Apparently it’s 2016 now

I had originally planned to blog on New Year’s Day, but was much too hungover and ashamed.

However, one week later, I think it’s time.

This year I swore I would stay sober long enough to see in the New Year at a reasonable state of intoxication.

Last year, I cried manically and was likened to a wild animal. What with the galloping and the headbutting when receiving the news that it was now time to go home.

Noone was harmed in my capture.
Noone was harmed in my capture.

I should have known this year would not end well.

After all, I smuggled a bottle of wine inside my friend’s brother’s pillowcase into said venue.

A statement which probably wouldn’t go a miss at an AA meeting when asked, “When did you first realise you had a problem?”

The rest of the evening is a blur to be honest.

Probably not helped by the fact I fell asleep.

Before you judge, ask yourself: What’s a big comfy sofa doing there in the first place?

It’s there to help weary folk like me who’ve fallen down the worse for drink.

Thank you.

In my drunken slumber, I’d forgotten it was New Year’s Eve.

I was suddenly awoken by my also drunken, confused friend Sarah, who had spent the entire night looking for me while I slept.

“Chloe, what are you doing?”


“Why though?”

I’m just sleeping? What’s the big deal?

“Why but?”

What’s your problem with it like?

“I just wanna know why you’re lying there…”

I’m just sleeping. Not like I’m killing anybody.

“Why are you doing it?”

What’s your problem with my life? You’re clearly jealous.

Several minutes later I was again woken by numerous people showering me in hugs, kisses and handshakes.

I had totally forgotten it was New Year’s Eve, so there was only one explanation for the spontaneous bout of affection towards me.

The world had realised how awesome I am.

I lapped it up, of course.

I realised there was no time for sleep.

I must get up at once and greet my people.

I had no speech prepared or anything.

The next two hours were spent apparently downing friend’s drinks, lying down for an occasional nap and walking around with my dress tucked into my tights.

Next year I am abstaining from alcohol.

And here it is in writing.



Accomodating for presumptious, little, dead, Indian girls

Most children lie awake at night afraid of the boogeyman, monsters or… in some cases, dead Indian girls.

Not me.

I sought to accommodate for dead little Indian girls.

Obviously, I was scared at first… (I wasn’t a complete freak)

I was sitting in school doodling away (and not sticking bluetac in my hair, because I had already learned that such does not make for lasting friendships) and my friend, Claire leaned over.


As I listened intently about the dead girl who occupies half of my (and your) bed at night, my little head was no longer full of rainbows and puppies but now of greedy, presumptuous dead girls with attitude problems and a lack of boundaries.


At first I was absolutely horrified.

My parents once called me to catch a bird that flew into our house (I was obsessed with animals, and obviously I wanted to pet it cos my brain went, ‘hey, an unaccompanied ANIMAL’), so I scooped the poor bird in my hands and held it for too long and it died.

You can guess what happened.

I understand that I sound like I was a really sadistic child, but I was just stupid and wanted to pet things too much.

My only fault was loving too much.

Anyway, the bird’s death only solidified my fear of dead stuff, which included little dead girls.

However, the more I thought about this issue, I realised that, actually, it was just another fact of life.

Honestly, I wasn’t overly keen on hearing that a large, bearded, invisible, old man (going by the name of God) was able to watch me fighting with my sister, picking my nose and holding the dog by its hind legs. However, I got on with it.

To me, it was no different to how I’d been taught about how Jesus (effectively a dead guy thousands of years old) was EVERYWHERE. Which, technically, must have included my bed.

Anyway, it had become just one of those things.  I shared my bed with a dead Indian girl and that was that.

Later that night as I lay in bed, my Mother came to tuck me in. She gave off about me lying half out of the bed.

“But Mammy! I need to save room for the wee dead Indian girl” came my reasonable explanation.

dead girl

*Awkward pause*


…with a face that said,

‘My child sees dead things. I never thought I’d say this, but where the hell is Bruce Willis when I need him?!’ (Lets be honest… probably out shooting another Die-Hard film).



“What dead girl?!” Eventually came the concerned, freaked-the-hell-out response.

“The girl! The wee girl who sleeps beside me at night! You too! She sleeps beside you too!” I answered.


*Another well-deserved awkward pause*



“Okkkk. That’s enough. Go to sleep. There’s no such thing”, my Mother replied, getting irritated at the level of shite her child was now talking.

“Yes, there is! Claire told me today. She said she sleeps beside everyone when we go to bed” I said, matter of factly.

