03/01 Direct Link
I’m shocked. The warm, sexually-charged vibe is shattered. My heart is hammering. The way he just blurts it out at the very moment our food arrives. Dismissively, like it’s annoying but of no real importance. No apology. No explanation. Fuck. My throat closes in reaction to the aroma rising from the table, as I pick up my chopsticks and try to eat. My heart is hammering. ‘Wow, you sure know how to kill a mood’. He laughs nervously and I smile shakily. I feel a fleeting surge of compassion, swiftly usurped as a small, hard nut of anger takes seed.
03/02 Direct Link
I enter the conference with growing unease, picking up my badge from the smiling receptionist, adopting the same rictus grin as I merge into the throng. God, I hate networking. Small talk does not trip easily from my tongue. I am a communicator, love words with a passion, but fervently believe that forced conversation is an abomination. Taking a deep breath, I introduce myself to someone whose name I won't remember in five minutes, simultaneously clenching my bumhole to suppress a nervous little fart. I wish I had the courage to bear down and let it parp free and true.
03/03 Direct Link
We are welded together, constricted, conjoined, content. To my amazement, my tough guy's eyes fill with tears. Cupping his face in my hand I lick him like a she-cat, absorbing his need, his fear, his vulnerability. He closes his eyes and dips his head, pliant, as I brand him with my fierce, protective tongue. I am terrified of hurting him.

He kisses me and speaks, his voice cracked with emotion. “Do you think it inappropriate', he says “if I tell you I want to eat your fanny?”

It ain't Mills and Boon, but it's good enough for me, baby boy…
03/04 Direct Link
Prickprickprick, ….every muscle tense, I grip the couch, purple blossoms of pain blooming before my eyes…prickprickprickprickCRUNCH!



“Sorry darling!”

I nod weakly, blinking tears. Just get it over with, arsehole.

“Your skin is very delicate”, he sighs, blasting coffee-breath into my already traumatised countenance. He fingers my hairline, “Ees lovely here”. Yes, well, ‘here’ hasn’t encountered daylight for 30-odd years, dummy?

PrickprickPRICKPRICKPRICK….why is the left-side always worse? Not for the first time I curse my age, my pathetic vanity and this poor (or not so poor) bastard, looming over me, his disconcertingly bulgy crotch pressed against my arm.

03/05 Direct Link
“There! Ees a leetle red, but weel go down.”

He shakes my hand grinning manically, either from perverted lust or suppressed hysterics. I flee to the toilets and peer at myself in disbelief. My entire forehead is bee-sting swollen, and my face streaked with mascara. I look like something from Dr Who. Totally beyond Touche Éclat.

A smirking gang of builders nudge each other as I exit, clearly aware of my ‘condition’. I’m having none of it though. Amid a hail of cat-calls I stalk past, head high, proudly brandishing my big, pulsating Klingon forehead.

It’s nice to be appreciated.
03/06 Direct Link
Sometimes I feel afraid and I don’t know why. Why I’m here, what I want or what the future holds. The love I feel, the food I eat, the wine I drink fail to bring me comfort. I take to my sofa and lie with my hands wedged between my thighs, curled up tight, tense, wondering if I’ll make it into work tomorrow and keep up the pretence that I give a shit.

I go to bed, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. I just wish that I could remember what they were.
03/07 Direct Link
God, what a day….

A fellow 100words member declares how easy it is to write precisely 100 words, and describes how they all but arrange themselves on the paper at her command, a la Mary Poppins. Hmm.

Speaking for myself, today it feels like shitting bricks.


Wormy, cowardly bosses

Arse-sucking workmates who pass the buck

Meeting no-shows

Complacent boyfriends

‘Comfortable’ lace shorts that disappear up your la-la and chafe when you walk

Wanky marketing-speak

Damp grey March days

Terminal bad hair (see above)




Ice cream


And that’s all.

(I’ll do better tomorrow, honest!)
03/08 Direct Link
I watched a programme where a live audience witnessed the journey of an animal from abattoir to table, and then were offered the meat to eat.

The abattoir adhered to best practice; the procedure was silent, respectful and swift. Surprisingly I wasn’t too repulsed. The majority chose to dine.

