“Thanks babe,” I replied, beaming.

“….yeah you know, that chunky one whose book you were reading on holiday. Amy…Schumer?”

“Oh yeah…right…”

I peered in the mirror, deflated, and vowed silently to lose it, once and for all. The man, I mean. That would be 13 stone of excess baggage gone in one fell swoop.

To be fair, he had a point: both Amy and I bore more than a passing resemblance to Miss Piggy in those days – and I clearly liked to hang out with a muppet.

So I gave him the heave-ho…and vowed to heave my arse to the gym.

Faulty relationship dealt with, it was time to continue with my life admin and take stock of my lifestyle. Having stopped smoking at the age of 40, I had been slowly taking baby steps towards a healthier lifestyle. Very slowly. Like, sloth speed. But then the comfort and familiarity of a long-term relationship, coupled with the creeping waistline of the classic middle-aged spread had kiboshed my (admittedly half-baked) attempts at reducing my addiction to baked goods.

Now, aged 42 and 2 stones heavier than I’d like, I was sat drinking sugary cocktails with a group of girlfriends. “I’ve really let myself go these last couple of…years”, I wailed. The girls guffawed into their pornstar martinis. I knew what they were thinking: a few weeks or months, fair enough, you’ve (barely) taken your eye off the (prawn) ball, but…years?! That was just carelessness. I hadn’t realised how long I’d been battering the buffet and chugging hot chocs until I uttered those words. No, no, no, this would not do…

It took me another six months before I took any action, instead choosing to make half-hearted mumblings about joining the gym, or that this would be my last slab of carrot cake (ahhhh carrot cake, my delicious – but malicious – friend). Then, suddenly, my 43rd birthday loomed large…and I knew it was time.

And the change – when it finally came – was huge, instant, and overwhelming. Anyone that knows me knows that I don’t do things by halves, hence the voracious appetite that got me in this pickle – mmmm…cheese and pickles (said in a Homer Simpson-esque drawl) – in the first place.

Overnight, I changed. Since I’ve lost the weight and got in shape I’ve been inundated with requests for information: how did I do it, what support have I had, is there some magic potion I’m touting?

So, Bird’s Eye Viewers, I’ve decided to impart my pearls of wisdom with you. Are you ready? Here goes…

I ate less.

And then.

I moved more.

Sadly, it really is that simple. Or not, as the case may be. It turns out it’s true: nothing tastes as good as fit feels. You have to make a choice. BUT – and it’s a big but, just like mine was – there is also one (surprising) secret ingredient in my body transformation recipe for success, which ladies of a certain age may well be interested in…but more about that later. (I know, I’m such a tease). This is how I lost 2 stones in 2 months and feel incredible, and you can too…

1/. Buy some body fat scales

There’s nothing more likely to give you the boot you need up that big ol’ blubbery backside of yours than stepping onto a set of body fat scales (mine were 12 quid from Aldi – bargain) and discovering you have the same basic body composition as a pork scratching. My initial reading showed I weighed 12 stone 1 (I know – ouch!), was made up of 37% water, 10.7% bone, 30.3% muscle…and a whopping 37% fat! Whaaaat?! Almost 40% lard? Now I’ve been told that body fat scales can be slightly off-kilter, and you don’t have to be Carol Vordermann to notice that those totals come to over 100% (like, how?)…but if there’s ever a time the cold hard facts will slap you in the face after years of guzzling and gorging, it’s when you step on them there body fat scales. You have been warned! I logged my progress every few days, and my most recent readings are: 9 stone 8, 53.5% water, 11.8% bone, 36.1% muscle and 22.2% fat. So I’ve now lost 2.5 stones and 15% fat in 3 months…I’ll take that! I’d recommend monitoring your progress every few days at first, then weekly once you’ve achieved your goal weight (oh yeah – set a goal. You need to know what you’re aiming for and stay focused). Warning: it gets addictive. Sometimes I weigh myself twice a day. I just don’t want to ever go back to having the same fat content as a deep-fried Mars bar.

