifully, is quite simply the gift he’s able to give them even if they are no longer here to tell their own story.

The collection allows its readers into the uncertainty of life in refugee camps, of not knowing where your loved ones ended up. Of not being able to contact them, or know whether they are still alive. There is a daily reminder, no matter how beautiful your homeland or the lives you’ve rebuilt together after such frequent destruction, how temporary it all might be. It spares nothing in presenting the hope and pain found amongst the rubble, the communities searching for survivors, giving everything they have to care for one another – of a people who will not allow themselves to disappear.

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Trip to London

Me and Mum at Westminster, with the London Eye in view across the river behind us.

I will say, I’ve always enjoyed a little trip to London. I used to think the only exception was during periods in which my anxiety was at its most nightmarish. However, I’ve recently come a long way in my thinking about this – because to be honest, going anywhere is nightmarish when you’re feeling a bit rough and raw to the world’s busyness. I’m no longer convinced London is any different.

The number one highlight for me might seem like a boring one – but it’s always the tube. I can’t help but love every second of it. Even when it’s busy. I love the different designs of the stations, a clue as to what era they were built as you travel round. And the Elizabeth Line made getting from Heathrow Central Coach Station an absolute breeze.

Me and Mum at Tower Bridge

Mum had only really properly been to London as a little girl. Her Mum and Dad packed her and her brothers into the car and drove them down overnight – after a long day of work. They got in all the tourist hotspots, got back into the car the following evening and off they went back to Bangor. So, off we went to try and get as many of the same spots as possible. More than 50 years later.

I’ve never seen my poor Fitbit as overrun as it was last week. It quite literally couldn’t keep up with my 64-year-old Mum. She’s a retail manager, spending all day on her feet. So she regularly already beats my daily step count no matter how hard I try! Seriously, 10 miles a day is nothing to her.

Mum and I standing outside the gates to Buckingham Palace

We hit all the tourist stops. Buckingham Palace, of course. We even got in the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, and the Thames Clipper to Greenwich. Though, despite one of the reasons for our trip being to get our christmas shopping done early, most of the things we’d bought we were so excited to give to each other or Rob, that they didn’t make it under the tree. But there we are.

On a side note, we both had the same thing to say about how much bigger Buckinham Palace seems on TV (and in memory). And don’t get me started on Harrods. If you’re looking for a stress free luxury browse, Harvey Nicholls is a much more bearable time. We walked from Buckingham Palace, through Knightsbridge, taking in all the obscene wealth and luxury consumerism (and cosmetic clinics), on the hunt for a Harrods bauble. We left the very crammed department store with some coffee for my Dad, and vegan hot chocolate for Rob, no bauble. We quickly made our way as far as we could get before going for lunch.

I also introduced my Mum to Leon (the fast-food chain, not a person). I know there is absolutely nothing special about the place, but anywhere that serves coffees and lentil dahl rice boxes alongside turkey and stuffing wraps clearly deserves to be in every town across the nation. Make it happen please; Cardiff needs a Leon. I need those waffle fries as often as possible. Though, while you’re listening Mr Leon, where are those vegan nuggets? Bring them back ASAP!

One of my favourite stops was the Tate Modern. I’ve been twice now in about a month – but that’s because it’s one of the best free things you can do in London. Even ticketed exhibitions are quite reasonable. Especially for the expansiveness of what you get for your money. On a relaxed day, there’s nothing more fun than trotting around at your own leisure, taking everything in. It must surely also have the best gift shop in the UK?

We took our first day quite easy, as it was already unplanned. We were supposed to be travelling down from Cardiff the following day but the flooding on the line from North to South Wales was so bad that train services weren’t running – and we had no idea when they would be. However, getting from North Wales to London is actually quicker anyway, so some last-minute rejigging of Mum’s ticket was carried over the phone on Sunday night, and off we were the following morning.

There was a lot of coffee stops – and many slices of cake. Though horrifyingly, just a week later, the only one that still sticks in my mind was the chocolate fudge cake from John Lewis. Seriously? All that way for John Lewis cake? We also made an error that should be unheard of on any Christmas trip… not a single mince pie was consumed.

