About Me

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Hi, I'm Lyndsey. I'm a 36 year old Mum from Wales. I have a Masters Degree in Marketing Communications and Public Relations and put it to good use in my work as a freelance Marketing & PR consultant. I also work part time as a fundraising coordinator for a Welsh charity which I absolutely love!! With two jobs, two children, two cats and a handsome man, lets just say I'm a busy lady. 
From 2006-2008, I wrote a column for the Denbighshire Free Press. I was so proud of the feedback I got for this, even the one angry ‘You Suck’ letter to the editor cheered me up no end; it showed that people took notice of what little ol’ me had to say. It’s good to know that people give a rat’s ass either way! So, succumbing to requests from my former fan club (ok, overstating there – readers who had nothing better to do on a Thursday afternoon) under the March 2014 archive you will find a selection of my early Free Press articles. I’d love to hear what you think on any of the subjects raised…you know, rat’s ass either way feedback ;-)


The Radio Interview

"It's just a short interview, you will be fine" said Christina, Head of PR.  That sentence ran through my head like a major Tourette's tic from the moment I woke up today till the second I walked my knocking knees out of the studio. It was amazing how many questions can be asked in a 3 minute segment!

Me at Dee106.3 Radio Chester
I work part-time for Welsh charity.  Two ambitious / crazy fundraisers had been in touch to say that they were embarking on a mission which they had cooked up over numerous beers last year, and were still going ahead with it.  A cycle ride from Chepstow, south Wales, through North Wales to Chester via the entire Welsh coastline. No longer considered whippersnappers and having never been fitness junkies, this was a mammoth 8 day trip by anyone's standards!

To get public support and inspire fellow bikers to join them for a mile or 10 along the way, my two fellas had requested Chester's radio station Dee 106.3 to give them a few minutes publicity.  The result was a full interview, a daily live progress report phone call and a finish line interview with all the trimmings.  The guys seemed more nervous about this than the actual cycle trip!  That's when I got the phone call.

As representative of the charity, would I agree to being interviewed on the radio and supporting our guys?  I've done plenty of media junkets, TV appearances, stage performances etc. but this was to be my first radio interview.  "Yeah, no probs, send me the deets" I replied casually.  How hard could it be?

So, this morning I was fully dolled up with my foxy dress, fake tan, lashes, 8 false fingernails (two dropped off due to being too cheap to withstand stress-biting) swooshable hair and a rare appearance of mid-heeled shoes (Arthritic knees wont allow me my to-die-for fluorescent pink Ted Baker Sky-scraper shoes *waahhh*).  It was when I arrived at the studio I got my facepalm realisation that Duh, its Radio - no bugger can see you anyway Lynz!!!  Oh well.

Rich & John preparing to be interviewed
The Presenter of the morning show, Gareth popped his head out of the studio and offered to make me a brew whilst I waited.  Good man; a brew fixes all woes. With that 'Radio Mic Ready' voice, he informed me that I would be on in fifteen minutes.  I took a deep breath and began flicking through our charity annual report.  I knew all the contents but was very worried that as soon as the 'on air' light-bulb flashed up, my 'brain is working' flashbulb would quickly pop.

My fundraiser dudes arrived and we were shown through into the studio, the mike adjusted infront of our faces and a brief 'this is what we are going to do' chat was given. Deep breath, light-bulb .... "And in the studio with me today is Lyndsey, Richard & John"....

I actually relaxed as soon as I had the first sentence out. I got across all the points I needed to make about funding, rescue missions, fundraisers, events, an impromptu shout out for volunteers and most importantly managed to not refer to anyone as 'dudes'. Most proud of myself!  My cycle dudes did great too.  Although they were shaking with nerves, they came across really well.  The Presenter agreed that they were bats for undertaking such a massive task but, like me and everyone else I am sure, were so impressed and inspired by these men.  The kindness, generosity and selflessness of what they are doing to raise money for our charity is incredible!

We are all to be interviewed on the radio again at the end of their journey.  This time I will be better prepared but at the end of the day, as long as I tell all the radio listerners how fantastic Richard and John are, then my job has been done well.


My Arthritic, Old Lady Knees

I have osteoarthritis in both knees.  I walk like Kermit the Frog. Yes, I am in pain a lot but as I am a girl, I have bigger gripes than Pain... and that's Shoes!
Getting a bit tall to be walking stick substitutes now

I have been stuck in poxy flat shoes for a year now and I am thoroughly peed off! I love, love, lurve shoes in every colour, every fashion, every style. My understairs shoe rack is brimming with dolly heels of every description and what am I wearing? poop purple ballet flats. butt ugly, boring shoes that emphasise the fact that I am a dwarf. Not happy!

