Walking through the crowds on the high street gives me a perverted sort of pleasure. They have no idea who I am and I have no idea who they are. I have the strange desire to know all of them. To ask them what they do during the day and how they go about living their lives.

Being anonymous.

I like it. I like walking and not talking and thinking “Ooh, they could be a blogger” or “Are they into kink” or “Have they read any erotica”.

Is that a weird thing?

I like being anonymous.

Make no mistake, I love having friends. I have the most gorgeous, wonderful and mad set of friends and I love going up to London to visit them. But here in Essex, no-one knows me. Well, some people do. But on the high street, I am but a mere cog in its workings.

Do other people like being anonymous too? Do those blurred faces in the crowds relish not being recognized for what they really are? Who is the person I’m talking too in real life? The lady at the post office, the teller at the bank. Who are they? Where are they? How do they live like this?

Just something that’s on my mind today.



Dressed up. Purple bonnet and semi-thick scarf. Boots and a leather jacket. I feel almost normal. Winter is coming and my defenses against living my own life are thawing. I like winter. I like autumn too. Solemn, like. The weather for crawling up against a loved one to share body heat. For thick duvets and good television. Warm, comforting food. Tomato soup with meatballs.

I’m dressed up.

And as I walk into town, other people are dressed up too. Some don’t know it yet, but snow is coming and they need to get ready.

Am I being a nutter?

Or am I really this excited about cold days and colder nights?

I think I am. I don’t feel at home in summer. All the sweat and the sleepless nights and the incapability to do anything without feeling like your brain is being fried from within.

Spring’s okay, I think. Blossoms and the first signs of life and those smells in the air.

But I like winter and autumn the most. Because I get to dress up and be warm.

I walk through the town, feeling lifted by the fact that I haven’t worn this jacket in ages. I can wear boots! Holy shit, my favorite boots! They feel so comfortable and warm.

Am I being a nutter?

Or am I really, really obscenely excited about my first winter in the UK?


Televised Annoyance

I’ve been thriving today.

I got a lot done, including another 1k words on a new project. I felt on top of my game. That was until I sat down in front of the television.

As Gordon Ramsey’s impossibly bewrinkled face filled the screen, I felt decidedly nonplussed. Like I’d been feeling for a while now when it came to television. The excitement of plopping down for the day with ice cream and a blanket had been replaced by this nothingness.

Jamie Oliver seems more annoying than ever. Ramsey himself can’t seem to shake that fucking annoying whisper/scream thing he does. Come Dine With Me is like a skipping record and the prospect of investing twelve more weeks into a series of Strictly Come Dancing fills me with dread.

It’s clear what’s wrong.

I don’t like television anymore. Apart from Doctor Who, University Challenge and Only Connect, nothing catches my interest anymore.

It’s bad enough that I’ve actually developed a routine around telly watching!

So, the telly’s going off tomorrow. I am going to finish my story, and maybe even start a new one. And I am going to ween myself off my routine.

I am determined to enjoy life, with or without a telly!


Night Walker

I don’t feel all that well today. To be honest, I’ve not been feeling very well for a while. It has its ups and downs, like anything in the world must have. But today is definitely a down day. Make no mistake. I have been productive, managing to do laundry, take a shower and make Christmas cards in the space of a morning. But productive doesn’t mean that I’m smiley.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep crying and I keep feeling miserable for no reason at all. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like I’ve changed.

Nothing works. My brain doesn’t want to co-operate. I need to pick myself up before I fall into that hole again. And I need to define what it is that I want.

Last night, I was kept up by a flurry of thoughts about the past. About how much you change when you grow up and leave the nest that is high school. Suddenly the jokes you loved aren’t funny anymore. The people you knew drift away from you and you’re not sure if you mind. Change, change, change again.

It didn’t help that some twat horse’s car alarm went off for about an hour. I felt so tired, but wide awake.

I don’t feel stuck anymore, but there’s something different. Like I’m in limbo, waiting for answers to come.

I managed to analyze some of it. It’s not a lack of motivation that is keeping me from writing. It’s fear of failure and fear of being crippled by criticism. I don’t mind criticism and I take it to heart, but some things just render me incapable to do anything anymore. Am I mature enough to do this?

I am still motivated. There’s just something that’s not gelling in my head.



PS: Apologies for all the negativity on the blog. Rest assured, I will get out the sage and clear the air soon enough. x


Cluck You

The conversation at my crafts group turned to swear words. Now, seeing as my crafts group are made up of mainly lovely older ladies, you can be assured that they swear with dignity. I envy that. I can learn a lot from these ladies, and not just how to cast on a row.