I’ve curated all of my favourite little moments from the trip below.

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Veganuary 2024: Enjoy the junk, but remember there’s more to life than chocolate and jackfruit.

One of my favourite times of year, January. When restaurants and shops alike are desperate for us to pop in and spend the few pennies rattling at the bottom of our purses. If you have anything left to spend, it’s one of the best times to do it. In recent years, Veganuary’s star has been on the rise, and with it, an explosion in new menu items… and some pretty unusual criticisms.

Back when I first gave up meat and dairy, the idea of veganism seemed to evoke a burlap wearing yogi, with an intentional focus on health – an obsession even. And you’d be forgiven for thinking that way. Products aimed at vegans to replace some of their mainstream counterparts (soya milk, mock meats, even dairy free yoghurts and cheeses) weren’t necessarily fortified with the nutrients vegans needed. Supplements were essential (and for many, still are). 

But as the years rolled on and McDonald’s turned the veggie burger into something indistinguishable from the real thing, and Cadbury brought milk chocolate (or is that m*lk?) back into our lives, more and more outlets, and certainly more people who frequent the comment section, seemed determined that these foods had become the main staple of a vegan’s diet. I ask myself if Cadbury’s Dairy Milk is the staple of all meat and dairy consumers – surely not. Or if the average British child gets all of their calories from Happy Meals. A new stigma has arrived. Vegan’s eat junk now. In fact, it’s all they eat.

Don’t get me wrong, the day Galaxy introduced their Vegan Cookie Crumble bar, I did have to give myself a stern talking to that this could very quickly get out of hand. But it never made me want to stop eating vegetables! Nor did it stop me from eating nuts, legumes, and the new generation of mock meats that have a better balance of lean protein and nutrients like B12. I’m never going to give up pasta, or roast dinners. Why would I? There’s so much to choose from now, why on earth would anyone, let alone a vegan limit themselves to only eating junk?

I think this lack of imagination when it comes to what the average person thinks of as the average vegan diet stems from something much simpler than we give it credit for. I don’t think there’s even necessarily a wilful attempt to brush away guilt (oh, I could never give up my health for a life of anaemia and brittle bones), but rather plain and simple overthinking. After all, whole grains, fruits, vegetables, legumes, these are the staples we all eat already. Regardless of whether we eat animal products. They are the base of most of our meals. 

Increasingly I see both vegans and meat eaters alike, obsess over which diet is more natural. An age-old logical fallacy, the appeal to nature. And I think so much of it comes from our very black and white view of processed food. Something loads of us eat loads of. And something newspapers and television love to make us feel bad about. And for good reason too, sometimes. But when the vegan diet is so unavoidably filled with fibre (something most Brits need a serious boost of), how much harm is processed food really doing us?

Well, that comes down to what you perceive as processed. ‘Natural’ is not always best. Especially when you’re in need of B12 to keep your body functioning the way it’s supposed to. I’m picking on B12 so much because it’s really, in my opinion, the biggest concern for vegans. Reality is, plenty of meat eaters experience B12 deficiency too. The reasons behind it are complex, both genetic and economic, as well as simply taste and preference.

It’s not hard to meet the rest of your needs through food though, but B12 previously always required a bit more effort if you’re not consuming animal products. But unless you’ve been living under a rock, you might have noticed fortification is becoming more common place. So much so, it’s not hard to imagine that supplementing essential nutrients for vegans might soon be a thing of the past. Everything from supermarket own brand plant milks are being boosted with calcium, B12 and even vitamin D. Dairy-free yoghurts and cheeses, to meatless ‘chicken’ fillets, the foods we’re eating for convenience, they’re all becoming sources of exactly what we need. 

Baked beans are another fascinating example of why not all things are processed equally. Beans are a great source of fibre, protein, and other essential nutrients. Just because they’re in a can with a label, doesn’t mean we need to fear them. Foods should be looked at in the context of the role they play in our whole diet. Nothing will give us everything we need, alone. No packet of Quorn, no carton of Alpro, and no man! 

