This is a tale about comfort.

The word “Comfy” spray painted in black on grey corrugated concrete
The word “Comfy” spray painted in black on grey corrugated concrete

It started as a piece about a seemingly prolific, Bury St Edmunds-based graffiti artist: Comfy?

Yup, “Comfy?” is someone’s tag or as I have been more “comfortable” describing it, graffiti handle.

I’d quite forgotten about Comfy? until one utterly ordinary day, I was driving along Out Northgate Street, past And So To Bed, Dream Doors and Fabulous Fabrics, cruising at a steady 30 beneath the railway bridge where who should catch my eye? Comfy?

Ah Comfy? my old friend. Here you permeate — the same, yet changed somehow. Faded.

I can’t quite recall the moment I was first confronted by…

My mother always said, only people with a limited vocabulary swear. I tend to disagree.

The words “Fuck you” spray painted in red on a pedestrian zebra crossing
The words “Fuck you” spray painted in red on a pedestrian zebra crossing

Bad language is exactly that — a language — although, for me, not inherently “bad”; rather it is its usage and the intent that is key. Any word said with venom can appear aggressive and any phrase presented as a whisper, with a raised eyebrow or a rubbing of the thighs, can be deemed lewd. And I cannot forgive bad usage of bad language — the means to shock, to offend, to harm, to slur or just for a cheap laugh.

For me, profanity is a delightfully nuanced form of self-expression and fundamental to communication. From the sublime “fuckwit” to…

A sweat sufferer’s survival guide.


I spent the entirety of my formative years dressed in black v-neck jumpers. Why? Because I was an excessive sweater.

(The irony of the sweater/sweater homonym has not escaped me here.)

My name is Lucinda and I’m a recovering perspirer. Two revelations for the price of one there — my name isn’t quite Cindy…

From age 13 to 19 I sweated profusely, in all weathers, in all situations, at all times of day.

I was wedded to wearing black v-neck jumpers to conceal my affliction, apart from at school where the uniform comprised a navy v-neck jumper. I can hear…

…then I ate an entire Colin the Caterpillar cake and this is what I learnt.

Colin, best enjoyed on a boat on the Norfolk Broads

Okay, so I didn’t manage to eat Colin in one sitting, and I didn’t manage to eat him in his entirety. I begrudgingly admit that those who said “you’ll feel really unwell if you eat an entire Colin the Caterpillar cake after giving up sugar for so long” were right, I couldn’t manage him.

Coupled with the sugar-induced nausea, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt when indulging in said Colin. There he was, brightly coloured buttons twinkling, shining white chocolate face smiling up at me, hypnotic swirl upon swirl of chocolate sponge and buttercream calling from within, but after…

I have a single, thick, straight black hair that grows from my chin.

This is in itself strange considering I’m a blonde.

Who am I kidding?! I’m lying to you and this chin hair betrays me. I dye my hair.

I am also childless, I own a black cat and I live in a pink house. I haven’t tasted the walls but I’m pretty sure they’re made from marshmallows.

If I asked my husband, he’d most likely confirm my suspicions and say I’m a witch.

I once cast a spell on this rusty-haired bear, all plump and ripe I was back then, tempted him into my garden to feast on lush lettuces, only…

We’ve all been there. It’s your first day at a new job.

Time well spent…

Once you’ve gotten over realising you’re never going to remember the names of the one-hundred-and-one colleagues you’ve just been introduced to, you’ve made the first tea round (one decaf soya milk coffee coming up!), and you’ve sussed the photocopier (why oh why is every one different, and why are we still photocopying?!), a new anxiety sets in…what do you do if you need a poo (altogether now) “in an English office workplace”?

To poo or not to poo? That is the question.

There does seem to be an age-old, yet unspoken, taboo — or should that be tapoo (oh yes…

Introducing Cindy

I write a bit, yeah… | Founder of content marketing agency Bird Media:

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