Letter to Bobbin - nine years old

Happy Birthday Bobbin!

Another year around the sun, and another year of being a super cool kid.

It's hard not to lead with the coolest brag ever: you managed to become the youngest Black Belt our dojo has ever had at the age of 8. You absolutely nailed the grading; you were SO ready. I was anxious watching your katas because in the mock grading you got a bit nervous and you forgot some of the moves (that you could usually do in your sleep!). The Shihan reminded you that it's not about getting everything perfect, it's about how you recover from a mistake - funny that I can say it and it doesn't count but when the dojo crew say it, it does! Doesn't matter which way the message gets in, it helped take some pressure off, and on the grading day you sailed through the katas.

Your pushups were on point and your sparring was an absolute joy to watch. You dominated against people older than you, but the moment I was most proud of was when you pulled back a bit. A boy your age who was going for his brown belt was a bit intimidated by you; you advanced and connected some great shots, and it was a bit much for him and he cried and wanted to stop. You downshifted your momentum, made sure you didn't connect any more head shots, and moved to be more defensive than offensive, giving him an opportunity to rise. I was lucky enough to be filming you when it happened and I've rewatched it so many times - both to see how focused and determined you were in the first half of your bout with him, and to watch that gentle shift and see your compassion shine through in the second half. 

You even came away with two nominations for gradee of the day, which for a tiny little eight year old is impressive! Well, it's impressive to your mum at least. After over two hours of hardcore grading you went to a trampoline centre for a party and then spent the afternoon playing... your energy level is mindblowing.

You've always had a wicked sense of humour but your wit has developed so much in the past twelve months. I am forever laughing at the funny things you say; always using a biting wit with a touch of sarcasm to get your point across. Some of your one liners are so fast that it won't be long before I won't be able to keep up. The other day I said "Wow, what did I do to get such an awesome kid?" and you raised an eyebrow and said, dryly, "You had sex." I nearly keeled over laughing so hard.

Upside down continues to be your natural go-to position to be in. Handstands and bendbacks galore, and since you perfected your splits you usually do some combination of all of them with a flourish at the end. You're such a performer, singing and making up dances with your friends (or just in front of the mirror- half your time is in front of the mirror). I know you're getting a microphone from a friend this weekend, and I cannot wait to see you light up when you unwrap it. You're having a Dance Party that goes until 10pm and I can't decide whether I'm a cool mum or an idiot for doing it! You've asked for a Party Llama cake and have helped me create the Llamas party hat, and want to have a go at doing some of the icing. I'm so excited for you to give it a whirl.

You've been filming yourself creating all sorts of things, pretending you've got a YouTube channel. Sometimes it's you teaching people how to make different shapes with magic sand, or your own cooking show, or dance academy. The commentary is absolute gold to listen to. Recently you spent a weekend in Albany and used the GoPro to film yourself on the bike track with full commentary including a "oh crap, yeah careful on that corner, nearly fell off there". You have a passion to share knowledge and whilst you still talk about becoming a police officer, teacher is now firmly up there when you're asked what you'd like to be when you grow up.

I received the most amazing feedback from one of your teachers. She approached me to say you were an amazing human, wise beyond your years and a fantastic role model to your peers. She said you are the instigator of brilliant conversations and have educated your classmates about the LGBTQIA+ community. She said you inspired her. I was so blown away. I've always thought you were sensational, but I'll admit I'm biased so it was genuinely lovely to hear such glowing feedback. Your strength as an ally and advocate to your sibling makes me ridiculously proud. So much compassion and kindness in a tiny little package.

You helped create a placard and marched alongside Tricky and I to fight for LGBTQIA+ rights earlier this year. It wasn't your first protest, and I'm sure it won't be your last. You've created signs and posters to hang around the house and an 'all genders welcome' sign that you've proudly hung on the front door. It's fitting that your birthday falls on Wear It Purple Day this year! You make everyone feel welcome and that Social Justice streak in you is mighty strong.

Alfie is never far from your sight and you continue to smother him in cuddles at every possible moment. He still lets you dress him up and play, and even snuggles on your lap for a "bottle" (a spray bottle that he loves to drink from) that makes you melt. A few reminders to leave him be are needed because we all need personal space, even The Floof. You're desperate to grow up so you can walk neighbourhood dogs and even dog sit... maybe start by walking your own dog more often though, babes?

