Lovely Day. 

Good food (mostly chicken and carbohydrates) and good company (colleagues who are incredibly near and dear to my heart) make for a ruddy lovely evening after work, I can tell you that for nothing. 

Let’s also give thanks to buses that run after 9pm on a Sunday, meaning I can get home for £2.15 as opposed to springing a fair bit more for a taxi that smells faintly of vomit, cigarettes and mountain pine.

Plans for travelling up to Cheltenham on Thursday have been scuppered by a rail strike (THANKS GUYS), so Wednesday is going to be a day of work stress followed by an inevitable mad dash to the train station in order to get into my old stomping ground at a reasonable time.

Good luck, future me. 


Slip and Slide.

If there was ever a less dignified position to be found in at work, it is when you’re cleaning suntan oil off a floor whilst another colleague wipes your shoes down with nail varnish remover to stop you from going arse over tit into a shelf of after sun. 

That’s how I spent about 20 minutes of my shift today anyway. 

I’ll never say that my job isn’t varied.

As for this evening, I’ve spent most of it in my room hearing the rain hitting my window whilst I listen to this year’s Wychwood FM broadcast. It’s very strange not being there considering it’s been my home for the last three summers, but alas, everyone must move on at some point, and I’ll be back doing radio stuff at the end of the week with the Big Podcast anyway, so you will be utterly sick of me wanging on about it soon enough. 


When, Where, Why?

Two consecutive days off are apparently enough for me to entirely lose track of what day of the week it actually is

Up until about an hour ago, I thought it was Saturday, and then I panicked because I’m working on Saturday. BUT IT IS FINE. 

I mean, as fine as it can be when you’re 24 and sat in your bedroom on a Friday night trying to learn some raps just in case you might need them to fill some time for the long podcast you’re doing next week, and not y’know, out socialising with people your own age.

I’m saving all that socialising for Sunday evening when I have to be up at 6:15 the next day. 

I shall accept each and every slow hand clap you profess here. 


Doing The Double. 

I did it guys!

I got out of bed on my day off in order to facilitate some solo fun. 

Not like that. 

I took myself on a date to the cinema this afternoon, and I was a pretty perfect companion, if I do say so myself. 

My choice of films was impeccable, as I went to see Pitch Perfect 2 (fluffy fun that made me miss University and singing a lot) and Mad Max: Fury Road which might genuinely have been one of the best things I’ve seen in years. I honestly couldn’t pick any faults, it was damn near a dream film. Strong, badass female characters, disability positive, a soundtrack that was actually diegetic for the most part and a metric fuck tonne of explosions that excited me no end. 

Then I had to go back and join the real world, which by all accounts was a lot less fun. 


Rude Interruptions.

Two days off work. Yessssssssss.

Plumbers coming to the house at 10am tomorrow. Noooooooooo.

I whined incredibly loudly when I was informed of my lost lie in, and it’s particularly bad because I have a radiator AND the hot water tank in my room, so there’s no escape. 

That’s why I’m going out for the day. I don’t know where yet, but if I get my way, it’s going to involve ice cream and a trip to the cinema. Yes, I’m 24. Yes, it’s half term. No, I’m not mentally prepared for the consequences. Yes, I’ll deal with it as best I can. 



Johnny and I have just recorded our last full podcast before next week’s Bigg’un. 

It’s safe to say we’re a bit terrified. 30 hours is a really long time. 

And my brain has just this second decided to throw all sorts of natural disasters/national emergencies/high profile deaths that could completely scupper our plans, so that’s ideal, and just what I need to be thinking about straight before bed.


Prick Up Your Ears: The Big Podcast

If you think that I’m not a complete idiot, then it might be high time for you to reconsider that opinion based on what I’m about to talk about. 

On June the 5th, I shall be returning to my spiritual radio home on Tone Radio at the University of Gloucestershire for what might jut be the most stupid decision of my broadcasting career (ha!) so far. 

I’m co-hosting what is set to be the World’s Longest Podcast, along with my good friend Johnny Robinson.


I know. I’m batshit crazy for agreeing to it, but I didn’t have much else on my plate so I thought I might as well. 

But enough of my negativity. I should probably explain what the plan actually is. 

At 9am on the 5th, Johnny and I start our podcast. At 3pm on the 6th, we stop. 30 non-stop (except for wee breaks because even though I am willing to discuss adult stuff in our podcast, the line is drawn at literal toilet humour.) hours of talking and laughing and a rapid descent into goodness knows what. 

Some of you reading this might not even know that I do a podcast, as I don’t bang on about it loads. We’re on Audioboom AND iTunes, don’t you know? They censor the Prick in our title which never fails to make me laugh. If you search for it, you will find it. If you see me as an angelic being who would never be foul mouthed, you might want to avoid it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 


Good question, Zoe! 

It’s for charity, of course. And I know what you’re all thinking. I do so much for charity already, does my generosity know no bounds? No. It does not.

Sarcasm aside, we’re raising money for Dig Deep, who are doing amazing work in Kenya, getting clean water to the people that desperately need it.

Johnny’s fiancée is climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, but that’s not really our thing, so we’re doing a mountain of a podcast instead.

Plus, if we can break, or rather set, a record in the process, brilliant. 

And yes, 30 hours doesn’t sound that long, but when you’re talking almost constantly for that time, it’s very long. 

So here’s the bit I know you’re all dreading. The bit where I ask you to chuck a bit of money our way in order to make this stupid, stupid podcast idea feel like it’s not all in vain (you probably think this podcast is about us etc. etc.). Plus, if you put in some cash now, you can hide me from social media over the 5th and 6th and not feel totally guilty. 


We’re really excited about the podcast, but ultimately a bit terrified, so if you happen to have any suggestions for things we could do, or challenges you’d be willing to set us in exchange for money, then do let us know. I draw the line at actual prostitution though. 

I’m now off to go and write some totally off the cuff material for Hour 17. Excuse me. 

(For a slightly more coherent version of all the stuff I’ve said above you can check out the PRESS RELEASE.)


15 To 1.

Yesssssss. We’ve made it to the end of my very long work stint without injury or incident (ignore me nearly passing out at work yesterday. I was fine after I’d had a flapjack.), which means I am now treated to a whole day off as reward.

*fist pump*

I’ve spent my evening sat in my pyjamas in my room listening to Radio 1’s Big Weekend, and it’s been lovely. Jamie T was great, Taylor Swift was fierce and the Foo Fighters were immense. Dave Grohl might just be the nicest man in rock.

The entire weekend broadcast has meant I’ve been reminiscing about last summer, and our radio shows from Wychwood and 2000 Trees, which really are up there with the best experiences of my little life so far. I’m genuinely sad not to have an opportunity to do them again. 


Tomorrow I’ll be announcing a thing that I will need a heck of a lot of support for (not my boobs) so please make sure you come back to find out what it is. 


Douze Points.

It’s Eurovision night. I’m busy over on Twitter trying to be funny. It’s going fairly well. Bye.


Half And Half.

It’s been another day of half working and half napping, simply because I know this weekend at work’s going to be hectic owing to it being the bank holiday weekend.

All I need to remember is that I’m 12 hours of work away from being able to sleep in on Monday. When I put it like that, it really doesn’t feel so bad.