I congratulated myself for watching, feeling smug that I shop ‘humanely’. Yet I remember as a child crying inconsolably with my mum watching a documentary where tattooed Neanderthals kicked, punched, and jeered at terrified beasts as they staggered to their inevitable, brutal deaths.

Not every animal has a camera crew to bear witness.
03/09 Direct Link

It’s very hard to write creatively when you:

a) Work all the hours God sends

b) Don’t go out evenings because its too cold, dark and miserable

c) Walk around wearing sunglasses and an IPod, narrowly resisting the urge to wield a cattle prod just in case anyone approaches you

d) Sleep the entire weekend because you’re so knackered

e) Are so detached you can’t even remember your journey into work

f) Categorize people watching as ‘stalking’

Get a life Fluffybun, Bunnyfluff, or whatever the fuck your name is……
03/10 Direct Link
Never let the sun go down on an argument.

When he is troubled and/or horny TG is impossible to sleep with. He is rigid, twitchy and heavy like a statue. What is that? Even his forearm weighs a ton, capable of squashing vital organs. Last night I dreamt that I was pinned down by fallen masonry.

But, when the air is clear, and we are trembling and spent, it’s a different story. He is light as a feather, soft as butter, serene as a millpond, and we sink gratefully into the mattress, as yielding as a pile of cashmere scarves.
03/11 Direct Link
Sunday morning. The flat is silent. I slip out of bed, a woman on a mission. TG is comatose so I shouldn’t be disturbed. Bloody 100words….

I sit down, the sun warming the crown of my head, frowning slightly as I concentrate. Sometimes it’s hard to deliver, but infinitely easier when alone. My stomach knots and for a moment I think there’s nothing there…. then I exhale and it glides out, just as I knew it would, the perfect angel-poo.

I hear the slap of feet on tiles, the click of the kettle...

It’s going to be a lovely day.
03/12 Direct Link
Cartoons characters can seem real, but they don’t have fucking CV’s…..

“Marketing Innovators need facts for the Squeaky quiz”

I look up, startled. “We gave them ten yesterday?”

“They need more”, Jenny grimaces apologetically.

“Squeaky is not real. He is a cartoon chipmunk. They know his best friend, his owner and his song. What more can they want?”

“They said that kids are more sophisticated nowadays. They want star signs, boyfriends, stuff like that”

“Squeaky is gay?”

She grins sympathetically.

“But if they don’t know the answers”, I ask patiently, “How the fuck are kids supposed to?”

“Multiple choice?”

03/13 Direct Link
I have just watched ‘The Truth About Size Zero’ where a C-List celebrity embarked on an appallingly strict diet/training programme in order to deter young girls from following suit. C-List reached her goal, proclaiming tearfully that despite her achievement, it wasn’t worth the suffering.

The fact that C-List was a tiny size 4 to start makes me question her motives, as what she actually presented was a masterclass in eating disorders.

I think she should do a follow up called ‘The Truth About Obesity’, put on 4 stone and describe those experiences.

I doubt if she will though.
03/14 Direct Link
Horrible day dealing with Psycho Boss 1, madly ambitious Psycho European Boss 2, whinging clients and mad workload. Slept in so not exactly the best start to the day. Saw TG on the bus and we sat together on the journey to work, squeezing each others’ hands, longing to jump ship and go home back to bed.

Worked till 7pm and ended up in the Polish vodka bar with B instead of the gym, oh woe… I’m going out with Mr Superfit and all I can do is eat and get pissed.

Sometimes wheatgrass flavoured vodka is the only solution.
03/15 Direct Link
She grins at me, her face beaming like a malicious chimp, averting her eyes from my baleful gaze. ‘The day’s nearly over’, she says breezily, sweeping past me. I’m mute with barely-concealed hatred.

I can’t believe that I fucked up so bad and gave her a key opportunity to stick it to me. And she did.

I watch her squat, retreating form, saggy elephantine arse swinging in triumph. I don’t know why she hates me. She has so much that I don’t. Whatever it is, I’ve risen above it to date.

Not any more. This is now jungle warfare.
03/16 Direct Link
Sometimes the world is at its most vivid when all is dark.