You continue to amaze me at all times. You never, ever stop, and are bouncing off the walls, cracking your knuckles constantly, talking a mile a minute, and can never sit still. That brain of yours works super fast and it's both beautiful and chaotic at the same time. You're an intriguing mix of confidence and reluctance, smart and silly, competitive and compassionate, strong and vulnerable. You're a beautiful imperfect whirlwind and I love you just the way you are.

Have a brilliant year, babycakes, it's double digits next time.

Love Mum x

Letter to Tricky - nine years old

Hey Bigs,

Your mama doesn't blog anymore, but the idea of not writing you a birthday letter just did not sit well with me. So here goes.

You are nine. You are so big, and wise, and worldly, and yet, at the same time, you're small, meek, and naive. It has been fascinating watching you navigate this inbetween stage. Giving you more and more independence and watching you navigate the world by yourself. You're not a little kid anymore, but, well, you are, actually.

Martial arts continues to be your passion. You have dedicated so many hours to it, training eight times per week right now, getting each tip on your green belt at the first possible opportunity, and you've now progressed to Grading Prep Group to get you ready for your brown belt grading in September. It's gonna be big, and you're very nervous, but you have the support of us, your instructors and your dojo family. You have started Muay Thai to improve your sparring confidence, and each class you get in there and try so hard, despite being absolutely terrified. We haven't managed a class without tears yet, and I am amazed at how much resolve you have, to keep getting back in there. I think this time next year I'll be writing about how you've started preparing for your black belt.

You entered the ISKA tournament again, participating in three events; extreme weapons, traditional katas, and traditional weapons, taking home a first, first and fourth respectively. You've qualified again for the national championships - we didn't go last year but we'll see what we can do about getting over to Sydney this year since you placed first.

Our house continues to be the place to meet for the kids in the street and each time the doorbell rings I don't even bother getting up because it's almost always for you, and when it's not, it's for your sister. It's a ragtag bunch of kids with different age groups from different schools, but you all seem to get along pretty well; whether you're riding the streets, doing tricks on the ramp in the front yard, or playing computer games.

You are a voracious reader and are zooming through anything Paul Jennings at the moment. You love going to the library with your Dad, but most of the time he ends up picking the books while you play with the retro gaming machines and smart board. You love to play all the Retro Rewind games, Minecraft, Lego City Undercover (against Bobbin), and whatever else the games are called. You even play Race Day against me and you manage to hide your frustration at how bad I am pretty well. The one time I beat you, you were so happy for me. If Bobbin beats you, that's another story. We'll work more on losing this year, bud.

You are doing well at school, being awarded Aussie of the Month by your peers for being a kind and approachable friend, nailing NAPLAN to get in the pointy triangle for most of the sections and band 6 for the other one. You've taken to music with much enthusiasm and have played countless pieces on a tiny electronic keyboard that you got ages ago as part of a science wiring kit. Oh, and let's not forget that fucking recorder. Hot Cross Buns at any time after 8am. I don't want to stifle your musicality or creativity, but sweet jesus I will if you play a loud instrument when I'm barely conscious. Today you were given a big electronic keyboard and your face just lit up. You want piano lessons but you're not willing to give up a martial arts day just yet, so we'll see how we go later in the year after you've graded.

There just isn't enough hours in the day to do all the things you want to do! Skateboarding, scooting, bike riding, martial arts, gaming, drawing, music, LEGO, reading... and let's not forget annoying your sister. That takes dedication, too.

Anxiety can kick your butt sometimes. You are your mother's son, after all. So we have worked hard on growth mindset talk, and I bring in cognitive behavioural therapy tricks at every opportunity - I figure you learning these now can only be a bonus. We sought professional help as I was very worried you'd end up just like me, but they were pretty good at allaying my fears, letting me know that yes, you are a bit or a worrier and a huuuge perfectionist, but that doesn't mean you will go down the same path as me, mental health wise. You have a strong sense of self and a strong connection and trust with me, so you have a much better starting off place than me.

