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

so this is christmas….

christmas tree with baubles
Photo by on

And what have you done,

Another year over

And a new one just begun.

Sorry for a bit of plagiarism there, but I kind of feel that those lines sum up the feelings there are at this time of year. I have had some epic years and some that have been absolute shit shows; but now is always the time to relect.

And I don’t know about everyone else, but it makes me feel really emotional.

There are normally lots of recaps of the year on TV too and you can’t help but remember that moment in time through rose tinted glasses. In England we have had the football, Emma in the tennis and the Olympics. We also had the final of Strictly Come Dancing last night and that ended in many tears.

However your year has panned out there will be some amazing things that have happened. You’ve probably forgotten about them because it’s so much easier to cling onto the bad bits. Spend some time remembering those good bits and use them to stay hopeful.

Much Love

Rachel xx

the haunted house

photo of grey colored house during daytime
Photo by Kris Lucas on

The garden calls me from the world I know,

Grave stones poking through the grass

Like rotten teeth in swollen gums, I wonder

What lies below, what else could push their way

Upwards, to grab at ankles as I pass.

Once at the door we’re always greeted by

A man unusually tall, stooping and groaning

Holding candles sagging in the night.

Pictures change to gruesome sights, as we walk

Towards the cars that drift through halls

Like silent hands that hold us safe.

We swoop through ballroom scenes with ghostly girls

Held in arms of ghoulish men and someone sat

At organ keys, playing something tabgo-like.

And into basements we will travel, where the dead

Were buried (maybe not quite dead when trapped

Inside the nailed up coffin box. Now they play

With people as the venture in, jigging to

A song we cannot hear with earthly ears.

And when the journey ends we jump back on

To terra firma with the help of girls

Dressed in high neck shirts and full length skirts,

Out into a bright lit day, so at odds

With the darkness we have come to know and love,

Blinking in a gift shop full of branded mugs

And T-shirts printed with the living dead.

We part with too much hard earned cash before

We head off to Space Mountain for

Another ride, another thrill, another world

To make us scream with pure delight.

they’re just so flipping deep

How is it that an eleven year old

Can make you stop within your tracks

With something so profound

Your breath, it catches in your chest?

They somehow know the words to fill

An awkward silence, or just how

To accurately put love into few words,

Like they’ve boiled it down

Until the essence is rolling off their tongues.

Incredible really, that a child so young

Can understand the things us grownups

Grapple with so hard, struggling to voice

The turbulence of this life…

a joyful moment at 2:23pm

It was 2:23pm on a Friday afternoon,

With the Year 10 girls, drifting away,

Their left over laughter lingering on

And a few quiet moments before the Year 7s

Bowl down the corridor in bold anticipation,

Dreaming of poems with delectable rhymes

And books by Roald Dahl, with tongue twisting names.

But in those short minutes with nothing to do,

The teachers all sink into swivelling chairs,

Digging out chocolate and bottles of pop

To keep ourselves ticking for one hour more.

Closing my eyes at 2:23, with just one more lesson,

I feel that the world has paused in its spin,

With the light flitting in through the blinds still not fixed,

I wish that this droplet of perfection in time

Could freeze into ice and hold shape forever.

Those moments exist, dotted throughout,

So open your eyes and look for the sun.

the little black book

black pencil on white paper
Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on

She could take down the town

With the names in that book,

Those names up in lights

Who’ve so much to lose.

But what makes her write

Those names and those numbers

That could shine a bright light

On all that is wrong

With the world that we know.

I’m watching the Ruby Wax programme and in it she returns to all of her most famous interviews from the 90’s. I felt particularly drawn to the interview she did with Heidi Fleiss who I had never actually heard of before.

She was a madame who hooked up the richest and most powerful men with the most beautiful women, for who knows what.

It interested me because they referred to her little black book that could have brought down the town. It was interesting because she was due to go to prison for what she was doing, and when I look at the world today, I wonder if anything would have played out differently now?

I wonder if the #metoo movement would have protected her and uncovered the men? And I wonder what made her get into that business? Was the power and money, really worth it? And would it be worth it now? I wonder what I would do with a little black book that had all that power?

So many questions…

Much Love

Rachel xx

The tv shopping channel

They sell a load of crap, if we’re going to be honest with ourselves,

And yet we sit there late at night before the sleeping pills

Kick in and send us into sweet oblivion,

That time when minds are racing with the worries of tomorrow;

What the boss will moan about, and what the gossips say

Around the watercooler, with their furrowed brows,

Angry at the world for no reason I can see.

And so we sit at midnight watching QVC or Ideal Home

Or yet another channel selling diamond rings and pots and pans,

Then Skechers in five colours with culottes and kaftans,

Rubbish really, but I watch because it is hypnotic to the senses

With those voices smoother than those silky sheets they sell

At 1:26am, when all the world’s asleep,

But us, the anxious and the ill will doze until the sun will rise

And suave presenters come and go, they are my friends

Who keep me company when madness grips my soul.