Remember at the start of this year when I said that I wanted to review every book I read in 2017 in it's own little in depth blog post? Well... that's going just swimmingly. Not. Apparently I slightly underestimated how speedy of a reader I'd be this year and how little time I'd actually have to do the respective reviews. I managed to get through April without reviewing any of the books I'd read. However, even though I'm a little behind, I do still have this intense need to write about the pages which I turned last month. You know that age old saying 'if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it even make a sound?'. Well, with me, it's more like 'if Lauren reads a book and isn't able to gush about it afterwards to anyone who will listen, is she even a functioning human at all?'. I read a lot of non-fiction in April, something which I seem to be getting more and more into lately. So I thought I'd do a little round up of the three fabulous non-fiction books which I've devoured.


I've always been an over-explorer When I was a toddler, I skipped the crawling stage and went straight from sitting to standing, waddling around on my tiny little legs like I was looking for adventure and nothing could get in my way. Imagine, a kid who is too stubborn to crawl. That was me. And the need to be on the move hasn't stopped since then. From a young age, I always had my head in the clouds, my eyes trained to the sky and my feet planted firmly on the ground. I was born with an inherent lust for adventure.

This lust didn't leave me in toddlerhood either. In fact, it seems to be an infection which has spread through my body completely and taken hold of me. It's a blessing and a curse. I love to be doing new things, moving around and constantly experiencing things. But it's hard to keep up with and I find myself increasingly difficult to please. No adventure is big enough. No feeling is exciting enough. No build up is ever worth it. I've come to accept this as just a sensation that happens within my messy little brain. A need to fulfil this constant gap with the act of living, and the constant disappointment when the gap still stays.


When you're anxious, absolutely every task which you have to face feels a thousand times bigger than it actually is. You work the smallest of things up inside your head so much that you start to doubt that you'd ever be capable of doing them. Even the most mundane aspects of life like taking a shower, walking out of the front door or speaking aloud in a room full of people feel like they'll kill you if you attempt them. To anyone who doesn't suffer with anxiety, the idea sounds hilarious. But when your brain is wired to think that absolutely everyone and everything is out to get you, it doesn't feel so funny.


It's been a long time since I've talked politics on the blog. After Brexit and the Trump fiasco, I fell into a bit of a downward spiral of spending so long staring, mouth agape at the news, that I really didn't know how to find the words for any hot-takes or think pieces. I, like many other thousands of baffled voters, have spent the last few months in a pit of despair and confusion at the state of not only UK politics, but the whole bloody world to be honest. Seriously... what. is. going. on?


Something I've been really trying to push myself to do more of lately is expand my circles and get involved in more London based events. There's SO much culture and so many interesting people to be found in every corner of London, but I often forget to make the most of all of this positive energy which is right on my doorstep. When Scarlet Ladies Talk, a sex positive group of ladies based in London, got in touch with me a few weeks ago promising a night of fun, laughter and myth-busting, I was intrigued. I don't know what I was expecting of the evening, but I can confirm that the night 100% exceeded any expectations I did have, in the absolute best way possible. So I'm here to tell you all about it. Because this is a party which you definitely shouldn't be missing out on.


March was a month which, as all months seem to at the moment, passed quickly and without much change. The clocks went back and much to my satisfaction, the sun started making a little more of an appearance. I don’t know if it’s just me, but every winter I seem to forget that there's even such thing as sun. When the days start to stretch out and the evenings become brighter, I suddenly remember that other seasons do exist. It’s so much easier to feel happy and not entirely stuck inside your own mind when warm rays are bouncing off of your skin.


I’ve had a love-hate relationship with stepping on the scales throughout my life. When I was younger and comfort food was how I got my kicks, weighing myself just wasn’t something I did. I didn’t want to see the number slowly rising on the scales screen as I stood in the cold bathroom, shifting my weight from one foot to the other hoping that I could hide a few pounds. Fool the scale and fool myself. I didn’t want the feeling of sadness I’d get from seeing a figure 3 digits higher than the last time I’d checked. So I just didn’t do it. I avoided scales at all costs.