Two 17th-century teenagers who fought crime, challenged gender rules, and rewrote what bravery could look like. Picture this. The mining city of Potosí (now Bolivia). It's 1650. A place so bursting with silver that the locals named the mountain Cerro Rico. The Rich Hill. Yet danger stalked every street. Bandits prowled the alleyways. Drunken duels broke out beneath balconies.

I knew the Renaissance Faire had broken my spirit the moment I saw a man dressed as a medieval turnip. He looked me in the eye and said, “Thou art unworthy!” And honestly? He was right. Let me be clear here: this Renaissance Faire is metaphorical. But I believe it best represents just about every experience I’ve ever had on this godforsaken rock.

If science ever lets me domesticate a Komodo dragon, please know one thing. I’m definitely using that power irresponsibly. It’s just something that happens when you reach adulthood. You’re overcome with this sudden urge to domesticate a wild animal. What… has that not happened to you yet? Oh, you just wait. It’s like underpants. It’s nothing sexual. But you do get to an age when you just don’t want to wear them around the house anymore…

Err… doi? Look, if someone handed me £1 trillion today, I’d say ‘yes’ before they’d even finished their sentence. It’s only then that I’d learn I’m never allowed outside ever again. I could scream into a cushion, but they’re already soaked with tears. Sniff. But that’s the deal. Take the money, but I’ll never, ever, ever, go outside again. Oh no!

The warrior woman who took on flesh-eating spirits—and, miraculously, won. In the Solomon Islands, there’s a legend of a woman so fierce she once hit a ghost with a boomerang. So hard, in fact, that the ghost died. Yes. Died. Again. While entire fleets of warriors failed to rescue two kidnapped villagers, Riina simply stood up, cracked her knuckles, and went: “Fine.

Being on the dole several years ago taught me two things. One, the UK’s priorities are a joke. And two, I fear the team-building exercise. That’s all they ever made me do! PAIR UP! WE SHALL MAKE YOU READY FOR WORKING LIFE! What, by pairing up? Excuse me if I’m being flippant here. But isn’t that like making a blancmange with a sock and a banana?

I don’t know of any secret societies. Which isn’t a surprise. By their very nature, they’re… well, secret. But I can speculate. And I love to speculate. Now, I know what you’re thinking, reader. Well, you WOULD say you don’t know any secret societies. You’re not exactly going to admit to it, are you? True. But I’ve never met anyone who wants ME to be a part of their social group.

Some people find pennies. Good luck, so I hear. All day, they say. But me? Well, I find WiFi on trains. I’d argue that’s just as lucky. Yes, don’t talk to me about destiny until you’ve seen those little bars light up in a tunnel. Proof, if needed, that there is such a thing as luck. Or God. Or both. But is that the weirdest slice of good luck out there in this enchanted world of ours?

The fearless Filipina who led guerrillas against the Japanese—and did it wearing red lipstick. Kumander Liwayway rode into battle with her nails polished, her perfume subtle, and her lipstick bright red. The Japanese soldiers feared her. Her own comrades admired her. What they didn't expect was that, behind the elegance, was a woman who had lost everything. And vowed never to be powerless again.

They say confidence comes from within. Mine apparently comes from a £7 glass of sauvignon blanc. Yet, before it comes to that, it’s hiding behind the snack table. Nibbling a weird variety of crisps. And hoping no one makes eye contact. It’s like I’m a human buffering icon. But everyone else seems to load perfectly fine. All glossy hair and small talk.

It probably says a lot about me that when I think of Gargantua, I think of Monsters vs Aliens. I do not think of Christopher Nolan. Mind you, I rarely think of Christopher Nolan in any case. Usually, when he’s giving me a headache. Which is quite a lot. So I guess I do think about Christopher Nolan. He did this film.

France. Ha. No. But some people dream of Paris in Spring. Or Tokyo at night. But me? Well, I want to stand in a field somewhere in Latvia. Staring at the world’s largest potato. And wondering where it all went wrong. I’d call that a great holiday. You might dream of travelling the world. I’d call that a lot of fuss.

She fought beside her husband for freedom —and became a heroine of two worlds. Heat and mosquitoes blanketed the swamp. Anita Garibaldi—feverish, pregnant, and weak after days of flying—clutched the reins of her horse as the world around her blurred into green and gold. Behind her, Austrian and French soldiers closed in; ahead, the idea of freedom flickered like a mirage.