For years, I struggled in the name of fashion. As long as I had both kids with me then I could use them as props, particularly on the stairs, one hooking me under the arm and the other accepting that his head is now a temporary walking stick.  My Son has promised to invent me a proper walking stick...with extras.  One day soon I will have a stick that doubles as a light-saber, complete with sound effects and a Yoda cloak to go with it.  I cant wait!

...and this is me in flat shoes!!!
Next peeve - My sexy wiggle walk.  That's kaput now too.  I used to stride, head up, stomach in, chest out, just the way my mother told me. I walked like I owned the corridor!  Now?  Now I walk either so slowly that I can hear pensioners tutting impatiently behind me or, bumble along like an overworked, vintage milkmaid; all buckled knees, bent back and pained expression.  How am I supposed to look like a woman to be reckoned with when my walk has all the elegance of a post-probed, embarrassing bodies patient?

Next peeve - my figure.  My exercise dvds are redundant.  Jogging..as if!  Dancing - nope, MC Hammer days are over. Walking? Sure - let me know when it stops raining long enough. So now I take the consultant's advice and do swimming.  I was assured that the water would support my old bones and therefore be pain-free. LIAR  With the first flippering of my feet, I popped my right knee out of lock and nearly drowned as I opened my mouth to scream and sucked in half the pool.  Two weeks into my swim therapy, I stick to breaststroke arms and flailing Kermit legs.  I'm determined to strengthen my naff knees, no matter what!

Come on Son; only one more mile to go
I've yet to yield to taking regular medication for pain management but I'm finding that my hips and spine are increasingly aching and the occasional shooting pains are enough to take my breath away.  At 36 years old, it was initially difficult to get doctors to take my pain seriously; despite informing them that both my Brothers and Father all suffer with arthritis too. I'm hoping that I don't pass on the duff knees DNA to my kids too, but I guess time will tell.

In the meantime, I'd like to say that I'm still all happy, perky and looking on the brightside but that's not true today.  It was true yesterday and perhaps it will be true tomorrow, but today I am sulking. I'm in pain and feel as flat as my frumpy, poop, purple shoes. After another passion session which involved my fiancĂ© picking up my pins for me, its fair to say that I'm as grouchy as Rhod Gilbert at a DFS final sales event.

So this is the opportunity my daughter took to amuse herself by offering to get me a mobility scooter, but not just any scooter, this one she plans to jazz up with flashing lights and a built in boombox.  A mental picture pops into my melon of me, my scooter, lightsaber and Yoda cloak and I suppresse a smile as best I can. How am I supposed to wallow in my misery with kids that make me laugh all the flaming time?  Honestly, how dare they!!



Missing My Cat Jackson

My poor cat Jackson is missing.  I have not seen my beloved moggie in a week and I am utterly heartbroken!

Jackson having morning cuddles
As a family, we chose Jackson from the animal rescue in Trelogan.  As we pulled into North Clwyd Animal Rescue, Hubby made it explicitly clear that he was not having another cat, as we were all still grieving for Ziggy, Hubby's cat from a previous relationship whom we had found in his old age 'forever sleeping' state a few weeks earlier. "I don't want any cat unless its got a face like thunder, daft as a brush and no tail" my man had declared.  So, we pretty much abandoned the idea of a cat at that point.
In the cat rooms, we looked at all the fuzzy faces meowing at us through their windows and the kids begged to cuddle each one in turn.  Hubby grimly avoided eye-contact with the felines and looked over his shoulder. That's when he saw Jackson.  Face like a Grumpy Cat calendar, he was rubbing himself frantically along his window, begging to say hello.  Hubby's resolution cracked just enough to agree to a cuddle.  As he held Jackson, the puss smushed him so affectionately that the cat seemed practically drunk!  "Look, Look" the kids had pointed triumphantly "Jackson has no tail".  That was it. Face like thunder - tick.  Daft as a brush - tick. No tail - tick.  Grab yer catnip Jacko - you've pulled.
Ziggy and my Son
For two years, I have been woken up with affectionate smushing, so enthusiastic that Jackson regularly falls off the bed. His grumpy face I have discovered, has a smile if you look at him in profile. He has followed my every footstep, including on the stairs which is bloody dangerous. Jackson has lived up to his daft reputation by jumping in the sink to get within cuddle range, balanced like a tightrope walker on bars for treats and basically wrapped himself round my neck like a scarf at every given opportunity. Until last week...