2/. Take body measurements

As well as stepping on the scales, you’ll want to see the difference in your vital statistics. I’ve dropped 2 dress sizes and lost at least 3 inches from each of the areas I measured – sadly as well as hips, thighs and waist, this also includes my chest…waaaaah! So I may now be the proud owner of a set of abs you could grate cheese on, but the same goes for my ribs. And my boobs resemble two peas on an ironing board. What can I say? You can’t have it all. Well, unless you’ve got a mate on Harley Street and a spare 5k knocking around…

3/. Cut out sugar

Like, completely. If, like me, you’re partial to gallons of liquid calories in the form of sugary tea and coffee shop hot chocolates (I had the front to request a ‘skinny hot chocolate with extra chocolate sprinkles’ with a straight face as my standard staple beverage, day-in, day-out, for years), then you’ll probably have to go cold turkey and banish all hot drinks except for herbal teas. Drinks are empty calories. Brucie Bonus: green tea may taste like swamp water, but it is loaded with energy-giving caffeine and aids weight loss like a pro. Cane it like there’s no tomorrow. Well, upto 3pm, that is. Switch to peppermint after that, and then chamomile before bed, otherwise you’ll be on ceiling duty all night (ie awake and buzzing your bits off).

Oh and note that I specifically singled out ‘hot’ drinks. We all know wine is the stuff of puffer-fish faces and bloated bellies, but I’m not giving that up. Not yet. No siree. But strangely, despite still swigging Sauvy B like it’s going out of fashion, it doesn’t seem to hinder my weight loss. At all. Happy days! If you do everything else I did, I reckon there’s still room for a few cheeky bevvies. Because all work and no play makes Jackie a dull girl. And anyway, when I’m drunk I dance a lot, so it’s all part of the exercise plan, amiright?

I cut out all the obviously sugary snacks completely though: chocolate, sweets, crisps, cakes – all gone. I’ll still have the occasional dessert when I’m out for dinner, but don’t even think about buying those badboys for the house. Ever. Why put temptation in your way like that? It’s like inviting a grizzly bear over for dinner and asking it nicely not to savage you.

4/. Walk, walk, walk (or better still: run)

I don’t drive. I know – shocker! Believe me, the world is a safer place without me behind the wheel. But what this also means is that I walk everywhere. Especially now I’m single without a Jeeves to ferry my ass around town. I walk at least an hour a day, quickly, on my (uphill) commute, which, combined with standing all day in my job as a beauty boutique manager, means I average around 15k steps a day. Every little helps! And if you can run somewhere instead, even better. I run home from work when I can. The lure of the fridge when I get there spurs me on. Oh, and dance at every opportunity. But coming from an old raver, that goes without saying, surely.

5/ Remove red meat

I only eat red meat as a treat when I’m out these days. Actually, that goes for most meat in general. For me, dinner is all about the oily fish, salads, seafood and stir fries (minus the sugary sauces – just a splash of soy or hoisin).

6/ More fruit and veg

Fruit is high in sugar, but at least it’s natural sugars. Rather than snacking on chocolate and sweet treats, I’ll now have Greek yoghurt with blueberries, or dried apricots, raisins or cranberries in portion-controlled snack packs. Nuts are great for snacking too, but high in calories (and oh-so-moreish) so beware! Vegetables may be the food equivalent of a geeky librarian – boring af – but just get them down you and move onto more interesting pastimes… (oh, and sex them up with a sprinkle of chilli flakes).

7/. Be prepared

I always make sure I’ve got my water bottle and a supply of healthy snacks with me to stop me reaching for the bad stuff when the hunger pangs kick in. I pack my bag military-style, like a mum, in the mornings: ready for every eventuality. There’s nothing worse for your diet than being hangry and surrounded by nasties from the naughty list seductively calling your name. I also ensure I’ve got my gym kit with me, for impromptu urges to work out (yes, I do actually get them these days – freak!).

8/. Reduce carbs

Starchy carbs are not your friends. Bread, pasta, potatoes, white rice – get in the sea, the lot of ya! I eat only wholegrain seeded bread (one slice as toast per day, in the morning with two scrambled eggs and maybe a small avo, a few mushrooms or tomatoes), sweet potatoes instead of regular ones, brown rice. Portion control is key: little and often works best for me.