I am trying my hardest to model making mistakes and pushing through the tough times, and I really hope the message gets through that you are enough no matter what you do. We are celebrating your failures more than your successes right now to emphasise the message. "You went to martial arts and cried and got back on the mats even though it was tough? YEAH! WELL DONE!". Of course I'm proud of the times you do great, but I know just how hard it is for you to push through those self doubts, so that is what I'm focusing on. The strength and bravery you show to keep pushing through your doubts and anxieties is truly inspiring.

You are responsible, caring, goofy, resilient, silly, smart, creative, strong, dedicated and amazing. I can't believe how lucky we are to have you in this family. You bring so much joy to my life, and whilst I roll my eyes that I still sit with you for you to go to sleep, I know one day I'll miss you asking for "mum cuddles" every night. I hope I continue to be your safe space and soft place to land.

Love you, bud.

Mum x

Letter to Bobbin - five years old

My little Bobbin,

You are FIVE. A whole hand. Wowzers.

It has been quite a year for you, m'dear. You are still the most strong willed, persistent and independent kid I've ever met. Your tenacity challenges me daily, and yet I wouldn't have you any other way.

If there is a something that can be climbed, you're right at the top... and if there is something that shouldn't be climbed, well, you're right at the top then, too. You are most at home hanging, swinging, climbing, and generally being a daredevil. Which came in handy when Tricky left his scooter at school one weekend and you climbed over the fence to get it for us. Your first felony, at only four. Oh dear.

A few months ago you learned to ride your bike without training wheels after begging me for ages to take them off. You'd always leaned over on them quite a bit, so I wondered how you'd go... but I needn't have worried because you just zoomed off. Stopping took a bit of extra practise though. Then when that was mastered twenty minutes later you were off down the ramps, up the kerbs, and pretended to run me over. Such a sweetheart you are.

You have being doing martial arts for a year now, and as of today you can officially join junior white belts... except you joined eight months ago because you found the Ninja Ru class a bit boring and wanted more. So you're an orange belt! The youngest in the class. You zoomed through white and yellow, but you're realising that orange is a bit more hard core and are having to put in more effort. You've been doing shoulder throws and usually once a week I hope you don't use it at school. It will be a great skill to have for the career you STILL want, nearly 18 months after first mentioning it - police officer.

You're in kindy! Hooray! You love it so much and have made some lovely friends. You go five days a fortnight and have been learning letters and spelling small words, and each day you demand we play the alphabet game and that I give you addition and subtraction sums. We are working hard on that Queen Bee streak in you, making sure you don't become Regina George of your school! You are trying so hard, and have a strong sense of justice, but you do not suffer fools gladly. If you are bored with what is being taught or what one of the kids is talking about you show it - but tact is learned, and you'll get there.

You are obsessed with animals. All animals, but especially dogs. Sprocket is your best friend and he knows who to come to for extra cuddles if he needs them. You will make a bee line to anything furry and smother it with affection, the world gentle is said many a time, because you are so full of love for them. Smooching and cuddling whichever poor unsuspecting pet is nearby. You adore bugs and will pick up any creepy crawly you come across after checking it won't hurt you. We have had a play with a friend's Spiny Leaf Insects a few times and you got two for your birthday today! You were SO excited and have got them out of their enclosure to crawl all over you countless times today.

Because of your love for dogs, your birthday party today was a Puppy Pawty, where each guest made a stuffed toy dog - you and stuffed toys, oh boy, you can't get enough. We made collars for pups, weighed and measured them for their birth certificates, and enjoyed a game of Pin The Tail On The Puppy, and Pass The Parcel before delving in to Pup Corn, Pawtato Chips, Pup-eroni Pizza, Hot Dogs, and a bloody amazing Puppy cake (if I do say so myself!). We could only invite a few people (budget!), but you declared it the best birthday party ever and even talked about it in your sleep when I went to tuck you in just now.

You love to make people feel better, and the way you know how to do that is to make them a card. If anyone is upset you RUN to the craft trolley and start feverishly writing a card for them (usually with drawing of you and the person, hearts and the first letter of their name). You even wrote one for Sprocket when he hurt his leg, and laid with him to show him... you cried at the thought of Sprocket being unwell and laid with him, crying big, fat, silent tears on to his fur.