One morning he wasn't home for breakfast. I thought it unusual since he never wanders far from the garden and has never missed a meal.  To-date, he has missed 6 breakfasts and I have missed his little face to the point of heartbreak.

I miss this furry face!
Each day, we have knocked on neighbours doors, called all the animal shelters, RSPCA, walked miles in every direction calling for him and flooded Twitter and Facebook with appeals for people to check their sheds and garages in case he is trapped inside.  Nothing.  A few friends have been kind enough to share my messages but most haven't bothered.  I guess all this fuss for a cat seems ...I don't know, childish? pathetic? Sad?  Well Yes, I am sad, very, very sad!

I've wondered constantly what might have happened to him. Is he trapped somewhere? Is he sick or been poisoned like a number of local cats have been recently? Is he lost or simply out on the razz? Has he smushed someone so affectionately that they decided to keep him? For sure, that person wont know about all of Jacksons allergies and food intolerances so I expected that when his guts react all over their carpets, Jackson will soon be shoved out of the door.  Will he be able to find his way home then?  He is chipped and has a collar but...

No Tail Jacko & my Niece
I've always thought it so important that children have a pet in order to learn about responsibility, kindness and eventually, loss.  I cried my eyes out when their hamster died from a tumour, ziggy's sleeping and now Jackson. My son summed it up on our way home last evening "Pets love us lots and we have just got to show them lots of love back whilst they are with us".





Carry On Camping

My man has a new toy.  Well, its not so much as toy I suppose; its more like a thing...on wheels.  Meet Trevor
Meet Trevor
Trevor is a tent thing on wheels, which in his foreplay state, is neatly tucked in to make a perfect trailer.  You hook it up, drag it to a field and then pull on it till it blossoms into a cosy home for the weekend. Inside it houses 3 double beds, a little wardrobe, cooker, fridge, table and heater. What it does not have however is a pooper-room.  The kids and I were horrified!

As Hubby veered Trevor around the garden gates and manoeuvred him/it onto the lawn,  my fella looked so pleased with himself.  The kids looked across the opposite side of the garden at our trusty 2 berth caravan, complete with toilet and in perfect Bart Simpson ventriloquism wailed "Ahhh Maaaan".  Through gritted teeth, behind cheesy grin I warned "Just smile ok". 
Hubs is chuffed
Hubby set to work unpinning this, expanding that, swearing at this and "Wey Hey"'ing at that. We left him to it.  A few trips to Bevans later and he was ready for the big "Ta Dahhhh".  The kids and I looked from Trevor, to Hubby, to each other, to Trevor before squealing "Coool.  This is ACE!"  We bumped each other out of the way to be first in to inspect what trailer thing has to offer.
Sat in our garden, still in Trevor with the sides rolled up, a cuppa and a hotdog each, we already felt like we had the holiday spirit.  The smells and the atmosphere always takes me back to my childhood days of caravan holidays to Caernarfon with my parents and my two brothers. 
We loved waking up to the sound of the nearby river running, peeking through the curtains to watch for day-break bunnies and squirrels.  BBQ lunches whilst the boys were off fishing and me begging them to put the poor fishies back as soon as they finally caught one. A one-off occasion of my mother trying to perm my hair in the caravan bathroom and the place stunk like cat pee for the rest of the week.  Family matches of badminton, football and lawn darts followed by 'one last re-match' of playing cards or dominoes.  Real, quality time together without television or the Atari (we are talking about the 80's here).  
Its still very much the same now with my own children.  Yes we are off to Tenerife soon and Yes, we went to a 5* Egypt resort last year but I still say, you cant beat the good old British caravan for proper family bonding; even if you do have to use public pooper-rooms.



Dudes as Deaf as a Post

My dude is deaf as a post!  Yes, I know that neither he nor the audiology consultant agree with me but I believe them both to be in denial.
For the 3 years that I have been in love with this bozo, I have lived in a constant state of parrot-like speak, pause, repeat, pause, repeat, resist urge to throttle. Next sentence.  For 33 years I have lived in a world where I say a sentence and my co-chatterer responds in such a way as to facilitate a conversation.  These days however, my sentence is met with "Eh, I missed that", "Eh?", "Did you say something?", "     " (That's the silent nod response) or simply no response at all.  The absolute worst however is the blank / horrified stare; which indicates that he is scared to ask me to repeat myself...AGAIN.

So, last week, I shoved him into our local audiology department and suggested, yes aggressively, that he get his lugholes looked at.  Wise man never argued.  He arrived home triumphant. "I told you there is nothing wrong with my hearing!"  The kids and I looked at each other dumbfounded.  "He is lying Mum, tell him off" demanded my son.  "What's the point?" quipped my daughter "He cant hear her anyway".  All but Hubby broke into giggles; he simply wore his blank face.  We knew he didn't dare ask us to repeat.