This Veganuary, focus on the big picture. Swap your essentials (milk, protein, snacks) with an alternative you like. And this might mean trying some you don’t end up loving. Amp up everything else you already know you love: your favourite fruits and veggies, grains and legumes. Make peace with the fact nothing will give you the perfect identical experience to what you’ve given up, but it might bring you just enough flavour, texture, and pleasure, to make life on the other side seem a bit more doable than you thought it would be. 

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taking photos

Me, Tim, in Tim Hortons, drinking an iced oat latte. [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

I’ve wanted to have a chat about taking photos for a while now. But, as a total amateur, I’ve always been a bit reluctant to put my total ignorance and inexperience out there. Lately, however, I’m feeling a bit differently about this. Rather than looking to improve, I’m actually quite enjoying being an amateur.  

When it comes to photography, the world is huge. And expensive. This jump in prices is in sharp contrast to when I ordered my Canon EOS 500N on eBay, during the first COVID-19 lockdown. I paid £20 for a camera I absolutely adore. Sufficiently analogue but with plenty of late 90s digital innovations that helped make my journey into 35mm as simple as possible.

Rob, dancing to Heart 00s on the radio [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

Now though, when you’re scrolling through eBay, you’re more likely to find people reselling equipment and even film at extortionate prices. Last week, I saw an expired roll of Kodak Gold (from 1999) going for £30. And if you’ve not used a roll since the early 2000s, let me tell you, it is as insane as it seems. Just a year ago, I was paying £4-6 for a roll of Kodak ColorPlus – my absolute favourite when it comes to affordable film. Now, I’d be lucky to find one in stock anywhere. Scalpers are making a killing on the resale market. For less than £30, I used to be able to buy a bundle of 5 or 6 rolls.

And it’s not all Brexit and inflation either. As the demand for and interest in print photography increases, film manufacturers such as Kodak have openly been struggling to keep up with the demand. Even as they publicly call for Rochester locals to apply for their film manufacturing division, in an attempt to ramp up production. Fujifilm struggling so much that they’ve actually just been buying film from Kodak and rebranding it. Leading to many unhappy about their faves (such as Superia X-tra 400) seemingly disappearing from the market.

Me and Rob at a friend’s birthday party [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

Though we don’t know how permanent this madness is, it’s likely that as demand increases, manufacturing will eventually get better. Leading to less stock issues – and hopefully more reasonable prices. But, if like me, you’re not willing to go broke buying out of date film on eBay, what are you to do?

Me with Ashleigh & Sim, taken with a self-timer on Sim’s staircase [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

Well, my go-to in the face of this madness has been to turn to possibly the most convenient black and white film still being manufactured. Ilford’s XP2 has become such a staple for me, not just because I’m able to rely on it being in stock, but because of its price and ease of processing. I know plenty of newbies who, like me, are nervous of how they’re going to get a roll of black and white developed. Especially when their local lab might be a Max Spielman in the back of a giant ASDA supermarket. Or a smaller local lab that charges extra for the hassle of hand processing B&W film. 

Ashleigh, looking the most fabulous I’ve ever seen anyone look in pleather. Diva. [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

Ilford (to my knowledge) produce the world’s only remaining chromogenic Black & White film. Meaning XP2 can be processed using the standard C-41 colour chemical process, meaning your local lab should have no problem delivering a speedy turnaround. And if you’re dying to pick up your prints as soon as possible, like me, this is a godsend. 

Shooting in black and white is an entirely different experience to shooting in colour. But that doesn’t mean it’s any more complicated. While I certainly consider the composition of photos a bit more when I’m out on a walk, I am every bit as carefree with my point and shoot if I’m visiting a friend, or out for a coffee with Rob (my partner). In early 2021, I ordered a Canon Sure Shot Z155 and it’s been such a delight capturing so many gorgeous memories without the bulk of an SLR. All of the images in this post are taken on it, using Iflord XP2 35mm.

Sim showing off the green version of Prinny Di’s stunning famous jumper [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

To those unsure where to begin, XP2 goes for as little as £7 on Analogue Wonderland. They also manufacture their products in Cheshire and so getting hold of them has proven to be no issue. Even while Kodak stock has become increasingly scarce. Some of my favourite photos I’ve ever taken were using this film. My post about my birthday trip to Bangor (taken with the EOS 500N) is just one example of what this stock is capable of. 