You nudge at boundaries at every opportunity. Never usually a hard push, just a little test nudge, to see what will happen. You're like the Raptor testing the fences! You are so determined, often singing "just keep trying" to yourself when you fail, so I admit to loving it when you nudge those boundaries.

Keep pushing, my pocket rocket, because those boundaries will be glass ceilings one day, and you'll have all the know how and experience to shatter them.

Love Mama x

An Open Letter to Nine News Perth

Dear Nine News Perth,

Today was an absolute STINKER of a day. But you know that, right?

It got up to mind melting 44.4 degrees. But you know that, too, right?

I know you know because in the ad breaks of this afternoons movie you kept telling me. Funnily enough, I actually worked out that it was hot all by myself. Being covered in sweat despite sitting under a fan was a useful clue.

My issue, and the catalyst behind this open letter, is not to just faff on about the weather or even the triumphant return of Liam Bartlett whose sultry tones can talk to me about anything and I'd still enjoy it, but rather to complain. Because what good is an open letter if you don't whinge, amiright?

You see, my kids were watching the 1pm movie. Well sorta. The big one was, the little one was running in and out of the lounge, asking for food and, at one point, trying to sit on the dog. But I digress.

It was too hot to let the kids go outside past 7:30am (I know this because that's the time we left the park) so I let my four year old watch a movie on the couch after lunch.

We flicked through the channels to see what was on, and the straight to DVD classic, Free Willy: Escape from Pirate's Cove, caught the preschooler's eye.

Brilliant! He can enjoy the mish mash of CGI and green screen with the "acting" of Bindi Irwin and I can feel smug in the fact that I can almost chalk this up as educational TV time. Orcas and conservation FTW!

Then your ad came on.

Immediately, horrid images filled the screen. Houses on fire and smashed cars. We heard that many houses had been destroyed; the car crash was fatal.

I get you want to advertise, and that's just dandy, but because you placed these awful images in the ad breaks of a CHILDREN'S MOVIE during the SCHOOL HOLIDAYS I'm now having to explain to my petrified four year old that (fingers crossed) our house isn't about to burn down and we won't die in a pile of twisted metal on the way to pick up his Dad in the afternoon.

Did you know a lot of preschoolers can be a bit obsessed with death? So it's not that I've got some morbid little freak here that is on his way to becoming a psychopath, it's a stage of development and they want to know what happens. Usually I can field his questions with age appropriate responses, but it makes it hard when you're showing everything but a dead body.

I figured that maybe it had been put on in error, but the ad kept coming on. Three times that I'm aware of - after that I managed to get there in time to flick channels during the ad breaks in an attempt to not further traumatize the kid who insisted on finding out whether Willy was freed. I kept watching to be chief channel flicker and to find out if Willy ate Beau Bridges. One of us was right, but I don't want to spoil it for you, so I won't say any more.

I don't let my kids watch the news because they don't need to see or hear about the horror in the world. They know bad things happen, but right now the most horrific thing in my four year old's life is not getting a new dinky car at the shops. He's little and I want him to retain that wide eyed innocence for a while longer before full time school, or rather recess and lunch, helps whisk it away. So pretty please, Nine News, if you're going to put on ads during a movie aimed at children, please consider that children might actually be watching.

Yours sincerely,

Glow

An open letter to the 2014 Perth Royal Show

Dear Royal Agricultural Society of WA,

I have enjoyed going to the Royal Show for as long as I can remember. I have such amazing memories of getting up early, heading to the bank to withdraw the money we had saved all year in those Dolomite accounts, and making our way in. Before the train, we'd park in the same person's yard every year - we never knew their name and they never knew ours, but each year we'd drive in, pay our money and say hello. The first time I didn't go to the show, I was ten - it was literally the first year since I was born that I had missed it - I was in Disneyland at the time and I was DISAPPOINTED that I wasn't at the Show. Only for a minute, but still.

Show bags full of chocolate and stupid inflatable things, the baby animal nursery, fairy floss, the giant slide, the sheep dogs, the show animals, staying up sooooo far past bed time to watch the fireworks and so much more. Ah, sugar coated bliss.

