What this is really about.

I don’t really know why I started this blog, or what it’s about...  I guess I want to tell my story. To be honest, I’m kind of a bit confused where to start. I mean, the most logical place to start would be to be at the beginning, right? Maybe when I first stepped foot in boarding school, and walked in to the double room and laid my eyes in the raised bed and desk underneath, coupled with a cupboard? It’s hard to explain that feeling when you first walk in. It’s like... a sudden realisation. A sudden realisation that wow, this is your new home. Your parents weren’t bullshitting – they really would send you to boarding school if you fucked up again. Then they leave, and give you your goodbyes. You can hear your dad talking to you, trying to give you some advice on living away from home, but you aren’t listening because you can see your mum crying behind her sunglasses. You know she’s trying to stay strong so that you’re not embarrassed, but all you want to do is hug her and tell her you’re going to straighten yourself out. Because despite everything that’s happened, you’re not going to let her down again. But of course, in time you do. You fuck up again. You have to make those phone calls again and just accept the fact that you’re a fuck up. A grand fuck up, maybe, but a fuck up none the less.

So yeah, that’s what this blog is about. A fuck up. A fuck up who called a bluff and realised too soon that they sure as hell weren’t bluffing. A fuck up’s stories about fucking up. Occasionally you fuck up and get caught, but hey, live and learn.

Just try not to fuck up.