At 11.32pm on Sunday evening after a weekend full of mixed emotions, I find myself thinking about Instagram photos instead of falling asleep. I haven’t posted any photos in a while and I’m wondering why. A few of my friends are asking and I’m ignoring the question, and the people-pleaser within me is wincing. Currently, I have several curated drafts and a camera roll full of incredibly special, aesthetically pleasing memories and they haven’t graced your phone screens. My apologies.

I write notes to myself. When my brain feels overloaded or when I can’t find my voice, my fingers seem to find the keys and tap, tap, tap my ticking thoughts into words. It’s Tuesday the 1st of September, 2020 and under a new moon that feels significant (that I am quite mad about) I’m noting how I feel in this present moment. It’s all become a bit much, so I trawl through my notes, back in time, through grocery lists, birthday present ideas, work notes, chores left unticked, ideas left as letters strung together with unexplored potential. I find the below.

When we booked this weekend away (months in advance of course), we knew one thing: we were going to have the best time. And no doubt, we did. Spectacular weather, wonderful company, beautiful locations, delicious food, glorious wine. And you know what they say about Welly on a good day.

Ok, I’ll admit it. I got a little lost when Week 2 became Week 3. Though blurry, some notable consumables of the past fourteen days are listed below.

With all this time, give me good food, good content and maybe a wine. Read on for what I consumed in week one of lockdown.

I remember the first time I watched a UFC fight. I was at a heaving, frothing Kingslander, an overflowing jug of lads and fight enthusiasts. I was the glass of rosé.

So today, on the 26th of March 2020, this blog gets reinstated as relevant. It gets pulled from the depths of the internet and to the top of my ever-growing, ever-optimistic to do list because my ability to check off the other boxes is on hold.

Wine, food and a bit of country air? An offer I couldn’t refuse. This city girl would be there with boots on, hat in hand, stomach empty.

And so it begins again. A ten-week boxing fight camp: training to be fitter, faster and smarter. Sweating it out with the crew, and yarning post-training about our ailments, goals, struggles and goss. I’m back again to hit harder, to get hit a little less and to (potentially, probably) fight at the end of it.