It’s as if it’s been infused with cocaine or retuned to high res. Colours glow, details defined. Rain pours, sun blazes, lightening strikes, snow settles, leaves crackle, the wind howls. Buffeted, toasted, chilled, soaked; sounds and smells assail my battered boundaries.

‘Look at me’, it says, ‘You’re missing the point!’ I shrink behind my shades. I squirm, I rail, I sigh.


I take a deep breath, inhaling golden glittering chi, then exhale, letting soft, sooty wafts of pain drift away.

And face another day on Planet Earth.
03/17 Direct Link
Hello, this is Bunnyfluff, sorry I’m not here to write 100words, but if you bear with me for a couple of days, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you! Hello, this is Bunnyfluff, sorry I’m not here to write 100words, but if you bear with me for a couple of days, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you! Hello, this is Bunnyfluff, sorry I’m not here to write 100words, but if you bear with me for a couple of days, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you! Beep
03/18 Direct Link
Hello, this is Bunnyfluff, sorry I’m not here to write 100words, but if you bear with me for a couple of days, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you! Hello, this is Bunnyfluff, sorry I’m not here to write 100words, but if you bear with me for a couple of days, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you! Hello, this is Bunnyfluff, sorry I’m not here to write 100words, but if you bear with me for a couple of days, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you! Beep
03/19 Direct Link
This isn’t what I wanted for myself. Though to be fair I never used to think about what I wanted, or plan my future. I just kept moving and got by.

But this isn’t it. The posturing, the insincerity, the hard sell, the backbiting. The bullshit. I don’t buy into any of it.

But I do it. I do it to pay my mortgage, buy myself nice things, and facilitate a lifestyle. But something’s got to give.

Oh yes, I’m the Great Pretender. But any day now, the mask is going to slip.

And it ain’t going to be pretty.
03/20 Direct Link
I am in couch-limbo, the waiting room to the rest of my life.

I’m safe and warm under the fake-fur throw, except for three varnished toes that peek out. I swiftly retract my foot and retreat into a semi-conscious haze. I’ve bathed and cleaned my teeth and that’s quite enough.

I don’t want to think about what happened or what is going to happen. I don’t want anyone to know where I am, what occurred or how I feel. The TV babbles comfortingly and the fire crackles and spits. It’s snowing outside.

I wait for the storm to subside.
03/21 Direct Link
Where is she?

She usually responds to an SOS by now. I’m anxious. Perhaps she’s away? I don’t think so. Have I upset her? Did I forget to arrange to see her?

I know what she’s going to say to me, can almost narrate it word-for-word, but that’s not the point.

Perhaps this is a test, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to rise to the challenge.

She’s the one person in the world I can rely on, so if she lets me down, deliberately, my world will never be the same again.

Please call, Aunty C…..
03/22 Direct Link
Day two of my self imposed retreat. I awake to raging laryngitis, lending my sick claim a convenient validity.

Today is less soothing. The TV babbles annoyingly, a never ending stream of pram-faced harridans shrieking at wiry, resentful partners of lost love, hardship and dissatisfaction, succeeded by bland magazine programmes, no-win-no-fee insurance ads and jarringly wacky DIY/Boot Sale/Renovation programmes. The sun is shining; my hair needs washing and my bum’s going numb.

What happened to the feisty, opinionated woman who kicks arse for England? Who is this wan creature, hiding in her burrow?

‘Going tharn’ has a shelf life methinks.
03/23 Direct Link
I hate Rubberneckers.

People who hang around accident scenes are disgusting, pathetic, low-life losers, gleaning semi-pornographic entertainment from the dead and devastated. Some claim they want to help, but don’t leave when the emergency services arrive. They hang around goggling, in the hope that they get to see blood, a disembodied limb, or even a corpse, whoop-de-do. They may as well bring popcorn.

They are no better than parasites; only parasites feed to survive. They are no better than those fish that eat shit at the bottom of a tank, except they are actually useful.

Get a life, freaks…..
03/24 Direct Link
I’m psyching myself up for a four day conference in Cologne.

This will consist of torturous choc-a-block schedules, death by Powerpoint, bullshitting, willy waving, ass kissing (on a monumental scale), alpha-male head butting and alpha-female bitchfests.