Rob, scoffing chips before everyone arrives. [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

When it comes to taking photos, I’m sentimental. I don’t really have an eye for the aesthetic, either. Even if I do love spending hours looking through other people’s beautiful compositions. It’s just not how my brain works. When I’m snapping, it’s usually just something I want to remember forever. And that’s a perfectly valid reason for using film. The experience of dropping a few rolls off (I like to wait until I have at least 3), and getting physical prints, is one of my favourite things to do. 

She’s got the X-Factor (an’ everyfin’) [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]

I love the feeling of opening those little glossy envelopes. I love the lustre of matte photo paper. And I love looking through them, every photo a surprise and a pleasure. For me, it’s almost a ritual. Nothing beats framing my favourites or popping them in a card to send to a friend. When you’re shooting on film, there’s one shot at it, and it’s captured forever. You don’t have to worry about getting it right just because someone else likes to spend hours getting the perfect shot. If you just point and shoot, you’ll still have something to look back on. Good or bad, it’ll mean just as much to you. 

Two Divas at Brodie’s Coffee Hut [Iflord XP2 35mm – shot on a Canon Sure Shot Z155]
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One step too many

When it comes to getting the most out of our skincare routines, we’re often bombarded with all of the supposedly powerful anti-ageing, anti-dark spot, anti-blemish properties of whatever is ingredient flavour of the month. But as we’re increasingly saturated with serums, are we starting to miss the point?

Plenty of popular ingredients added to skincare products serve us well. Niacinimide, for example, is great for those dealing with excess sebum production and acne. This antioxidant helps to regulate oiliness and fade post inflammatory hyperpigmentation. But for lots of us, all it does is sting!

Retinol is another fantastic example of a vitamin antioxidant that’s capable of delivering results for those looking to improve complexion. As well as offering some protection from free radicals generated by environmental exposure.

But like most promises made by the beauty industry, they can start to fall apart when we start to question what we’re actually being sold. And looming over us menacingly is the small matter of formula. Products have become increasingly more complex in their formulations, but the time and money spent into research and development by cosmetic brands, is far from straight forward.

When it comes to ingredients like retinol, brands like L’Oreal and Olay have spent millions on developing formulas that don’t degrade as soon as the cap is popped off and air gets in. And we see this with their advancements in the realm of SPF too. The L’Oreal patented Mexoryl generation of filters has meant higher protection, and increasing comsetic elegance in how they wear. However, brands that place more emphasis on capturing the current TikTok obsession can often rely on sub-standard formulations, sometimes being nothing more than white-label products.

White label products are a relatively unknown phenomena in the skincare world. But they’re essentially when a (usually smaller) brand purchases a ready-made product, only for their branding to be slapped on the bottle. What this means in practice is multiple brands selling the exact same product.

Previously, I had always assumed this phenomenon to be relatively well-contained to the budget space. In practice, some of the brands guilty of this type of product-for-product-sake approach, span the budget to higher mid-price-range. And the reason this becomes an issue is because without adequately stabilised formulas, a product can contain as much vitamin C or retinol as you like, but that doesn’t mean it’s getting into your skin. Let alone shelf-stable enough to prevent rapid degradation of the active ingredients as soon as the packaging is opened.

Vitamin C is a notoriously finicky ingredient to formulate. Brands often opt to use derivatives such as Sodium Ascorbyl Phosphate. While these derivatives might be more stable, and therefore more likely to make it to your skin, the research is understandably more limited. So, how well it’s going to perform is even more unknown. Most of the time we don’t even know if there’s enough in the product to even make a difference. It’s with ingredients like this that I often opt to stick to the big brands: L’Oreal, Galderma, Neutogena. They’ve spent the time and money to make sure they’re striking the right balance.

Finally, I think we can often develop a tendency towards playing doctor when it comes to our skin. Brands like The Ordinary have often flicked a switch in me that quickly transforms my dressing gown into a lab coat. But the reality is that I’m no more a chemist than I am an Olympic diver. I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot anywhere near a swimming pool.

