All articles filed in Oh My Blog

Allow me to weave you a tale
Of masculinity so very frail

Tis a telling that will surely haunt
The cautionary tale of Princess Croissant…

It comes spilling out of my mouth before my logical brain can stop it, before I can talk myself down with imagined scenarios of rejection or (horror of horrors) disgust.

When it comes to awkward moments – my life is somewhat an embarrassment of riches.

It had been 22 months of celibacy, 5 months of therapy, and 11 months of taking antidepressants. I was ready to get back on the proverbial horse, and ride off into the sexually satisfied sunset.

I’ve decided that instead of saying “oh, my skin is so bad at the moment”, I’m going to refer to my skin as morally reprehensible.

I spent such a long time telling myself that my body is not a battlefield. I let my body process trauma in the way it needed to, comforting myself with the words “my body is not a battlefield”.

This week, a chap has emailed into the show with this catastrophic problem:

“My wife doesn’t like it when I call her mum, even after twenty years of me doing it.”

Well, duh.

It’s day 4896 of my period. I am uncomfortable as hell, and I really don’t want to be using pads at the moment, partly because I have acne between my butt cheeks (delightful) and am feeling rather how I imagine how babies feel when they get nappy rash. In other words, it’s not good, my…

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

It’s not even November, and yet the insidious pre-Christmas diet peddlers are out in force.