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 ;-)


Beardember & The Elf n Safety

My man has a neon pink beard.  He and his beard are taking me out for New Years Eve revelry tonight.  I will be wearing a stunning full length, gold sequin, sexy gown with gorgeous gold shoes and my hubby will be wearing ....well, lets be honest, who the heck is going to notice what he's wearing? the dude looks like he has a muppet stapled to his face!

My fella saw an advertisement in work back in November calling for men to grow a beard for Decemberbeard; a spin off from Movember.  The disappearance of 50% of his face behind a beard would be documented and in return, friends and family would donate to the Bowel Cancer charity.  Knowing his friends and army buddies would need a bit more incentive to donate, my man promised that should he reach £1000 within the December deadline, he would dye his beard neon pink and wear it like that to work all week.

Big Beard
You have probably guessed by now, that the opportunity to see their sqaddie-mate humiliated publicly was too good to pass up. The donations were coming in thicker and faster than his facial growth.  I knew my dude was both chuffed and horrified at the same time.  I was so proud of him for resolutely promoting his endeavour, despite him really, really not wanting to be pink in public.  Yes, I was very proud, but I also have the same sense of humour as his army buddies and there was one more surprise that he was blissfully unaware of, until Christmas morning.

It's at this point I need to tell you what my fella does for a living.  He teaches the butch stuff; as in  fire safety, violence & aggression, personal security and... Health and Safety.  So when the kids and I spotted a Christmas jumper in New Look which had an elf's body and the words Elf & Safety on it, we just had to get it for him. Devious as ever, I put the Christmas label on it and signed it from the kids.  It is the rule of all parents, if the kids get you something then you MUST love it and if they get you clothing, then you MUST wear it.  Its the universal Dad rule!!

During & more worried than he will admit
Well, can you believe it? He hasn't taken that jumper off all week!  Pink beardy face on an elf's body.  He happily plodded round work, visited the in-laws, took me to the cinema and did a charity bucket collection outside B&Q.  The oddest part is though, that nobody seemed to give a monkeys!  There has been no pointing, staring, laughing, crying kids...nothin! How boring is that?  What more does it take to look a bit bonkers? The complete acceptance / nonchalance of our locals was impressive! Not since living in London have I seen such utter immunity to the weird looking people. Have to say, I think its fab!  Keep it up peeps. There's room for all sorts in this world....but my man has proved his point now so, where's the soap?

There is still time to donate to this cause. Please click on this link to donate on my Hubby's Just Giving page.  Thank you x



The Christmas Rage

My son has never really bothered much with arts or anything creative, preferring facts, science and computer technology. His favourite TV programmes are Mythbusters, Bear Grylls, Top Gear and How its Made. So when he came home from school last week and told me that he had written a Christmas poem and had been asked to perform it at his school's Christmas show in the local church, I was surprised to say the least.

That was, until I heard it at the show last night.  Then all became crystal clear.  Nobody but my son could have wrote this poem!  My boy is a massive Christmas fan but it was his dry, old for his years, wit came through loud and clear.  He spoke proud and perfectly clear in his best public speaking voice, betraying not the slightest hint of nerves.  He was fab and very funny!

As we left the church, I told him how impressed I was with his poem, to which he raged "The teachers messed with it".  How blimmin dare they! I asked him why on earth they had done that, knowing that his work was good enough not to need 'tweaking' and even if it had, that's his work and should be praised as is.

"They changed the last line to '& that's a fact'.  How can it be a fact that IPods and Ferraris existed over 2000 years ago?  We wouldn't be singing about Mary travelling on a poor flippin donkey if that was the case would we! These people are supposed to be educators - god help us....*tut* "  I suppressed a smirk. Can't argue with that can I?

So, here for your festive enjoyment, is my son's UNEDITED Christmas poem.  Merry Christmas


Clothes Show, StereoKicks, Amy Childs & Us

Since I was 12 years old, I have been wanting to go to the Clothes Show in Birmingham's NEC. Yes, Ok, those of you doing the maths now will wonder why on earth it has taken me over two decades (and a couple of extra years) to get round to it and all I can say is this...No bugger would go with me!

This year however, I have a mini-me (who is a lot taller than me) who is now 12  years old and therefore, will get my dream come true - despite not having a clue what the Clothes Show actually is.  I bought us platinum tickets for December 7th 2014, a manicure appointment with Saks, new outfits each and promised her an abundance of celebrities for selfie-heaven; she was sold!

Alarm set for 6am. Sat Nav programmed. Car tyres, oil & water checked. Tickets printed. We were off.

As we arrived at the NEC, my daughter looked completely intimidated. I forgot that she is not accustomed to massive crowds of glammed up birds all pushing and shoving to get near the cosmetics, clothes & Lambrini counters. She is a sweet Welsh kid who practically had a panic attack in the Trafford Centre on Boxing day, so this was like a PTSD flashback for her.  Me though, I've lived in Reading, London and Chester Ave, there's no messing!  I squared my shoulders and showed her my best city'ite stance.

"Watch and learn daughter dear" I said as my sharpened elbows rose, chin lowered, evil dig eyeballs err..digged and I launched myself into the crowds like a bully-kid in a British Bulldogs tournament. Of course, it was a few minutes before I managed to beat my way back through the crowd and find her cowering in the exact same spot. "This is how it works, I bulldoze a path, you raid the space and grab every bargain you can reach, OK?"  She shook her head. Damn, I knew bringing her up with manners would backfire one day!

