the male suicide issue

I’m just watching a documentary that Roman Kemp made about male suicide. His best friend killed himself and he has suffered


the scent of swimming pool

block building business city
Photo by Pixabay on

The automatic doors slide open

And the waft of swimming pool arrives

The metallic sound of splashing legs

As children push across their kickboard floats

The wall of blue that meets the eye

Soothes the ragged soul

This is a church of sorts

A place to hold my body in mid flight

A hit of power coursing through the veins

As one slides into a muffled world

Below the surface you can’t hurt me

I’m in a daydream world.

always hoping the underdog will win

The slightly podgy boy

With glasses, lenses thicker than

The bottom of glass bottles,

Feet turned in

And trainers bought

From the nearest discount store,

But when the gun is fired

Like a shot he’s off,

Surprising crowds who cry

With happy tears, hoping for

A golden moment of their own.

It was the final of Strictly Come Dancing tonight. Over in the US you’ll know it as Dancing With The Stars. I think that everywhere it’s aired, it’s universally loved.

Hamza won the show and I don’t think anyone would have guessed that would be the case at the beginning of the season.

He improved so much and it was amazing to watch his dances this evening. He didn’t even start with a huge fan base so he had won people over on his actual dancing talent and his lovely personality.

I think we all love an underdog because it gives us some hope that we can also have a moment in the sun.

Well done Hamza and Jowita.

Much Love

Rachel xx

what kind of world do we live in?

I got into a bit of trouble at work today and it’s made me really sad. On the one hand, I’m upset because I feel like I’ve let myself down in some way, and on the other hand, I’m even more sad that I got my hand slapped for something so innocent.

I have an Instagram account that I show all my art work on and it’s lots of portraits and landscapes. I’d quite innocently let some of my students know my account details.

I find it horrible that we’re not to do this because of safeguarding. Of course, I blocked those students and changed my account name when I was told it was an issue, but that is sad that we have to worry about something like this.

There must be some terrible people out there for us to have all come to this point. I was totally naive and I think I don’t always appreciate what horrible things go on out there in the world… and I’m glad I don’t to tell you the truth.

Much Love

Rachel xx

we do so much more than teach

man standing inside room
Photo by fauxels on

We wipe away their tears

When they have got themselves worked up,

We prod them when they’re feeling way too lazy

To do the work that’ll get them through those tests,

You know, the GCSEs they need but seem to not

Remember that they’re coming up.

We mark their books till 10pm

Then start our emails way before the sun comes up.

Sure we get those long weeks off

But do you really want a try?

It’s National Teacher’s Day so I thought I’d write a little something to tell the haters what it is we actually do.

I feel like a teacher, a mum, a medic and a therapist most days and we all take it on with so much enthusiasm. I see a lot of teacher bashing on social media, but being in school you would see that 99.9% of teachers go above and beyond and want to see all kids succeeding.

So, take a bow teachers. You deserve those bloody long holidays.

Much Love

Rachel xx

the day of the heatwave

The air crackles, thick

With the smell of chargrilled burgers

As children scream, sprinklers

Chasing them around back gardens,

Knowing there’s no school tomorrow,

Just an endless run of days

Each kissed by sun aggressively,

It burns with such ferocious force

That only mad dogs and those Englishmen

Will play on fields no longer green

But scorched an ugly brown

The only respite found is underneath

Those weeping willows, casting shade

As little toes splash in the shallows

Wishing that they could wade deeper in

Escaping heat that quickly eats us whole.

Don’t let a few failures define you

I know it sounds cliche

But get back up,

It might not even be

The third time a charm,

It could be the fourth

Or even the fifth

But however long it takes

The reward is the sweetest.

I love to run. I’m not a talented runner, but I do love to push myself as hard as I can and I love to see just how far I can go. And so it seemed only natural that I gravitated towards the ultra marathon distance, finally making it up to the 100 milers.

I did five of them between 2015 and 2017 and then I hit a bit of a road block. I don’t understand why, but every time I attempted the race, my head just gave up anywhere between 60 and eighty miles.

I had three failed attempts under my belt and a five year dry spell and I really was starting to think that I just didn’t have the ability to do it anymore.

So, I was a little bit hesitant when I entered a hundred miler for the weekend just gone. But, nevertheless, I pulled on my trainers and hit the trail. And I poured my little heart into it.

And you know what? I only went and bloody did it.

So, I just wanted to say that when you’ve failed at something a few times, it never means that it’s over. If you want something bad enough, you can get it. Just keep plodding away and eventually you will get there.

Much Love,

Rachel xx

the night club night

She slides through bodies slick with sweat

A beer in hand and a shot glass waiting on the bar,

She knows the burning drink will curdle with the pills

She swallowed in the hope to drown the week,

The nagging boss and the dishes still piled high at home.

The bass notes shake her bones, her heart

And as the drugs take hold, the lights flash bright,

Lasers scan her body, making her feel guilty,

Ashamed of what she’s plied her body with

And in the toilets, splashing water on her face

She longs for bed, to hide that face

Staring out from a neon mirror, mascara running

Lipstick smeared and a girl vomiting in the filthy stall.

No, she says. It’s time for home, to take off heels

And find some comfort in a better place.

where are you, my friend?

I see your words, blinking

On the computer screen

At this late night hour

When sleep evades and causes

Desperation but

Your words are just enough

To make me smile – no, laugh.

I try to stay away from social media as much as possible as it has the tendency to bring out all the worst qualities in me. It piques my jealousy and my anger and in normal life that is just not me.

However, when I do jump on there and have a little rifle though the comments sections, I do occasionally find a comment that has the ability to make me snort so that my coffee almost comes out of my nose.

And when I come across these comments, I can’t help but wonder who these people are that wrote such great material. And where do they live? And can they be friends with me?

After the Easter address this picture was posted and Twitter and the person who put it up just wrote ‘this only happens when a Pope is in distress’. I found it hilarious. That might say more about me than the person who wrote it.

Much Love

Rachel xx