Cardiff Times December Contributions

Thought I’d compile what I’ve written for the Cardiff Times blog for December!

The first is my review of Zena Blackwell’s debut solo exhibition at Cardiff MADE. I loved the exhibition even more than their carrot cake – and I’ve been having dreams about it.

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And my second one is about my relationship with food. Complex and ever changing – like most of us. It’s just little tiny vignettes into different stages of my life so far and how my attitude towards eating has changed, maybe even healed.

Let’s not ignore that cracker of a picture. Me diving right in, Rob posing. Also that brownie had a layer of cookie dough on it and was from the lovely Vegan Live festival in Alexandra Palace.


Cardiff Times November Issue!

IMG_0376I’m excited about this. Quite literally buzzing. I know it’s December now, but I wanted to share my first article in print. It’s a double page arts feature for Cardiff Times. A few cheeky wobbles from overwhelming tides of inadequacy and I got there!

You COULD read it in print – last month – but it lives on forever on the website.

I was lucky enough to be invited back to one of the places I featured in the article. Arts cafe, collaborative work-space and gallery, cardiff MADE, to review Zena Blackwell’s beautiful debut solo-exhibition ‘seen, not heard’. That’ll be coming sometime in the next month – I’ll share the link when it’s published! But there’s been a few more in between so I thought I’d include them below if you’re interested!

I had so much fun attending the Cardiff International Film Festival (click here for the article).

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And of course, the gluttony and joy of this! I got to review the Welsh winners of the 2018 Great Taste Food Awards! (click here to have a look!)

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That’s it for my November contributions. If you’re in need a queen with some opinions and no authority to share them, hit me up.

Lime Street

Two years ago

if I was feeling

north of the boarder,

unable to concentrate

on reading

or showering and cooking

I’d have probably

text a friend

to ask if they were busy


but it seems like

even when the opportunity arises

when someone texts me first

I’m already half way

to standing on the

wet grey steps

with coffee

and a cigarette

like I’ve not thought through

that either of us

might have anything going on

besides the two of us together



I miss it when you visit me

I don’t get to drink coffee

on Bold Street

and walk

‘round the corner to Lidl,

fill your cupboards with food

and make pasta for two.

There’s no fun to any of it

when the balls in my court

and I’m stagnant

and bored

and waiting.


Elected in me

above all else

is the newness you’ve impressed.

The 6th day

to forget you,

to leave no boundaries


without you,

we board the smallest plane

I’ve ever seen

in my then 18 years.

Domestica destroy.

Brave for a little boy

shrouded in

the clothes of a part-time job,

a blouse I saw my co-worker wear,

the trousers

as queer as I could manage

on £6 an hour,

trying to look

an inch of the liberty you exude.

I think

above all else

that the way I tie my hair up

is to replicate


the moment I fell in love with the future.