While it’s fun to play dress up, it’s important to remember that the basics of skin care, cleansing, moisturising, and protecting ourselves from the sun, are principles that – for most of us – are as essential as they are fool-proof. If you’re using the right gentle cleanser, keeping your skin moisturised, and wearing a good broad-spectrum SPF, it’s almost guaranteed you’re going to see good results. Especially if you’re starting from an absolute zero.

Some of the most useful tools in my skincare routine are the classics that bring that heady mixture of sensorial pleasure and nostalgia. Products like Nivea Crème. A classic that’s always been exactly what I needed to relieve even the driest of skin. A product offering nothing more complex than intense hydration. It’s thick, occlusive texture blended seamlessly with a fragrance that reminds me of being put to bed as a child. Not just by both of my parents, but even my Grandmother.



For the summer months, I love Nivea Soft. A lighter sister of the classic Crème, that first introduced me to a skincare ‘routine’ as a teenager. Its light, fresh fragrance, and whipped dimethicone consistency is one of the single greatest pleasures known to (skincare obsessed) man when the weather gets warmer. It reminds me of stuffy nights out in Bangor and early morning bus rides to college. The tube version also makes a fantastic hand cream.

Most of our favourite basics are loaded with great actives. The key is remembering that we don’t need all of them, all the time. And we certainly don’t need them in excessive quantities.

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Springtime skincare

As we emerge from winter, my skin is changing by the second. My formerly dry – no, quenched – face is beginning to let out the telltale beads of warmer temperatures. By this evening, our loft flat is already beginning to warm-up as the sun hits the roof. Even if we did have snow only last week.

This year, the panic is gone. Because I’ve decided to learn from my past failures and embrace lighter cosmetics. Out are gorgeous moisturising oils like shea and jojoba. In are lightweight silicone based gel creams. I’ve previously been a huge fan of the Aveeno Calm and Protect Oat Gel Cream. Still am. But I can’t describe how relieved I am to have found a new holy grail product.

The Neutrogena Hydro Boost Water Gel Cream takes the beautiful finish of Aveeno’s dimethicone based moisturiser and pairs it with their hyaluronic acid complex. I’ve never been one for hyaluronic acid. Ever since my earlier flirtations with L’Oreal’s obvious attempt at duping the product. But Neutrogena’s fragrance-free formula is where the company shines best. Their tendency to over complicate with a million different product lines, full of old-fashioned, potentially irritating ingredients is in stark contrast with the pared back innovation of their Hydro Boost products.

The end result is a moisturised face, without a hint of greasiness. One that’s comfortable, even during my moister moments (yes, I’m a face sweater). And their Hydro Boost Water Gel Cleanser does something I’ve struggled to find in a face wash: lather without drying. Again, a testament to their focus on the line’s simplicty over the added extras that are commonplace in even the unnecessary of places. Do we really need niacinimide in every single product?

Even if I can get on board with hydrating cleansers like Cetaphil’s Gentle Cleanser or Cerave’s Hydrating Facial Cleanser, the milky consistency just isn’t doing it for me. Skincare is as sensorial of an experience, as it is a practical one. We like what we like.

Another thing to mention is the price difference. As of writing this, the Hydro Boost products haven’t fallen victim to Cerave’s downright evil inflation. In a world where Oat milk is 10p more expensive by the minute, I can’t cope with being priced out of my favourite pleasures.

Finally, it’s time to talk SPF. The most difficult topic of all for my sweaty-faced friends. Finding a water resistant facial SPF that doesn’t break me out or drip into my eyes has been a personal mission of mine.

But I’ve found it. At least for me, anyway. Cetaphil’s Sheer Mineral Face Liquid Sunscreen is everything I love in an SPF and reminds me honestly of two of my other affordable faves (Biore’s Barrier Me SPF 50 and Garnier’s Ombre Solaire SPF 50+ UV Protection Face Fluid). You might even find it’s a good mineral alternative to La Roche Possay’s fluid formulas. It’s lightweight, gives me a healthy glow, and dries pleasantly without caking in my creases.