An hour later and I had discovered the secret to making my kid turn from a timid sweetheart into a 'Shift your teeth outta my path or I will smash 'em in' ferocious diva.  Free Stuff.  Although not technically free since it was me that was paying for everything that she just had to have, but it turns out that my kid can really shop! 
Cosmetic bundles from Rimmel, Hangover Hoodies, ear cuffs, fake tattoos, two lunches and that was all before 2pm.  She wanted to carry all her own bags and her fingers were white from lugging so many bags.  I carried my own bags too... which got lighter and lighter since all I had was my goodie bag and a nearly empty purse.

Ok, I have to point out here that, as a 12 year old clutching my first copy of the Clothes Show magazine and dreaming of rubbing shoulders with models, pop groups and celebrity stylists, this day was all that and more... for my kid. The 36 year old me however, wasn't really feelin it.  Where was Carolyn Franklin & Jeff Banks?  I didn't recognise any of the models lurching round the hall, neither did my kid. We bypassed the queues for the pics with the celebrities as we didn't have a clue who they were either. Peter Andre wasn't around and I figured my pic with his waxwork in Blackpool's Madame Tussards was good enough anyway.

We did recognise the pop group Stereokicks and were impressed. They were really good!  Amy Childs, who I only know from magazines which proclaim that this miniature, bony woman is fat. Shameful. Yes, she played thick and had bizarre looking lips but fat? What a load of crap!

The catwalk show was AMAZEBALLS according to my girl.  I thought it was most excellent.  We were 3 rows from the front and loved every minute of it.

By 4pm we were utterly pooped. By 5pm we had finally found where the hell we had parked the car.  Home by 9pm. Snoring by 9.30pm  Can't wait for next year's show, only this time - my kid is taking her own purse!



Working Home Alone.

What's the most profound thing I've learned from working from home, I will pretend that you have asked.  The answer is this. Its bloody lonely!

Working Home - Alone :-(
I've never been the most social of people, quite happy in my own company and never, ever endured boneheads simply to avoid being alone.  That was back when solitude was a choice.  These days though, I'd welcome interludes (short ones) of talking pants with boneheads of any planetary specie, as my brain needs a break from its incessant, internalised waffle.

For the last year, I have been a P/T Blogger, P/T Charity Fundraiser, P/T PR exec & P/T Student; which basically means that I have been F/T mentally fecked!  Although I am living my dream right now, I never considered  during my previous 10 years of daydreaming and scheming in order to get this life, that whilst I'm working from home, everyone else is out, either at work or at school.  My cat Jackson is still missing after so many heartbreaking months and my other cat Sandy has moved in with my fella, since his house is posh enough to have a catflap, a luxury not allowed in my rented abode & she sulks if I bring her home.  Therefore, its just me debating strategies with my four walls.

Doing charity and PR work does mean that I regularly get to put on my 'this is my work face - talk to it' persona & I enjoy the banter, but as I am still in work mode, I'm still on my own; kind of lonely in a crowd scenario.

Me & Charity Mascot
I know, I know, this is not acceptable social etiquette. Only sad, socially inept people admit to being lonely right? Well, here I am, suffering from neither Sad-syndrome or inept-itude; just perhaps a tad too much honesty.

I wish I was one of those women that could work productively from home, wearing PJ's all day, meet all deadlines and still have a tidy home and ediblely flavoured dinner on the table ready for the quality family time each evening.  I am the most spectacular failure on all points!

Nope, first thing in the morning, I MUST put on work clothes, slap on work warpaint and attempt salon-swooshy looking hair.  Without this armour, I simply cannot switch on my work brain and will instead, spend the day doing 'essential' jobs, aka work avoidance projects.  Work brain says "I have a deadline" Result - clean shower-head and shiny taps.

Kitchen / Office = Fail
I don't have an office as such, transformation of conservatory and a bedroom work desk have both failed to glue my butt to the office-style swivel chair.  Instead, I have adopted Costa Coffee as my office.  It has people who don't interrupt, tea which I don't have to make myself, WiFi which I don't have to pay for and electric sockets which I don't think they know that I am plugging my laptop and phone into. 

Every morning like clockwork, I dump my mahoosive workbag at my favourite, four-seater table (next to concealed plug socket), order tea & toast and work solidly for exactly 2hrs and 50mins, then dash out to my car before the parking fine kicks in at 3hrs 1min.

Costa on a Failed Swooshy-Hair Day
It has occurred to me though, the money I spend everyday at Costa could probably be better utilised paying for a jelli (weird name for a rented desk in a shared office space with other lone(ly) workers).  This is definitely worth looking into until I discover if this annoying need for other human's company is just a phase.

Or, I could go with my Son's eager suggestion. A Pug.  I could waffle to a doggie all day, take him out with me to events as my plus one and he could be like my best friend; except in this case, when my best friend drops a shit-bomb, in this case it will be literal.  I'm not allowed pets in my house according to my contract though, I'd need to train Pugly to sit statue-like and pretend that he is a doorstop whenever the landlord visits.

Alone - Oh Woe IS Me
I love the flexibility of working from home, of organising (hahaha) my own schedule so that I can almost always be there for my kid's shows, school visits etc and not panic if they are too poorly for school.  These bouts of loneliness are worth it for the precious short years before my kids are too embarrassed by my presence at the school fayres and open days.

I'm determined that I will get better at being alone soon, otherwise my ambition to be a F/T writer, working from my home office in my splendid big country house in the middle of nowhere will prove to be an uber' bloody stupid one!!