“Don’t you think they would be in their own beds?!” She replied, trying to reason with the level of crazy I was at.

A part of me knew she was right… but I lay half out of the bed for months, just to be sure.

Fast forward 15 years, I am no longer as paranormally-accepting, and if that dead girl wants a place to stay, she can have the sofa!





Liebster Shmeibster

Thanks to Ripley Trout, the Nemo of t’internet, Honest to Blog has been nominated for the Liebster award. Ripley’s blog can be found here (No. Not lobster. Liebster. At first glance I thought this fish fella had mistook me for some form of sea life but no).

As part of the nomination process, I’m allowed to either: answer a list of personal questions or one big question. I’ve decided to go with the list of personal questions to keep things interesting, so here we go.


(1.) What  advice would you give to your 13 year old self?

This is easy.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, stop bleaching your hair. You are ginger. It wont seem so horrendous in a few years so stop battling with yourself.

Remember that pledge you took for abstaining from alcohol? The one you swore you would keep until your death bed. Yeah. You break that. Next year. At 14 you have your first sneaky drink. Vodka and pure orange. Luckily it’s only the one and you don’t do anything stupid.

…Oh yeah. Should probably mention this.

You know that Jason fella two years above you in school? You know, the really tall intimidating one who scares the life out of you with his larger than life persona and whose path you do everything to avoid? …Well, don’t say I told you… but life has a funny sense of humour. Your paths cross again but this time you end up falling for him.

At twenty one you agree to marry him and you’re happiest than you’ve ever been. So yeah. Congrats, kid.







(2.)   Why did you start your blog?

I had always loved Creative Writing as a child and my books were full of Teachers comments like “Keep up the creative writing and I’ll be able to say I knew that famous author”. I’m sure I’m not the only child to have such comments in their book but to me that was the world. I really was proud as punch. I could barely add two and two together but words were easy. I knew then that I had to write and still do. Approaching my last few months in school I didn’t have a clue what I planned on doing afterwards. Teachers recommended Journalism or English and that’s what I did. I didn’t know how else to get into writing so applied to study Journalism with English in University. I then set up my blog to help exercise my writing skills and to help me figure out what I actually wanted to write about. I deluded myself that I was happy in my little journalistic bubble for a while but I was miserable. Yeah, I was writing. But not in the way I wanted. It was  too competitive. There were too many rules. Too much of a rigid framework around it. I decided that I would have to leave the course in order to continue my love of writing, otherwise I’d end up a miserable Journalist hating my job wondering where the hell the passion went. I’m now studying towards a different degree but have decided to continue with the blog for my love of writing and will do so until that runs out. Or I’m hit by a bus.





(3.) Where do you see yourself in five years?

In a lovely magical ideal world: A lotto winner/writer spending days writing about the wonderful view from one of my many homes in the west of Ireland/Italy/Sweden. Later wandering carelessly around my kick ass orchard and humongous garden; picking apples and fruits to make assortments of jams and tarts. Then spending the evening being licked by my hundreds of puppies.

I’m joking!

I hope to have graduated and working towards a good career for myself. I would also like to be writing in some way. I want to help in addressing the issue of poverty; even if only in my spare time. Not in a Jesus or Gandhi way (Hell, I don’t have the feet for sandals like that!) but I’d like to be some way involved in influencing legislation. Like a semi-political Spiderman. Without the political status. You know what… I’ll just be Spiderman. With boobs.





(4.) How do you like to keep fit?

Walking to the fridge.

I wish I was joking here.



1.  Beautiful Health The writer of this blog is Jess- a fantastic, ambitious Journalist and Editor (and all round lovely person) whom I had the absolute privilege of working under.  Check out this blog for great make-up and health tips. Keep an eye out for this lady!

2. To My Write Written by Irish Journalist Jenny, this blog has something for everyone. With a very honest and humble style of writing, Jenny’s posts are excellent and so enjoyable to read. Her Irish wit is the cherry on top. Check her out guys. (The blog. Not Jenny)


‘No make-up selfie’? Don’t you mean: No, WAKE UP selfie!


Warning: This is a bit of a ‘ranty’ post.