9/. Gym/weights/classes

BodyPump is BRUTAL – but it works. Ditto Spin. I spend every minute of each class looking at the clock above the instructor’s head, willing it to be over. But when it is – oh the buzz! The rush of endorphins coupled with the smug knowledge that you’ve completed a super-tough workout and will be burning calories for the rest of the day is worth the pain. The gym is good too – I use my watch to see how many calories I’ve burned which keeps me motivated – but for fast results, the high-intensity classes are where it’s at. Plus those grim-faced gym receptionists levy a fine if you cancel one with less than 24hrs to go, so there’s no dropping out after work when you just CBA and are fantasising about lying on the sofa scratching your arse and watching a boxset whilst eating Cheerios from the box (or is that just me?).

Oh, and get some Sweaty Betty workout gear (preferably half price in the sale because it ain’t cheap). It’s the shit. If you look and feel good in your gear, you’re more likely to get it on and get shredding.

10/ Be App-y!

There are TONS of apps and YouTube videos you can work out to in the comfort of your own home, but for me the best one is FIIT (click here to get from the App Store). It has a wide variety of free workouts for varying abilities and results, and they are a manageable 25 or 40 minutes long. I squeeze in a few a week in between the gym and classes.

11/. Power to the Playlists

Soundcloud, Spotify, Mixcloud…whichever your cloud, crank it up LOUD! The faster the beat, the quicker you’ll move your fat feet, so make it techno or house music all the way, baby!

10/. Photograph your progress

As well as weighing yourself and recording the results in a notebook trainspotter-stylee, plus taking regular body measurements for inch loss, snap a few pics to track your progress. Refer back to how you looked at the start to keep you focused. I had more chins than a Chinese phonebook just a few short months ago! The comments from people will encourage you too (ignore the skinny-shamers: they’re just jel!).

11/. Get some fitspo

Have a picture of your ideal body goal saved on your phone to spur you on. These gorgeous girlies with their ripped abs are my current fitsporation. They are abs-olutely flab-less!

Ok, so if you’ve read thus far you may be thinking “Yeah, yeah…this is all obvious stuff…nothing new to see here…” Well, now for my piece de la resistance. Ladies, if you’re perimenopausal or have already gone through the change (I had a surgical menopause mid-thirties which you can read more about here ) I give you…drum roll…

12/ Tibolone

This stuff is magic, masquerading as HRT. But not just any HRT. It’s the souped-up, lowered suspension, pimped-up, boy-racer of the hormone replacement therapy world. Instead of regular HRT, which contains oestrogen and progesterone, Tibolone is converted by the body into three components: oestrogen, progesterone, and….testosterone. And therein lies the difference. It’s a game-changer. Your energy levels, sex drive and general joie de vivre will soar, your body fat will plummet and your muscle mass will increase. Get to your GP and get some pronto*. Thank me later.

So if your fitness levels are in freefall, your weight is climbing, and your grip on your wobbly bits is as loose as Britain’s Brexit plan, it’s time to take back control of your borders. Surely if bumbling Boris can become our next prime minister, you can shift a few stone?! Of course you can. Good luck!

*DISCLAIMER: I’m not a doctor. I’m not a fitness guru, a nutritionist, nor a personal trainer. I sell make-up for a living. This advice – in fact, ALL the tips here – are purely based on observations and learnings I’ve made since I began my fitness journey a few short months ago. I repeat: I am not a doctor. Everyone’s different and responds differently to different things, and Tibolone is a serious hormone-altering medication with side-effects, like any other. If you follow my plan and end up with Popeye-style biceps and a beard that would put Brian Blessed to shame, don’t come knocking at my door. Got it? Good.

Sam x

The post I’m Taking Back Control Of My Borders appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

I beamed. “Oh great!”

I’d always been a reasonably studious schoolkid (I was in the A-stream at grammar school, dontcha know), so I’d come to expect no less than top marks from my body as well as my brain. Despite my loud Kentish accent, fair hair and six-foot stature, I’m no dumb blonde. So when the fertility doctor sat back in his swivel chair with a deep sigh and a furrowed brow, I was a little taken aback.

“Actually, it’s not great. Not great at all. A high FSH – that’s follicle stimulating hormone – test result is an indicator that your ovaries aren’t working as we’d expect for a woman of your age. We want a lower result. Imagine a car’s engine: you want it to purr along effortlessly, low revs. With your engine you’ve got your foot pressed hard on the accelerator, revving away…but you’re not getting anywhere….”