If being normal is the goal, I’d like to withdraw my application. Of course, one might argue there’s no such thing as ‘being normal’. And you’d be right. But that doesn’t stop people from striving to be ‘normal’. Which isn’t that weird, when you think about it, as people often strive to be things that don’t exist. Witches, for example. Money.

You may not have heard of ‘prosh’, but prosh once led to a severed hand landing on an old lady. No, that happened. Prosh is something of a tradition at the University of Adelaide. It’s organised by the student union as a means to play pranks and poke fun at South Australian institutions. In the early 1960s, students stole hundreds of garden gnomes from across the city.

What would you do if a man dressed in a cat gimp suit approached you? Because earlier this year, near Liverpool, this happened. People would park their cars at night, and this… man, thing… would pop out and scream at people. Nobody knows who he is. Or why he is. Or… well, anything really. I think the UK needs more people like him and fewer £125 beef wellingtons from Marks & Spencer.

Every country has its own version of festive cheer. Here in the UK, we get mince pies. In Iceland, however, they don’t stop at one Santa. They have THIRTEEN. And each one, I’m pleased to report, is slightly unhinged… They are known as the Yule Lads. A band of scrappy, chaotic Christmas figures. They spend every December doing the things you’d least expect.

Let’s face it. The Twelve Days of Christmas is less a festive song and more a hostage situation set to bells. And yet, every December, we willingly hum along—all while trying not to notice the madness of a man gifting his love forty calling birds and a poultry problem 🐔🔔 So this year, I propose a remix. The 11 Awkward Moments of Christmas.

Let’s settle this once and for all. John McClane is Santa Claus. He breaks into buildings, for one. Sneaks through vents. Delivers justice instead of presents. And nobody ever thanks him. Ho-ho-ho. Now I have a machine gun. Welcome to my annual Die Hard Yuletide post. Wake up, sheeple. IT’S CHRISTMAS! 🎄💥 Every Christmas, people ask, “Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?” That’s the wrong question.

They’ve seen things. Heard ‘Fairytale of New York’ 327 times. Now they’re packed away in a dusty box beside the broken fairy lights. Christmas ornaments. Plotting their revenge 🎄😈 All while you’re downstairs living your normal, boring life. For the ornaments, it’s been 11 months of neglect. Being way too close to spiders. And emotional baggage from last year’s ‘minimalist’ tree theme.

They say it’s the thought that counts. But let’s be honest, here. Sometimes your only thought is: ‘I have five minutes in a petrol station and a dream’ ⛽🎄 And yet, for every predictable pair of socks and voucher, there exists another world. One of baffling Christmas gifts. So strange they make you wonder whether Santa’s running a black-market Etsy shop on the side.

You can only say, “Ho, ho, ho” so many times before it becomes a cry for help 🎅😮‍💨 That man’s been running a global logistics operation for centuries. Working one night a year. And yet still hasn’t figured out outsourcing or automation. That, my friends, is the definition of burnout. So, it got me wondering. What if Santa cracks and hires a life coach?

T’was mid-December, mood: caffeine. When I took a nap in the Nativity Scene. Not planned, of course (I’m not that bold). But dear God, Christmas has made me old. I’d wrapped and baked and cleaned for days,Lost count of socks, spoons, and sleighs.The tinsel tangled, the turkey raw,The cat ate glitter—but I just… withdraw. I thought I’d rest for just a sec,

Apparently, everyone knew. Except me. Yet again. I’m starting to think I don’t live under a rock. I am the rock. And not a majestic Lion King rock—a damp, slimy disappointment-rock that small insects avoid 🪨😒 You name it. Birthdays. Engagements. Breakups. New jobs. Whatever it might be, by the time I’ve found out, the baby’s already in nursery. The couple has divorced.

My Dear Friend, Did you know there was once a man in China who declared himself Jesus’ younger brother? Not metaphorically. Not poetically. Literally. Honestly, you’d think the celestial HR department would’ve stepped in. He started a rebellion and rewrote the celestial family tree with himself in the starring role. I can’t decide if it was divine inspiration or a spectacular case of overconfidence.