I’m a fan of mineral SPFs, but finding one that suits your skin tone can be a nightmare. Especially if you’ve not got a good selection of tints available in your local Boots. Avene’s Tinted Tolerance Fluid is fabulous, but paler girlies will inevitably find it’s orange twinge unworkable. Nudestix (in the UK) and Neutrogena (in the US) do seem to be on their way to cracking the code for deeper skin. But for me, I can get away with most – as long as my beard is trimmed. Overall, Cetaphil seem to have done a good job at minimising white cast. The body lotion version, though, I’d swap out for one of Nivea’s many water proof SPF 50+ body creams.

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Walking to town (to go to W.H Smith)

I’ve written quite a bit about moving from a small town to the city, and all the benefits that come along with 24-hour supermarkets, and ordering warm cookie dough at 2am. But while I was on my afternoon stroll today, I couldn’t help but think about the benefits of a small-town childhood. Namely, appreciating the most basic of retail outlets.



I should make it clear, when I say small town, I’m referring to the relatively small town centre. The reality is that Colwyn Bay has a modest population of 34,000. A fact that is all the more jarring when compared to Llandudno – dinging in at only 20,000. Especially when you take into account how vast Llandudno’s seafront is and how great it is for shopping.

What struck me the most when I got to reminiscing, was how, despite the relatively limited retail outlets, what we had was within such short walking distance. Obviously this comes partly down to the fact that my parents bought a house in such a central location. But also to how small towns are organised. Everything, no matter how limited, is usually within a relatively short distance of one another. And what Colwyn Bay had (and mostly still has) is a theatre, a supermarket, a fabulously rundown W.H. Smith’s (that I miss dearly) and a handful of pubs, cafes and market stalls that pepper the high street. It even had the smallest branch of New Look you’ll have ever seen (and how I worked that tiled floor in my faux Docs, and my even faux-er clip in extensions).

Right, where was I? Oh, yes! I would like to mount a passionate defense of W.H. Smith. Sure, some branches might not be able to compete with the range of choices available somewhere like Waterstones, or have the same level of customer care as an independent book shop. But what they did have were the very brand of soapy, commercial novels that instilled my love of reading.

Where else does an 18 year-old small town queer flock to for menthol fags and a Marian Keyes paperback? How about the endless hardback notebooks, waiting to be filled with what I did in work that day and what boy off Grindr cancelled a date to get his hair braided (yes, that happened)? W.H. Smith! And where else would one of my straight male best friends go to purchase the naked issue of Gay Times for my 16th birthday (yes, that also happened!).

So, let’s cut the shop some slack. The little one’s in train stations and airports are even quite nice (sometimes). I can spend anywhere upwards of 25 minutes going round-and-round the tiny aisles, filling my arms with bottles of water, cans of Coke Zero, awful falafel wraps, and a trashy mag for good measure. The one in Cardiff Central even has a fabulous little Costa counter, where for an extortionate amount of money, you can walk away with two packets of Percy Pigs and a very milky Oat Latte. What is not to love?!

In a world of increasing choice, and a decreasing high street, I feel exceptionally well-placed to avoid the burnout that comes with too much choice. And absolutely inoculated against the disappointment of a dwindling number of brick-and-mortar shops. Because as long as there’s a clapped-out old Smiths, everything will be alright.

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Going home

Come September, it will be 8 years since I left home and moved to Cardiff. I suppose, for lots of people, when you’ve grown up in a small town, there is a tendency to feel as though so much of our personality is defined by how we adapt to life in bigger, busier places. We start to see ourselves as an evolution of who we once were. And there’s no wonder, especially if we’ve spent years trying to figure out how to make life go faster. Then, once we’re on the ride, all we’re doing is trying to hold on.

But, honestly, I think the only part of me that’s really changed is my threshold for inconvenience. I now know that I am truly spoiled by choice and my patience is ruined. I didn’t expect to find myself getting irrationally angry at shops and cafes closing at 5pm. That being said, in December, I discovered that Colwyn Bay now has Uber. Yes, that’s right, my parents can now order a takeaway or a taxi from an app. Though I’d certainly be surprised if they ever did.