Oh.

That was near the start of my IVF journey, back in 2009, and was the shape of things to come: one disappointment after another; tiny victories followed by crashing, crushing, blows. My previous track record of good scores and good health were eradicated within months. Instead of High Achiever I now had a new, less impressive label on my records: Poor Responder. This less-than-desirable accolade is awarded to those who, like myself, have not responded as expected to the prescribed protocol.

The drugs, put simply, didn’t work.

Oh they did do something: mood swings, hot sweats, nosebleeds in the middle of the night. But my ovaries remained stubbornly, resolutely unresponsive. The doctors increased the drug dosages incrementally, reminiscent of an executioner turning up the voltage on an electric chair and standing back, waiting for the convict’s eyes to bulge and tongue to loll out. Higher and higher they went, until they reached the maximum legal dosage. Nothing. Scan after scan, pumped full of chemicals until I was bloated and uncomfortable like a duck being force-fed for the fois gras factory. But still my ovaries refused to play ball, producing only one or two substandard eggs instead of the fifteen or so that was desired – if not required – to increase the odds of a subsequent ‘live birth.’

Time and again, the doctors shook their heads forlornly and advised cancelling the precious cycle that we’d waiting months – no, years – for…and at each appointment we pleaded with them to continue: “Because it only takes one, right?”

Eventually, my husband and I conceded defeat and acknowledged reality: we’d never have a child of our own. Not only was my body not going to produce a baby, I was about to receive another killer blow from the specialist:

“You’ve experienced Premature Ovarian Failure. Your bloods now indicate negligible reproductive hormones and your egg supply is extremely low. I’m afraid you’re in the menopause.”

Premature menopause or Premature Ovarian Failure (during which periods can still occur, as was the case for me) is the name given to menopause occurring before the age of 40. The standard age for menopause is 51. By this point, at the end of 2011, I was 35; sixteen whole years below the average age. However, it’s likely that I’d been in this sorry state for a lot longer, having had previous gynaecological surgery to remove precancerous cells following a smear test (you can read about that here) at the turn of the century in my mid-twenties, and two more operations at the start of 2008, aged 32. During the final operation I’d been advised to have my damaged fallopian tubes removed (ironically, to improve the chances of IVF success), and it was probably at this point that the blood supply to the ovaries was permanently disrupted. Surgical removal of the ovaries (oopherectomy) is the primary cause of POF, although other causes include cancer, sterilisation, trauma and stress. For some women the cause is never known.

Looking back, I had a lot of the symptoms of menopause. Yet despite this diagnosis and long, meandering gynaecological history, my GP refused to acknowledge the need for HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) due to the (hotly debated) health risks and instead prescribed…antidepressants. Apparently this is common, as the symptoms are similar: low mood, brain fog, fatigue, low libido. But whilst SSRIs might tackle the mood aspects of premature menopause, they do nothing to counteract the flatlining hormone levels that can have a lifelong impact on vital aspects of a woman’s health: cardiovascular disease, cancer, bone loss leading to crippling osteoporosis, tooth loss, Alzheimer’s disease and ultimately, premature death. “Really?!” I thought to myself. “Is there no end of misery in store for me?” I was at my lowest ebb, and even contemplated suicide. I was well and truly broken, both mentally and physically, as I’ve written about here.

Finally, aged 37 and having suffered years of debilitating symptoms, I saw a sympathetic private specialist who prescribed combined oral cyclical (also known as sequential) HRT: oestrogen and progesterone. It was life-changing. I threw away the antidepressants that I’d been taking for almost two years and had an immediate new lease of life. The colour was finally switched back on after a long stint in a black-and-white world. It was too late for my fertility (and sadly my marriage) yet I felt the fog slowly lifting – and with it, a glimpse of the possibility of future happiness on the horizon that had hitherto felt impossible.

If you suspect premature menopause, don’t suffer in silence.