But this year, I'm really disappointed in you.

You were going to have a ride this year called "Bethlem Sanatorium" that depicted an open ward with 20 actors pretending to be patients. The Bethlem Sanatorium was and is a real place - the oldest psychiatric hospital in the world (though now it goes by Bethlem Royal Hospital) and it was known for its cruel treatment of mentally ill patients in the distant past. In fact, one of the most disturbing facts was that Bethlem allowed the public to come and view the "bedlam" (which gets its name from the hospital) and the madness for themselves, making a mockery out of the suffering of the patients who were subjected to cruelty and violence on a daily basis. 

Now, keeping in mind that this is considered by many to be the most scandalous aspect of the history of this psychiatric facility, how on earth did you think it appropriate to approve it as a ride? And have it featured in the "Kids & Family" section of your website?

Have we not come anywhere between the 1400s and now? Are the mentally ill still a freak show? Roll up, roll up, come and see the crazies! Witness the insanity for yourself for just $15! Lunatics galore!

Then we can all point and laugh. Ha ha ha, isn't being sick just hilarious? How about next year you have a childrens cancer ward? We can all laugh at their bald heads! Oh I know, how about a few people with physical differences, too? Because not looking like a model is shameful and we need to make sure they know just how much we won't tolerate anything but beauty in our community.

The stigma surrounding mental illness remains extreme despite one in five Australians experiencing it. A 2006 study found that almost a quarter of people thought mental illness was caused by a personal weakness, and one in five would not tell anyone if they had depression.

The biggest killer of 15-44 year olds is suicide. Perhaps some of those deaths could be prevented if asking for help wasn't considered by some to be weak and shameful. If they didn't worry that they'd never get another job. If they didn't believe they would be ostracized by friends, family and the wider community. If it didn't make them feel like they were in a freak show.

I've been in a few psychiatric facilities in my time. My stays have ranged from a couple of days to a couple of months. I remember vividly the first time I went. I was petrified thanks to, in part, the way mental health facilities are portrayed in the movies. I expected "bedlam". I expected people walking around muttering to themselves. Screaming, crying and moaning coming from every room. Shared showers covered in grime and horrid nurses hovering over you.

But it was nothing like that. It looked more like a hotel, with my own private bedroom and bathroom. Most of the time I would be in the smokers courtyard talking to other patients. We would chain smoke, tell stories, support each other and laugh. The best therapy I ever had in those places took part in the courtyard. Being around people. People who understood you weren't feeling so great and wouldn't mind if you cried. In fact, they'd probably bring you a cuppa and offer to listen, then ten minutes later you're all smiling again.

I have met some amazing people during my times as an inpatient, and I'm still friends with quite a few of them to this day. Fabulous, hard working, interesting, smart, funny, articulate, caring, down to earth people. Who happen to have had mental health issues. Wanna drop by some time so you can point at us and laugh?

After the Bethlem Royal Hospital and other advocacy groups campaigned for you to pull the attraction you held a meeting. I left a message on your Facebook page:

I thought it was pretty respectful. Polite, even. But you hid it so only my friends could see it. You replied to the people asking about bunnies and stables but my comment was left to languish. From this I can only conclude that you couldn't care less about it. You didn't reply to my tweets either.

Then, this afternoon, when I heard that you had changed the ride I was relieved and thought you must have come to your senses. Hurrah! Common sense prevails and human decency can be relied upon once more... but then I read your statement. A classic fauxpology:

While the attraction was not designed to cause offense, "clearly some members of the public did not feel it was appropriate".

Oh please. Shifting the blame, much? Take some responsibility! You messed up by thinking charging people to walk around an attraction while actors pretended to have severe mental illnesses was just peachy.

I had been looking forward to introducing my kids to the Perth Royal Show this year, but not any more. Instead, I'll use my time to promote the messages of Mental Health Week which starts the day after the Show ends, and work to challenge the stigma.

