Sometimes, food says what you can’t.

Why does sex always feel like a show? It’s like there’s this ideal way of doing it – smooth, sexy, you come tumbling through the front door (someone has managed to open it mid kiss) and fluidly begin to remove items of clothing, as you fall from the wall to the bed, the lights dim, Stevie Wonder comes on and the woman naturally triple orgasms within 3 minutes.

Women are the most feral people I know. And that’s just a fact. Sometimes it can feel like my body is this uncontainable thing that I’m constantly trying to put restraints on, to smell good, feel soft, hairless, motionless, quiet, smooth like a strange seal statue that’s lost its ability to clap. Women’s bodies are these leaky vessels: periods, discharge, sweat, tears, the occasional accidental shart and I really, truly revel in it.

Aren’t they just some of the best words you can hear? Even in lockdown, where going for a walk, getting a coffee, changing your outfit, contemplating existential dread, going for a walk, changing your outfit first then going for a coffee (just to shake things up a little) are literally all you can do. There’s something that always sends a little thrill up my spine when a friend suggests it.

So I a very tiny bit cheated here…. But a sleep orgasm doesn’t count, right?? Female orgasms are magical, mystical things. Did you know that 1 in 10 women have orgasmed when working out?

As a youth, I thought having tummy aches on the daily was just a natural aspect of being a human being. You sleep, you poop, you shower and you have a tummy ache once a day.

In this women ‘empowerment’ age where you can’t walk past a single shop without seeing some kind of branded “girl boss” t shirt or misguided pencil case saying “i’m a bitch but so are you hunni”… it seems extraordinary that women are still in fact, on the occasion, faking it. Today, I re-watched this scene with a friend who asked if I’d ever faked it. I nodded, yes but years ago, when I was only just starting out in the world of sex. But I realised to my shock, that wasn’t quite true….

Every chocolate type has a personality and your choice says a hell uva lot about who you are. I would never trust someone who intentionally selects a Cadbury Curly Wurly. WhY is it so narrow, what’s inside of it? Why is it so bendy. I do not trust this chocolate bar or this human being.

For too long, my body has felt like an island that I did not own. It floats in the middle of a sea that men carelessly arrive onto, cutting the best trees down thoughtlessly, trampling on the verdant moss, without noticing the colours, how the sea looks almost black in different light, or a kind of sparkling transparent aqua when the sun shines.

Today I found heaven, and it’s a Jewish bakery in Stamford Hill.