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When your day’s been an absolute shit show who doesn’t mentally do a Dorothy, click their metaphorical heels and envisage themselves indoors? There really is no place like home eh gals and guys. But what happens if you catch the cancer and your new full time J.O.B becomes survival? In the blink of a barely […]

As your gurl Yonce so wisely warbled – “I pay my own fun and I pay my own bills” – that’s right lovers, I’m an independent lady. From flipping burgers at Fulham Football Club in order to fund my weed habit at the ripe old age of fifteen (sorry Mum) to a thirty-something rude gyal

I’ve never been a big fan of my boobs. If you can even call them that. They’re more of a nod to a boob, a flabby-nipple-type situation, a goodwill gesture. I hate the way that my tummy protrudes further than them when I’ve had a large lunch and the fact I’ve never been successful in

Within two hours of being told of the tumorous little twat there I was, sat in my local pub surrounded by 12-15 of my friends and family being plied with prosecco. Mother Mahon remarked – “I tell you what Lol if love and support could cure it babe you’d already be well”. If only it