Sincerely,

Glow

If you need help call Lifeline on 13 11 14

Dear Meddlesome Shopper

CC Rafa2010

 It's that time of year yet again,
The shops so full they'll burst.
I'm here lugging 'round a toddler,
This child I've loved and nursed.
But today the spawn is misbehaving,
He's at his all time worst,
He's screaming bloody murder,
Diving to the ground head freakin' first.

Instead of smiling or walking past,
You choose to stop and stare,
To make a bitchy comment,
Then tut at me and glare.
“My child never acted up”
You say with mocking air,
But I don't believe your bullshit tales
Of your perfect little heir.

I'm sorry, lady, you've got it wrong,
You think your shit don't stink?
Yes my kid is acting up,
And I could do with a fucking drink.
Your words aren't helping anyone,
With this narrow way you think,
And now that I'm pulling you up on it,
Your cheeks are turning pink.

Sometimes this is how kids act,
When they're hungry and overtired,
Or maybe there is something more,
And the parents should be admired,
For not throwing in the towel,
And surviving what transpired,
Maybe they need a bit of support,
Or a wine could be required.

So don't judge me or my kid,
From the two minutes that you see,
Instead think for just one second,
“Tomorrow that might be me”.
Yes I'd like him to shut up,
On that we sure agree.
But berating us in public can't stop,
This one-toddler jamboree.

And if you've already had your go,
Maybe you're older and quite jaded?
But I guarantee your kid's done this,
And that your memory had faded.
You've forgotten all the times,
Days when you would have traded,
Your darling little shithead,
Who could not be persuaded,

To just be quiet and sit still,
And not be such a showoff.
While you scowled in their ears,
Promising lollies as a tradeoff.
So go on, go about your day,
And have your little scoff, 

But seriously woman, from all of us,
You can fuck right off!

Have you gotten stares or comments mid-toddler-tantrum? Did you want to fight back or did you wish the ground would swallow you up?  

An open letter to building companies

Dear Builders,

My husband and I (ooh I sound regal) are looking in to building a home or renovating our current one. We're doing this for a number of reasons:

1. We currently live in an oversized cupboard but with a big enough yard for a Shetland Pony
2. I'd like to have another sprog and don't particularly want to put them in the shed (although I suppose I could get a baby monitor)
3. I'm a whiney middle class white chick who doesn't realize how good she has it (What's that? You want TWO toilets full of clean water to wash your shit away?)

We've been to countless display homes these past few weeks and the vast majority of the time the first words to pop in to my head are not "Oh my, I simply must have this house!" but rather, "What the ever loving fuck?"

Now I'm pretty sure that wasn't what you were aiming for or you would have named your house "The Gob Smacker" not "The Retreat" or whatever you called it that was supposed to convey the idea that I'd be living in a resort despite the fact that I would have to clean it and there is a severe lack of room service.

Most of my problems with your designs are the bathrooms. Do I really need an ensuite which is three times the size of the main bathroom? The ensuite, by rights, is designed for a maximum of two people yet most are rivaling the size of my garage.

Also, I don't know about you, but I'm generally not an exhibitionist (said the girl with a blog). It's blatantly obvious that your designers are though! Do people really want windows from their shower cubicle in to the back yard? Or worse, from the shower cubicle in to the master bedroom? Now I'm as in to getting creative in the bedroom as the next person but my own peep show isn't high on the agenda. A gal needs a little privacy at times.

If possible, can you please push the budget to spare a door for that monstrous ensuite? As well as the whole I'm-not-a-stripper thing and the not wanting to be woken when my husband showers at 6am, I'd like to avoid my clothes becoming mildewy. Since you have to walk through a room-sized wardrobe to get to the shower in most of your designs, that's exactly what is going to happen. Maybe you could take the money you save by removing your "one sink per every person ever born" policy?

While I'm on the subject of doors, toilets need them. They also need to be made of materials that are not translucent. I can get over the fact that my kid walked straight in to the glass door and bumped his noggin, but I can't get over the fact that it's just plain gross and much more suited to a fetish film. Not only do I not want anyone to see me while I'm answering a call of nature, but I most definitely do not want to see anyone else answering said call. I deal with enough shit as it is, you know!

If you could clear up some of these issues and make me a nice, simple home with doors, storage and a bit of space for my kid to run around in without us all tripping over him, it would be much appreciated.

