Fergs Unfiltered

Sitting with my phone in my hand I followed the lyrics of Lily Allen’s new album West End Girl and felt her anger and hurt. Each word has been placed purposefully into her compositions -  with the justifiable audacity to take back her power regardless of her obvious vulnerable and fragile mentality. 

Unlike Taylor Swift, who retells her "beef" with her exes through metaphors and encoded lyrics meshed with perfected production and sparkly leotards - Lily didn’t hold her punches - going straight in for the kill by calling out her (now ex) husband David Harbour’s cheating in all it's graphic detail. 

Lily wrote the album in 10 days - Evidence that a scorned woman “get’s shit done”. Personally I think it shows in some ways. The production and melodies are slightly unpolished - they feel a bit rough around the edges and repetitive.  But I’m not slating Lily - she needed to get it out of her system and she certainly did. The fact it’s a bit of a confused mishmash of sounds perhaps is the point. perhaps this a representation of how her mind was just as bastard messy as some of the musical confusion clagged together in this album. 

I’m not a fan of the rain, unless I’m not leaving the house. Then it can piss down all it likes. 

So as I marched, head down through the soaked streets of Darlington town centre I was holding out a lot of hope that giving up my cosy Friday evening at home would be bloody worth it.  I’d endured another week at work, I was tired, hormonal, hungry and scraping by on the final dregs of ADHD medication in my system as Noah and I climbed the stairs at the Central Hall.

I don’t do shit like this. I’m an anti-social butterfly (I really wish I wasn’t) but somehow I raised a young man to be quite the opposite and this kid was on a mission. 

We were early enough to have a good choice of seat and witness the final touches of last minute flourishes of “Vote Green” banners being pinned to a table on the stage. There was anticipation in the air and perhaps something I don’t think I’ve felt for a while - Community spirit and heady optimism. 

As I pinned my “10 years of Darlington Green Party” badge proudly on my jacket, we took seats on the third row and I felt that worrying feeling I used to get in Church when I was a kid - That I’d taken the seat of someone important and any moment I would be ordered to move. 

As I climbed the stairs to bed around 1am in a weary daze, I promised myself that today I would not sit at my desk. Yet here I am.

I’m reaching a point of mental exhaustion, however the stimulant buzz of my Elvanse (ADHD meds) keeps me ticking over like a little overworked generator in a muddy field. The meds create false energy, and I in turn give that energy out to the world like a wireless charging station for every to leech from.

After another broken night’s sleep, I was woken up abruptly by Ian asking if Noah was up. I never sleep well when Ian is on nights. Night terrors are my red flag – The sign I’ve tipped into stress overload.  On the surface I look like a calm and gracious swan, yet I’m gliding across a crocodile infested swamp waiting to be swallowed whole.

Britain’s gone bat shit crazy. Everywhere you look, there’s a flag flapping halfway down a lamppost like someone with T-Rex arms tried to hang it after three pints of Stella and a fight with their lass. Roundabouts painted like a toddler’s been caught red handed with the ketchup. And there is always someone in a Union Jack cape shouting about “taking our country back,” like it’s a bike that got nicked outside Iceland in Whale Hill.

Yesterday we arrived back home after six nights away. Since we couldn’t fly while Ian is still recovering from his ruptured Achilles, we decided to embrace the opportunity for a UK road trip — and it turned out to be exactly what we needed.

We started our journey in Chipping Norton, on the edge of the Cotswolds, spending our first night at Heythrop Park Hotel. From there, we travelled further southwest into Somerset, where we stayed for four nights in a beautiful lodge with our own private hot tub. Our final stop was Lincoln, a gentle pause on the way back to our Teesside home.

The whole honeymoon was blissful. We soaked up each other’s company, good food, cider, champagne, warm evenings in the hot tub — and, of course, plenty of intimacy that deepened our connection as husband and wife just that little bit more.

We laughed. We put the world to rights. We talked about the future — our hopes, our dreams, and even some of the things that scare us. Although we’d holidayed together before, this was the longest we’d been away since moving in together around 21 months ago. We knew we needed to leave everything behind — the kids, the dog, the house, work, and everyone else's expectations — and just be. Be together, in the moment, with nothing pulling us in opposite directions.

And with that stillness came reflection.

After all the planning, the lists, the laughter, the tears, and the beautiful chaos of the wedding, it’s finally time to pause. At the end of next week we are off on our honeymoon in Somerset, and I am so ready for it!

There’s something about visiting Somerset that feels to me like it's going to be the deep exhale we both desperately need. The rolling green hills, the sleepy lanes and hidden pubs with low beams and open fires (although hopefully we won't be needing to see one actually lit!). I am of course super excited for the witchy shopping trips, our hot tub lodge, but mostly just being completely and utterly lost in "us" for a bit. 

After the stress of wedding planning, a month of saying "thank you", cheesy grins and reviewing wedding photos, we’re stepping into a season of “being.” Just us, no to-do lists, no last-minute emails or decisions to make, no flapping over tiny details that nobody really cared about in the end.  Just soft mornings, slow walks, and letting the days find their own rhythm.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how to start this space, and the truth is, life doesn’t always arrive in tidy, themed boxes. Right now, I’m making the most of my days off, basking in the warm afterglow of being newly married, and looking forward to our upcoming road trip to Somerset. I’m in a season of small joys—coffee in the garden, organising my office space, and moments of quiet laughter that remind me how much goodness can sit inside the everyday.