The latest craze to sweep the social media platforms is reported to have generated over £2million for cancer charities. It is, of course, the no make-up selfie. Like most internet crazes, it has also managed to generate its fair share of negative press. Many suggest it is making light of cancer and that the notion of being praised for donning no make-up is anti-feminist. It appears, in my opinion anyway, in terms of vocalising opinion, such killjoys critics feel that being seen to scrutinise and deviate from the ‘norm’ is cool, hip or the done thing. However, regardless of what your views on the issue are, the figures raised are difficult to dispute. The simple fact is that £1million was raised in just over 24 hours. Regardless of the means used, is this not an incredible thing?

Breast cancer victims often lose their hair and breasts in their struggle; often times confidence diminishes with this. Therefore, however small the token, ditching the make-up, something which I and many other females have come to rely on as a confidence booster, is intended as a mark of respect for those undergoing such physical, emotional and mental anguish. I’m incredibly fortunate that I do not have any experience with the disease but that does not mean I’m incapable of sympathising. Those fighting cancer have my utmost respect and as a tiny token I decided to partake in the campaign. Does that mean I am a hero? Absolutely not. Yet I like to think I’ve made a small contribution. Hey, I throw my hands up; I doubted the significance of this campaign when it first appeared on my Facebook timeline. I could not see the correlation between posting a picture bare-faced and cancer cures. Then it hit me; the first step in awareness of any issue is to get people talking, and what better way than having usually made-up females looking less than their perfect selves? It sure seems to work with celebrities anyway. Haven’t the women’s magazines industry been abusing this methodology in selling their magazines for years? The first ten pages seem to be photographs of female celebrities with huge red rings circling the image to emphasise greasy hair or acne.  Online articles also. Titles like, ‘Mila Kunis: The photos she doesn’t want you to see!’ Or hadn’t you noticed?

In the age of beauty and perfection, we have come to expect a certain standard of beauty and we get off on images of people looking less than perfect. It makes us feel better about ourselves. With an almost-voyeuristic element, it allows us to view things which we are not ‘supposed’ to see. It’s a novelty. Whatever you want to call it. It attracts attention. It sells. It works. So if by simply noticing my mugshot alongside the word cancer on their Facebook timeline urges one female to go get tested and detect cancer in its early stage, then the campaign has worked.

The next argument I wish to settle is one of a supposedly feminist philosophy. It claims that the campaign is far from brave in comparison to cancer, which I absolutely agree with. However, how does one simulate cancer? The fact is you cant. I have yet to see a selfie where the female in question is comparing herself to a cancer victim. Yes, brave may be choice word but why chastise every woman participating in the campaign because one female’s donation is exaggerated. The campaign is no different to the male Movemeber campaigns, yet it seems that much of the negativity has been spewed from men. I, for one, saw many male Facebook statuses saying things like, “Thank God for make-up! These selfies are scary”. It is these deeply offensive, patriarchal comments, which are telling of the state of our society and which make women feel they are brave in choosing to show themselves in their natural state. Chastise those who make such comments if you are to chastise anyone.

As woman who wears make-up every single day of my life, I admit to feeling sick while hovering above the ‘upload’ button. That shocked me. I pride myself in being a strong, forthright and unapologetic female yet I honestly felt scared in revealing myself as nature intended. Had I actually let make-up dictate my self-confidence that much? Absolutely. And that scared the crap out of me.  As a female living in a patriarchal society, we’re taught to compete, criticise and discourage one another and here we are; united in admiring and supporting one another in the name of those women fighting a horrendous disease. Is that in itself not a beautiful and rare thing?

This is just a small blog occuping only a small percentage of space on the internet and so it wont change the world but I’d like to end this post on this note:

Slating those who participated in the campaign achieves nothing other than discouraging those who might have donated had you not criticised their intended efforts, so I’d advise anyone who have nothing positive to say, to heed something my Mother taught me: If you’ve nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.

But what would I know?

I’m just another sheep.


Oh, you guys!

Why hellllo there.

…Yes, I know it’s been a while…
Yes, I am aware of that too.
Uh huh…

You know what?

You guys are like that old relative who delights in making you feel bad cos you don’t call or visit enough.

I just wanted to stop by and let you all know that I’m a little bit closer to getting my ‘technical issue’ resolved. However, again, I am writing this from my phone and so there will be no stupid pictures yet again.

Also, to let you all know that I’m a finalist in the Blog Awards Ireland. Yay!

Which leads me on to say this:
Thank you all for nominating, voting and just reading my blog. I’ve received a few lovely comments in the comment section recently and have been so flattered. Honestly, thank you, you fantastic people.

I am incredibly flattered to be a finalist alongside such funny bloggers.