Premature Menopause Facts: 

• Premature menopause affects 1% of UK women.
• There is no cure for premature menopause or premature ovarian failure.
• Symptoms include: night sweats, disrupted sleep, mood swings, irritability, depression, low libido, weight gain and cognitive impairment (also known as ‘brain fog’).
• Pregnancy is still possible (if unlikely) during premature ovarian failure, and the woman may still be having periods. Women with POF are advised to use donor eggs during IVF, as the likelihood of IVF success with their own eggs is often as low as 5%.
• Premature menopause is often dismissed or misdiagnosed as depression. Insist on blood tests of hormone levels: FSH, LH, HCG and AMH for accurate diagnosis, taken on day 2-4 of your cycle.
• Risks of premature menopause if left untreated include cardiovascular disease, osteoporosis and low thyroid function.
• The main treatment to alleviate symptoms of menopause is HRT, although there is a slight suspected increased risk of stroke, breast cancer, ovarian cancer, womb cancer and heart disease. Benefits outweigh the risks at least upto the age of regular menopause (51).
• The different forms of hormone replacement include an oral tablet, pessaries, topical creams, gels, patches and the Mirena coil.
• Natural ways to protect health following a premature menopause diagnosis include getting plenty of calcium in the diet, exercising regularly, maintaining an ideal weight, increasing exposure to sunlight for vitamin D and bone health, stopping smoking (big tick for me on this) and reducing alcohol intake (erm, I’m still working on this one).
• Herbal alternatives include Black Cohosh, St John’s Wort, Evening Primrose Oil, Ginseng and soya products.
• If your GP is unsympathetic you are entitled to register with another doctor of your choice, not just the one in closest proximity to your address, under NHS Patient Choices guidelines. 

Online support:

• The Daisy Network. A patient-run support group based in UK.
• The Dovecote founded by Kelly Da Silva.
• Gateway Women founded by Jody Day.
• Premature Ovarian Failure Support Group.
• Facebook groups – plenty! Just search under Premature Ovarian Failure.
• The Non-Mum Network. A support group for women without children for whatever reason (founded by yours truly!).

Further reading:

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Menopause At 35 Turned My Life Upside Down appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

Liam and I had met late in the summer of ’98, when I was living in Ibiza and he was on a lads’ holiday. We went on our first “date” to Amnesia, danced all night and the rest is history; when he went home at the end of his holiday we kept in touch by phone and post (yes, actual letters!) and were reunited the moment I arrived back in the UK that October. He was from Essex, I’m from Kent, and after a year or so of dating we began renting a little place together in Brentwood and were blissfully happy. The only reason I’d had the smear test that had set off this rollercoaster chain of events was because we’d registered with a new GP after moving home; the accompanying nurse appointment was standard procedure.

In those days, cervical cancer screening was offered to women from the age of 20 every five years. I’d previously had one smear test at 21, which had come back fine, and wasn’t due another until I was 26. So it was by pure chance a few years later that I’d had the extra test that had detected these aggressively mutating cells.

The result letter had dropped on the mat: “abnormal.”

I’d had a further investigation at hospital via a colposcope (basically a telescope for ladybits) whereby they put iodine on the cells of the cervix, explaining that the bigger the area that changed colour (from black to yellow) with the iodine, the worse it was. The gynaecologist and I peered at the screen as the entire area instantly lit up like a Christmas tree. Oh.

Hence that dreaded follow-up appointment with the GP and then the operation to remove the cells using a hot wire. Had I not moved surgeries and just waited to be called for my next smear, two more years would have passed and they said I’d almost certainly have had full-blown cervical cancer due to the rapid rate of mutation – yet I’d had no symptoms.

Time passed, I was closely monitored with extra smears: every six months at first, then yearly. All clear. Liam and I bought a house, got married, and turned our attention towards starting a family, safe in the knowledge that there would be no repercussions from my earlier treatment. Wrong!

When months turned into years and no double blue lines appeared on the pregnancy stick, more tests revealed that, having had a sizable chunk of my cervix removed, the area was more prone to infection and my fallopian tubes had subsequently been completely damaged by an undiagnosed infection. I wasn’t prescribed antibiotics after the treatment as a precaution; I had no symptoms of infection, just as I’d had no symptoms of pre-cancer. I was left infertile.

I had to have a partial hysterectomy during which both fallopian tubes were removed (salpingectomy) and parts of my ovaries (oopherectomy). Attempting pregnancy with damaged tubes can result in potentially fatal ectopic pregnancy. We both took a sabbatical from our jobs and backpacked around the world for 6 months, before throwing ourselves headlong into the IVF process.