Apparently, he believes me to be too softly spoken.  Hmm...Easily fixed if you say "Eh" again dude!  I need to get his attention before speaking to him says the ever so insightful, but definitely crap, Consultant.  I consider my own Mother's attention grabbing technique of a clip-round-the-ear.  Maybe not.  Then it dawned on me.  He does not appear to have any trouble hearing the TV, phone, next door's crying baby or tweeting birds in the morning.  Could he be faking it?  Could he be winding me up?
No - decided he is deaf not stupid!  Although...the kids have been wearing Hubby's fear-face a lot lately.  Learned behaviour perhaps?  Could it actually be me that is the problem?  Do I really mumble, mutter or whisper as so cruelly accused of?  NO.  Not possible!  Just to test it though....

"OI, BUGGERLUGS, CLOTH-EARS, DEAF-DUDE"  their 3 heads span round in unison.  "There - you heard that didn't you"  they nodded meekly.  "So, its not me, its...its...OMG... Selective Hearing!"

"What? Cant hear you" smirked Hubby.  "What did she say?" grinned my Son.  "I Dunno" answered Daughter.  Yeah, lets see how funny they find it at dinner time. "What? Hungry? Sorry, didn't hear you but my food was lovely"...


Getting Non-Fugly Photos for my Blog

My friend Ads is a photographer & a blimmin good one at that!  So when I needed photos for this blog of mine, it was Ads's brilliance behind the lens that I called upon.

What I should have also called upon was a cosmic order to sort my face out.  Although my face and I are falling out more often as the years grab it & slap it, for the most part, its a well-behaved mush.  That is however, until a camera threatens to shoot it.  Enter Elvis..

 This weird lip curl / snarl thing stretches my lips, one eyebrow disappears into my hairline and my 'come to bed' eyes get translated into 'come 'ere, I is a gonna stab ya'.  Attempts to sort this out usually result in a permanent 'need to sneeze' face...at best.

Ads naively agreed to photograph me one breezy day in May.  He met me at Costa Coffee for a brew and briefing.  "Ok dude, listen up. My face goes fugly on film so I need you to snap a thousand shots and hopefully we will get 10 useable, Photoshop'able pics that I can use".  Ads burst out laughing but stopped as soon as he clocked my serious 'Don't think I'm F'in joking' expression.

"Er, Ok, No probs. So where shall we go?".  I blink, he blinks, crickets chirp. "What sort of theme are you going for?"...tumble weeds roll past, more crickets. Silence.  "What do you want these pictures to look like Lynz? Come on, You must have some ideas?" he asked exasperated already.  "Yes, I do" I excitedly piped up and stabbed at the Pinterest icon on my IPhone.  He scrolled through my online vision board of pics showing celebrities, actresses and fellow bloggers with a look I hoped to achieve for my ownb website.  Non-cheesy, Non-grinning, sophisticated, intelligent, Mum but not Mumsy and lots of hair.  Ads's face made an involuntary Elvis expression of his own.

At the beach, I was freezing despite a big, cuddly jumper.  "Ok Lynz, give me a demure face".  Was he shitting me?  "Er, Ok, Maybe try thinking of being in love".  What the hell does that look like?  "Now, give your best 'serious' face". I obliged but apparently it is not too dissimilar to my 'I need Ex-Lax' face.  "Ok, think of your fella" Snap, Snap...Ohh that worked!  "Think of your kids" Snap, Snap, Snap..Yaaayyy.  "Now, think of someone that you cant stand....Whoah, Less venom Lynz, you are scaring me!"  hehe...

The day passed quickly.  I grinned at the beach, blew out imaginary candles at the bowling centre and pouted at my kitchen table; such glamorous locations.  As the time passed, so did the tension in my cheeks and neck, my teeth eventually unclenched and my shoulders detached themselves from my earlobes.  The more we laughed, the more the pictures improved.

Ads was patient and managed to keep his sense of humour, so too did his wife Sam when she later viewed the days offerings.  Some of the more pained, hysterical looking photos Ads has kindly kept from my view till this day, but Sam assures me they are pee-yer-pants hilarious.  Cheers Hun.

The final pics chosen are now proudly displayed on my blog's banner above.  It was a fun day and I am pleased with the, as predicted, ten useable pics.  I strongly suspect that Ads will be sticking to animals and landscapes from now on though.

For more information on Ads, please visit  AdamJohnsonPhotography