Yours sincerely,

Glow x

Been in to a display home lately? What did you think?

An open letter to my tear ducts

Dear tear ducts,

For thirty years now you've done a prime job of keeping my eyes lubricated and nourished. And moist. I realize it's the same as lubricated but I just wanted to use the word moist in a blog post.

You were a tad over sensitive when I starting shoving giant mascara wands your way, but you learned quickly that I wasn't going to hurt you, and chilled out nicely.

You've been a real champ and have even gone above and beyond, putting up with me poking contact lenses around and keeping them hydrated too. Kudos to you.

But there's something about you that I'm just not happy with, and I would have thought after so many years of practice that you would have figured it out.

What the ever loving fuck is with the angry tears? I mean really?

I find myself having a heated argument with someone and you spring in to action and make me look like a dickhead who needs a Prozac Bex and a lie down, or worse still, a fucking cuddle.

How am I mean to look professional when I'm in a business meeting if the second I get a bit angry my eyes start leaking, my nose gets snotty and red, I choke on my words, partially convulse and did I mention ALL THE FUCKING SNOT?!

Your issue has led to people labeling me with the "emotional woman" tag as they hand me a tissue with a condescending look in their tearless eyes. The only upside to this is that I'm less likely to stab someone lest I drop that tiny little scrunched up wad of snot and tears. Because who wants snot and tissue debris on the floor? It's a bitch to pick up.

I blame you for all of this. I could be banging on about the limbic system and my hypothalamus but I figure the buck stops with you, buddy.

Now I'm not sure if you're cranky at me for that time I took medication that dried you up to almost nothing for the best part of a year and are now just finding a way to make me pay by overreacting, or if you're just a bit of a pussy and like a good cry. But here's a bit of a newsflash for you, I DON'T CARE! Just stop it!

Toughen up, Princess, lift your game and reserve the tears for sad things. Unless of course I'm menstruating in which case you can bring on the tears when I watch the talcum powder commercials with the cute babies.

Yours sincerely,

An Open Letter to Darren Simpson

Dear Darren,

Oh dear. What were you thinking?

I used to think you were a bit of alright. You were one of the only schmucks chefs on Ready Steady Cook I could bear to watch. I will admit to being charmed by your accent (I'm a sucker for the pearl of the Green Isle) more than your food and I even thought you were a bit of a dish, if you'll pardon the pun.

But now, Dazza? Well I'm a bit surprised. You don't mind if I call you Dazza, do you? It seems fitting now that you've aligned yourself with such bogan cuisine (oxymoron FTW!).

Just so we're clear, I actually like KFC and I could care less that people align themselves with brands. All power to them, it doesn't automatically make them a sell out. But doesn't partnering with KFC to create a 'signature range' go against every thing you've publicly said about the value of good food?

The other day you defended yourself by saying that people were "quick to label fast food junk" and that you were surprised that there was criticism of your effort to "improve the quality of it".

Now I believe when people label it junk they're referring to nutritional value and calorie count. I fail to see how chucking a piece of deep fried, battered chicken on a sour dough bun and whacking on a bit of parmesan changes very much by those standards. It's still junk food.

Kudos for using free range chicken, but that alone does not a gourmet, non-junk burger make.

I have done what you have asked and tried your burgers before passing judgement. In your super fabulously appointed kitchen they may come out looking all food porn like this:

But they're a little less appetizing when they're put together by a pimply faced, angsty teen at my local KFC:

But wait!, I hear you say, it's all about the presentation. So, for your benefit, I "plated up".

Nup, it's still shit. Anaemic lettuce and bacon that I'm pretty sure wasn't cooked. And lemme just say even with the aid of an Instagram filter to give it a bit more colour, there is no way of telling what is bun, what is cheese and what is lettuce since they are all the same shade of off-white. Mmm beige, my favourite.

And that is what you've put your name to, Dazza. Not the fancy pants version you made, but the plain, ordinary, almost-one-third-of-daily-energy-requirement version that gets handed out every day. So if you're gonna say that what's in my picture is not junk food, then that, and not the money you made, makes you a sell out.

Yours in calories,

P.S. The chips were still good.