I fancy a swear now and again.

Scratch that, I fancy it most of the time. Even during sex, I just want to swear my tits off at how absolutely fantastic it is. Good swears are the best. When you’re walking in the street and all of a sudden, you stop and go “Fuck yeah!” at something awesome. That’s the way it should be.

The way it shouldn’t be was demonstrated in a very apt way earlier this week.

Let’s set the scene.

Tesco, in the early evening. You’ve just come back from a lovely day. You roam the aisles looking for a fix of strawberry laces (because of course) and Coke Zero. Having located your poison for the evening, you head for the till. At the same time, an older woman and her daughter are headed for the same till. You take your naturally assigned place in the queue and start unloading your items, making sure said lady has enough place.

Said lady then gives you the evils and says (quoted verbatim) “Well, it seems your need is bigger than anyone else’s.”

She then exits the line and buggers off to another till. Huffily.

When this happens, you get the rare chance of momentarily floating above the world to clock your own reaction. In my case, this was mounting anger.

And of course, seeing as I suffer from espirit d’escalier (only figuring out what you wanted to say after the even) it wasn’t a lovely moment in Boyd history.

As I write this, I remember the dignity of the swears emitted by my lovely crafty lady friends. So, I wanted to end this post with a message for this lady at the till.


Dear Lady at The Till in Tesco,

I have taken umbrage to your wanton display of hissy-ness. Although I do not know of the situation you were in at the time you came to my attention, this does not qualify you to have a go at me.

My needs are not greater than anyone else’s. And to me, without knowing your situation, neither are yours.

Cluck you, Lady.

Cluck you very very much.


Jillian Eve Q Boyd, 21, irate customer.



The Power of Books

Books scare me.

I realize this as I walk around the library on a free Sunday afternoon. I feel like an alien come to Earth. Or a stranger on a distant planet. Words come at me at a great speed and I begin to mentally wax philosophically on what books do to me.

They delight me.

They help me escape from the things that are on my mind.

They frighten me.

Oh boy, do they frighten me. Sometimes the words scare me off, because I instantly feel like a massive dumb-ass when I read them. It’s like I’ll never be good enough to understand this book.

Writers scare me too.

Some of them are nice and comforting and actually really lovely to discover. They touch a snare in the guitar of your heart and make you believe that for one moment your life isn’t so shite.

Some of them are intimidating. I’m obsessed by Neil Gaiman but haven’t really read any of his stuff yet because he’s so good and he makes me want to push myself further but I’m afraid because I don’t know what that will bring.

Some books and some writers make me feel like a dunce.

But there is something enormously freeing about reading. I’ve been known to read six books at a time because sometimes it’s the only thing I can do. And I feel wiser, better and uplifted afterwards.

I want to push myself to read more. Read about subjects that scare me. Read authors that intimidate me. Laugh in the face of my own darkness and say “Fuck you, brain, because I just read Will Self!”

Books can mess you up and tear you down and build you back up again.

That’s what my afternoon was about.

Also, I did some knitting.


Things To Do And Things To Don’t

I’ve set myself some challenges for this month. Here is a list, subject to change of course.


~ This Month, I Will ~

Finish a story ~ Find a home for a story that got rejected ~ Write the bones of something non-erotic ~ Plan my book ~ Be a good girl and take my vitamins properly ~ Clear out my wardrobe ~ Finish at least two library books ~ Learn how to cook at least one great dish ~ Eat better~ Get good at knitting ~ Make more cards.


~ This Month, I Will Not~

Partake in any memes~ Let the flat break out in filth ~ Forget to take out the bins~ Go to events that will cost me too dearly ~ Eat any more Costa brie and bacon paninis ~ Wallow in self pity ~ Forget to pay the rent ~ Forget to keep in touch with the family~ Forget to mind my finances~

And most of all

This month I will take care of my mind, body and soul. With any means possible.

I’m weirdly happy that summer is over. It was everything I want it to be, in that it was passionate, filled with lovely things and lovely moments and proved that I can make a living for myself here in Essex.

But I’m also happy that the days are running shorter. That soon, the leaves will begin to fall and rain will drizzle and pour. Winter will come and we will all be freezing our tukhusses off. Zombies may come and go. But to tell you the truth… I kinda like that. I kinda like the idea of bundling up in a huge winter coat and stalking to the train station. Hiding under duvets, drinking hot chocolate. Christmas.