I am still debating on whether I can attend the ceremony but fingers crossed. I would love the excuse to be dapper of an evening.

And drunk.

Dapper and drunk. That’s what I aspire to.

God love the folk sitting at my table.

Hang in there, baby

Guys, I do apologise but I’m experiencing a few technical issues (always wanted to say that)

My laptop charger has taken leave of absence and so left my laptop completely dead with no means of charging. Inconsiderate so and so.

Unfortunately or fortunately as the case may be, I am typing this on my phone which means there will be no stupid drawings today.

Apologies for the delay. Hopefully I’ll get something sorted soon.

Hang in there, guys.



Old lady boobs what?!

I thought I’d write a very short post on the Google search items which lead people onto my blog.

I’ve been going through this list regularly and having a good snigger to myself.

I just thought I’d share with you all what a bunch of strange albeit sexually adventurous people you truly are.


1. “Old man”

Nothing too outlandish here. Keep scrolling.


2. “Old lady big saggy boobs”

Slightly more disturbing than the previous.


3. “Deirdre Barlow boobs”

Too far.


4.  “Virgins”

Um… Thanks for associating me with such searches, Google.


5. “ عجوز ”

I have absolutely no idea what the above means. It probably translates as ‘absolute nonsense’, in which case I totally understand the linking with my blog.


6. “How to get a masturbate”

Have you tried eBay?


7. “How to draw Pomeranian dogs”



8. “yaşlı resimleri”

No idea.


9. “Santa in chimney kids pushing him out”

Oh, ok? Really? That’s… interesting.


10. “How to get babes”

No Google search in the world can help with that, my friend.


11. “Old people eating cat food”

Yes, I can totally see how that’s relevant to my blog.


12. “Shower stinky boy sister”

….What sort of people use the internet nowadays?


13. “Where can I buy Gail Platt’s beige jacket?”

Are you joking? You’ve got to be joking? Probably the worst of all the searched items.


14. “Honest to blog”

Thank God, at least someone out there is actually looking for my blog. God bless you!

…And on the 7th day, she blogged

Day 7- Maintaining healthy hair.

I must stress that I am not a beauty blogger.

I don’t know which shampoo gives a dry scalp or which gives optimum moisture.

However, I do know that one should refrain from setting one’s hair on fire.


You’re welcome.


You see, I specialise more in the unhelpful, incoherent advice area.

Having read my blog, you will most certainly not leave with the latest beauty know-how or with anything useful whatsoever actually.

I offer swearing, confusion and stupid pictures.

So anyone looking for anything productive from this, feel free to leave now.

Gather your coats on your way out.


Word of warning to the rest of you:

I am in no way qualified to write this post and my advice should be taken lightly.

Infact, perhaps it’s best to do the opposite of what I advise.


Lighters at the ready.




Shall we proceed?

Okay then.


As I’ve mentioned before, the first thing to remember when it comes to haircare is to stay away from fire.

Personal experience has taught me that dying should be avoided.

…Further personal experience has taught me that bleaching isn’t a great decision.

For you see, I, too, dabbled in the dark art that is bleaching.

It’s something I’m not proud of, but it happened.

“She with hair like straw” they called me.



However, I soon came to terms with my gingerness and all was right with the world.



Bluetac has absolutely no place in hair.

It has a tendency to result in a nasty old haircut and a lot of name calling.



Day 4- In the big blogger house…. and Chloe’s out of her depth

Hullo there.


Day 4 of the Bloggers Challenge.

Today’s task is to write a post on a recipe of some sort.

This is all well and good for you foodie bloggers.

You know who you are…

You folk who post pictures of artistically placed quartered lemon on a dainty bed of risotto.

You folk who go gaga over anything ‘free from’ or ‘organic’.

This is your territory.

I’m the girl queuing up inside the kebab shop.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do try.


Like here, for example…

a simple crisp sandwich is dressed up with chilli and becomes a feast for the senses.

What do you mean I’m not fooling anyone?

A crisp sandwich will always be just a crisp sandwich, won’t it?



Half a packet of Tayto Cheese and Onion crisps

2 slices of bread

Shit loads of butter

A good slap of mayonnaise for good measure

Half a sliced red & green chilli -Remember: the green chilli is the hotter of the two and use sparingly

(Chloe can and will not be held accountable for any anal trauma or loss of limb incurred through excessive use of chilli)


A good cup of tea


You mean to tell me that you can work the internet but you can’t make a sandwich?