The subsequent years of treatment proved fruitless whilst everyone around me effortlessly popped out sprogs at an impressive rate. It was like a baby-making conveyor belt; it made my head spin. My marriage broke down under the strain after fifteen years together and at 37 I was eventually diagnosed with premature menopause as a result of all the treatment and surgeries (approximately fifteen years earlier than is normal) and prescribed HRT, which was a godsend after suffering years of menopause symptoms, and essential when weighing up my age against the considerable health problems associated with not taking it. Even with the hormone replacement therapy, my life expectancy is reduced.

Why am I telling you all this? Who gives a rat’s ass about your medical history, I
hear you cry. Because I don’t want you, or your friend/sister/daughter to go through what I have.

There are 3 things I feel I have to share with you, and apologies if I’m stating the obvious here:

1. Use condoms to prevent cancer.

At school, we were told to use condoms to avoid pregnancy and STIs. We were NEVER told that unprotected sex causes cancer. Almost everyone will get the HPV virus, certain strains of which cause cervical and other cancers, at some point in their lives – that’s how common it is. Even condoms don’t guarantee protection, since HPV is also passed on simply through skin-to-skin contact, but they help. Teenage girls are routinely vaccinated against HPV these days, but the injection doesn’t provide complete protection, and obviously it’s still fairly recent. And what about those young women aged 19-24 who missed out on/declined the vaccine and are still too young for routine testing?

2. Go for your smears, my dears! 


These days, women aren’t called for their first smear test until they are 25 years old. For many that’s too late: a woman may have been sexually active for upto a decade by then, and even then abnormalities can be missed. It’s just a human looking at a slide, after all. If you have any concerns or symptoms and are under 25 OR if you’re not yet due your routine smear test the doctor will flat-out refuse to do it (I know, I pleaded to have one last year and was declined, despite my history), so pay to have it done privately if you have to, at around £80. At the very least get an HPV test from Superdrug online for less than £50, since almost 100% of cervical cancers are caused by the virus. The test arrives quickly in the post, is easy to perform, and the results are emailed to you just a few days later.
It still amazes me that about 40% of women don’t go for their smears. Attendance rates are in continuous decline, with women in the 25-49 age group least likely to attend, despite the fact that cervical cancer is the most common cancer in women under 35. Worryingly, it seems the “Jade Goody effect” is wearing off, as this recent article in The Telegraph highlights. Are you crazy, girls?!

3. Don’t ignore symptoms.

I didn’t have any, but cervical cancer symptoms include bleeding after sex and/or between periods and severe abdominal pain are the main ones and shouldn’t be dismissed.

I hope this post doesn’t make me sound all little-miss-preachy-pants, that’s not my intention at all. I find most things in life are improved with a generous dose of humour served up with a side order of silliness; I don’t really do serious if I can help it.

However, since my blog has taken off and gained readers I’ve felt a niggling obligation to use it as a platform to do some good now and then, rather than purely for my wistful memoirs and inane ramblings.

Since this has been one of the biggest game-changers of my life, I guess it’s an issue close to my heart. If it means that even one woman swerves the evil HPV, or goes for a smear test who may not otherwise have bothered, then it’s worth the embarrassment of sharing such personal details with you all.

I may have missed out on being a mother, but thanks to the screening I’m lucky enough to be alive to tell the tale.

And that, after all, is what counts  

me being…well…alive

Useful links:

https://www.bmihealthcare.co.uk/health-matters/womens-health/cervical-cancer-screening 
(for booking private smear tests)


https://onlinedoctor.superdrug.com/hpv-test.html  (to buy an online HPV test)


https://www.jostrust.org.uk  (cervical cancer info and support)


https://www.facebook.com/The-Dawn-Effect-Cervical-Cancer-Prevention-for-19-25-Year-Olds-1451038508491244/  

https://www.daisynetwork.org.uk/  (premature menopause support)

http://gateway-women.com/   (support for childless women)

www.eveappeal.org.uk (all 5 gynae cancers info and support)

This article has also appeared in The Huffington Post UK.

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Go For Your Smears, My Dears! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.