Something I was always grateful for, living in North Wales, was that the town I grew up was relatively well served by public transport. Even if I am constantly shocked by how much more expensive a day ticket is. So, on my birthday, Rob and I got the train to Bangor. A city with a high street that gets more than it’s fair share of criticism. Though, if you’ve grown up in the area and watched shops slowly disappear from the city centre, only to relocate on retail parks on the outskirts of Caernarfon Road, it would be impossible not to feel as though the life is being slowly drained away from the town.

What I think punches above it’s weight, is Bangor’s independent retailers, keeping the city alive. Whenever I go home, I’m always itching to hop on the number 5 bus, or catch to train to go digging around Mudshark. The very shop where I bought my first ever record (Bjork’s Homogenic, if you must know), and continue to find just about anything I might be looking for. Spiritually, it reminds me of visiting Cob Records, just down the other end of the high street, when I was a child. An event so exciting that it had my parents and two brothers, all crammed into my Dad’s car with fresh batteries in our Walkmans.

Cob lives on in Porthmadog, but for a long time, the Bangor location was up there with Kavern Records in Llandudno as the one of the most reliable and well-stocked music retailers in North Wales. Mudshark is really all about the vinyl revival though. And their emphasis on speciality and local artists makes it all the more exciting. I’ve been going there since I was doing my A-Levels, back when they were crammed into their old spot, opposite the New Look (also still kicking), and I’m glad to see them still thriving.

What I wasn’t prepared for, was how easy it was to find somewhere that serves vegan food. Domu, previously an Irish pub, making their green facade seem doubly appropriate, was a real revelation. The cafe is run by husband and wife Dale (a founding member of The Smiths) and Svet (Classical musician and music teacher). Both take on the roles of Chef and front of house, and I must say, were exceptionally lovely on the Tuesday afternoon we visited. I had a pumpkin stew with rice, Rob had the chilli. Neither disappointed. With only a week and half of 2022 left, we were both in agreement as we left that this was easily our top meal of the year.

Even the oat lattes and chocolate tart we had to top it off were faultless. And the place was packed. We managed to grab the last available table and straight away Svet was over to explain that they still had ‘plenty of everything.’ Everything, as it happens, is made in batches in the morning and sold until it’s gone. All in the spirit of an Eastern European roadside cafe. So, I was glad we got there just after midday for an early lunch. I couldn’t quite believe the amount of cakes and pastries (savoury and sweet) that were on offer. Note: if you visit, the chocolate tart was somehow both the richest, and lightest thing I’ve ever eaten.

Eventually, we made our way onto the pier. Bangor Pier is one of my all time favourite places. A colleague of mine who studied in Bangor told me that she recently visited with her husband, all with the purpose of having a scone at the Pier Pavilion. A cafe that serves just about anything you could imagine (salads, baguettes, toasties, soup, cakes – all with vegan options). We had another two coffees, along with a slice of lemon cake to share (it was my birthday, after all).

Garth Pier juts out over the Menai Straits, and on a windy day, anything that isn’t bolted down has a good chance of being lost forever. But the little huts at the end are the perfect spot to catch your breath, tighten your scarf, and mentally prepare yourself for the return walk. While Llandudno ‘s Victorian Pier might be filled to capacity with things to do on a day out (arcades, fairground rides, tat shops galore and more chippies than a seagull could ever dream of), Garth Pier is more understated. It’s somewhere to stop for a coffee and unwind. And all for a suggested donation of 50p.

It took us a few attempts to work the card reader. In the end, the attendant suggested we try again on our way out, or if all else fails ‘just pay next time’. In the end, it thankfully went through. Saving me the guilt of having to leave the friendliest volunteer I’d ever met empty-handed. As Pier of the Year 2022, it was more than worth the £1 entry for both of us. And following a successful trial after the 2017 restoration, even dogs are welcome now.

Sure, everything might close on a Sunday. And yes, shops close earlier than I’m now accustomed to. But every visit reminds me of how inconsequential endless choice is when everything that is on offer is so beautiful. It’s not hard to find yourself imagining what life would be like popping out for a scone and a coffee on Saturday mornings. Or with all that endless space to walk the dog. I left for the train full, and with that ever present ache until we next return.