It’ll be the first one I’m not spending home, I think. At least the first one I’ll not be spending in the company of my parents. That’ll be weird. Maybe too weird. Maybe I actually need to save up to spend the holidays with them.

Yes, I think I’ll do that. Or have mum come over for the sales. Either way, I kinda don’t want to spend Christmas alone. No matter how much of a depressed hole our house will be, I just want to wake up on Christmas morning to presents and hot chocolate. Eat something intrinsically Belgian for dinner. Watch silly telly shows.

I miss home. Just a touch.



The High Heeled Mystery

This morning was lacking something. Something really rather vital.


So, I got my kit on and trudged onwards to Tesco. But in getting my kit on, I had made a slight mistake. It wasn’t anything embarrassing, like putting my shirt on backwards or (as I did one memorable Sunday afternoon) putting my pants on inside out.


Muggins here decided to wear heels.

There is something empowering about wearing heels, I grant you that. Or at least, that’s how I feel. You stand a little straighter, you think twice about how you walk. For me, it means not slouching. It means being a little taller.

It also means that I can’t properly walk. Seriously.

The first rule of high heels (according to JE Boyd) is to never, EVER wear them when you go grocery shopping. You will look like a massive tit.

Why I did it, I don’t know. Actually, I do know. I have a lovely pair of strappy heels that I bought the day before I moved. I have yet to wear them out for longer than half an hour. I though I’d take them out for a test drive, not knowing that I would look like Bambi taking his first steps out onto the tarmac of the parking lot in front of our house.

I can’t wear high heels. No matter how much I perve over the Essex-style stilettos and pretty black killer heels, I can not wear them. My feet feel swollen afterwards and I just have no clue how to walk in them.

I so desperately want to be taught. I want to conquer walking in heels so I can wear nice things on my feet. I want my feet to be less of a fuss, so that I can fit in a pair of heels without blood seeping from the sides of my heels. I want to walk tall! Preferably in black and white polka dot vintage heels!

Oh, one could only wish to crack the mystery of high heels… How to walk in them without looking like an arse…


Let`s Go Outside

This morning, I went out with the purpose of getting caffeinated. It would only take an hour, and I would relax and read before going back home. I stayed away for hours. Because I have discovered the simple pleasure of the coffee read.

The coffee read is what it says on the tin, really. Cuppa, good book, notebook and pen, sit and work. And until this morning, I had never tried it before. I was actually out in the open, which felt so good, I could burst.

I can`t help it. I`m in a pleasant mood today. Latte and a book. Believe me, that`s all it takes.

Oh, and a morning wank.


I`ve read somewhere that Mercury is in retrograde. It makes you feel off-kilter and weird. Things go on that are out of your control.

I`ve never been one for believing stuff like that, but today, I think I have to. I`m having a very retrograde kind of day. Everything I do and say makes me feel like a twat. I`ve no energy, no will and no luck.

In the end, I just gave up and lay down on the couch. I`d recorded Terry Gilliam`s episode of In Confidence, and watched it from under my duvet. I am sure you can think of more exciting ways to spend your day, but apparently, this is who I am.

Luckily, Telly G is a delight to listen to.

If you don`t know what Mercury Retrograde is, let the genius that is Gala Darling explain it to you.

The planets are swinging around at all times, & their movements affect us all in different ways. All planets go retrograde, but Mercury’s journey seems to impact people much more than any other. (Even people who “don’t believe in astrology” often “believe” in the crazy aftershocks of Mercury retrograde!)

Why is that? It’s because Mercury rules communication, clear thinking, truth & travel, so when the planet goes retrograde — which means that it looks like it’s going backwards in the sky — all those things go backwards. They start to get ugly & tangle up. Mercury isn’t really going backwards, it’s just hanging out by the sun, but from Earth, that makes it look like it’s in reverse. It typically runs for a couple of weeks, a few times a year.

My life certainly feels a bit backwards. I`ve still not got a job too. It makes me want to go all hermit again, not unlike Gala, as she states further in her article.

Maybe I`m just looking for something to blame my shit on. But it does feel like this has an influence on how I am, especially today. It`s like my brain has been sucked out.

I`ll get over it though. As a certain lovely friend of mine once stated “You are made of tougher stuff.”

In the meanwhile, Gala`s article can be found here.

I`ll leave you with some Bloc Party (singing Mercury at Later Live)