We don’t even have the evenings free:

Tuesday evening - UK Team Dinner

Wednesday evening – Big Company Dinner

Thursday evening - Category Bonding Dinner. Essential after being in each other’s faces for 72 hours…

We’re even briefed on topics of conversation if we share a lift with a V.P. (I kid you not).

Not even the thought of kuchen torten can cheer me up….
03/25 Direct Link
The reception is in full flow, lights flashing, candles glinting, bhangra music pulsating. I feel like a little grey sparrow amid an entire flock of peacocks. Even other white women are decked out in the most amazing saris. I’m in a silk wrap dress, like something out of ‘Four Fucking Weddings And A Funeral (Pyre)’. I have never felt so conventional in my life.

TG blends in effortlessly. ‘I wish I’d made more effort’, I moan, ‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ He laughs kissing my forehead, no doubt amused at my discomfort at being, for once, the token ethnic minority.
03/26 Direct Link
Bindi and I lived together. I was submissive, her bitch, but she loved me passionately. She’d snuggle up, pressing her little cheek against mine, and lick me within an inch of my life. She even removed my make up for me. She did, however, nick all of the caramel Snack-a-jacks, even to the point of yanking them out of my mouth.

Then she left me to go back to her roots. Swapping domestic comfort for the great outdoors, she resides in an underground labyrinth in Hertfordshire, emerging only for food and the occasional stroke.

I really miss my rabbit.
03/27 Direct Link
Packing for conference in Cologne.


Three evening outfits
Two work-casual (!!) day outfits
Oatcakes to stop me eating crap
Clit-kit for stress relief
Beta-blockers in case I have to present (don’t like being centre of attention)
Yearly forecast figures (some I know won’t materialise)
Gorgeous, classy animal print court shoes to wear with pencil skirt (OK, I like some attention)
Beauty Flash Balm to lift tired face
Touché Éclat to hide dark shadows
Earplugs (hotel may be noisy)
Eye mask emblazoned with ‘The Bitch Is Sleeping’ (thanks TG)
Chewing gum to prevent falling asleep during presentations

God. Help. Me.
03/28 Direct Link
Psycho Euro-Manager has gone. Left to pursue other interests. No summary of achievements, no accolades, just gone. Post being covered by MD until new person appointed. Five years of hard work dismissed in a three-paragraph e-mail.

I should be pleased, he’s finally off my case, but I pity him. For “other interests’ read second nervous breakdown in 18 months. His predecessor died in his forties of a heart attack.

The Director of Logistics suggested I apply for the post. Think I may just give this one a miss.

Work facilitates Lifestyle. That’s it. If you like it, it’s a bonus.
03/29 Direct Link
On Sunday morning, we got up early (a miracle) to see The Last King of Scotland. We emerged, stunned, shaken, stomachs growling, only to be greeted by dazzling sunlight and a gospel choir singing in the square, celebrating the anniversary of the abolition of slavery. We resisted the urge for G&T, and ate a hearty breakfast in the local gastro-cafe.

I stared at my man over my latte and could not imagine him occupying either intolerable, unspeakable existence.

He did, however, ask me to don a ‘So Sorry’ t-shirt and shackles. But only so he could molest me.

03/30 Direct Link
There is a lump where there shouldn’t be.

I stir uneasily, swirling the bathwater, cloaking it with a pyramid of bright rainbow bubbles, but it re-emerges, perky as anything, demanding my attention.

Is it a bruise? I don’t remember walking into anything?

Within the space of twenty minutes, I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, had my leg amputated, selflessly pushed TG away, taken him (tearstained) back, had an emotional audience with the Munsters (my family) serenely bestowing forgiveness on them for their utter fuckwittery, experienced a dramatic deathbed scene and left everyone devastated.

If only I were as efficient at work.
03/31 Direct Link

Work – Shite. Bollocks. Wank.

Family – Pretty absent due to big fight three years ago. Need to get back in touch. Urgh.

Health – Pretty good considering

Finances – OK, but subject to work which is SBW

Love Life – Uncertain. TG knows this week is tough for me but he hasn’t called, the complacent bastard

Social Life – Divided

Diet – Veers between super healthy and super indulgent

Home – The one constant, but subject to work, which is SBW

Fun – Sadly lacking. Everything is a bit serious at the moment

Summary – Could do better