Addicted to Ergo

‘Element of suffering in true love”

Fuck. This sounds remarkably familiar.

Mental note – if the courting process is making me cry tears more often then I cry out from the throws of happiness from daily life or from orgasms I need to pinch myself and get out.

After far too many years to count its time to start loving myself and stop chasing men who are unavailable or just twats.

And just incase I wasn’t going to be able to execute this here, in my present location, circumstances are such that I’m moving to Cornwall in four days. Yes, home of clotted cream and pasties. An ideal time to get back on with my Fasting and Abstinence diet I feel. If I don’t collapse and die from the exhaustion of packing before then that is….

The Sideboob – less is more all the way…

I order a dress online based on the positive reviews about it. It’s metallic pink. What could possibly go wrong?


The only part of the dress that looks good, is the fact it shows off a delicious bit of ‘side boob’. Yes. The only thing I like about this dress is the fact that as part of it’s cut, it showcases one piece of my flesh. The rest of the dress makes me look pregnant and although, yes, I would love to be pregnant with Family Friends child, if you aren’t carrying a miracle baby (as any pregnancy would be for me because of my health) then to be frank, you don’t want to look as though you are addicted to doughnuts.

I desperately want to love the dress. I heard a program on Radio 4 where the stylist said, that the go-to thing for Glastonbury was a ‘metallic dress’. And when I heard this, my heart cried out for joy as most glittery shiny clothing has an age cut off of 10 so for adult ware to catch up? I was overjoyed.

Flash forward to now and I am standing here in my ‘dream’ metallic dress and I look ridiculous. Luckily, despite my autoimmune disease which fatigues me enormously and my immune suppression which make me more susceptible to infection, I do have access to social media, so if in doubt, ‘Ask your friends’. I post some pictures online and wait.

Out in the real world, there are real problems happening. Don’t I know it. I’ve been on the front line of illness and stepped a little too close to the front line of risk in health. But now, in a moment of slight relief, I relish this silliness. This emphasis on nothingness. On fashion and folly. On ‘side boob’. On a body, I’m bloody lucky to still have.

’The Fuckoliday’ – When you really shouldn’t..

You know when you really shouldn’t, but the pull of sex, a good hotel and probably some damn good food appeals? Yeah, I’m a sucker for the ‘Fuckoliday’.

Let’s be honest, sex is a hit and miss affair, but a high thread count? The smell before you see them of warm from the oven croissants as they arrive on the morning breakfast tray, alongside the superb service of a high end restaurant? Some things you can depend on. Decent sex? An orgasm? Er, not in my world. Service from the hospitality industry? Almost always and if not how often can you rate your lover on TripAdvisor?

And if this ‘Fuckoliday’ might include a holiday to a different country? Well, no one should ever say no to a holiday is the motto written under ‘Carpet diem’ on my invisible tattoo. Life is short. Grab it by the balls. Have the holiday.

This is how one ends up with lovers. I try to think of myself as ‘terribly bohemian’, it’s better than worrying about being a slut which is a male slur upon our sex anyway. But yes, in the past 48 hours I’ve been invited to San Francisco for a week of fucking and Cambridge for the same. If these two little vacations come off I will be both delighted and surprised at how my life has turned in such an interesting direction.

Can I pass myself off as a modern bohemian? Lady of pleasure? Or do I risk spreading myself too thin?

I once dreamed of Sugardaddies but hate sex with strangers or people I don’t find attractive so that was flawed from the get go. The other issue is the extraction of support from men with ample bank accounts. No one wants to think they are paying for sex, so don’t bring up three dates worth of dinners or the cinema tickets. Like they don’t count much? Sex is a transaction whether we like it or not, and how much a partner invests in us prior to coitus will be evaluated without doubt. Don’t get me wrong if you can’t take us out that doesn’t necessarily go against you as we are always secretly looking for ‘real love’. But realistically as part of that need for a provider if you can’t drive, have moved back home and consider work to be a hobby next to video games we are unlikely to want to see your dick or swallow your sperm. (Yes, I’m still pretending to myself it has a protein count number to it so I can reach my macros).

So introduce a not-unattractive man, solvent, with taste, and yes, our ears will prick up. My nose will twitch, and just maybe I will sneak a look to see if my passport is still in date.

All sounding good? Yes, but…

Someone once said ‘All experience is good experience’ but they probably didn’t suffer from fatigue due to an autoimmune disease…

How to catch a rapist

‘A woman who was raped as she slept by a man she had been dating for a few weeks has helped to jail him by secretly recording his confession.’

‘Davis-Patton will go on the sex offenders register for life and was given a ten-year restraining order to keep him away from the victim.’

She had thought that maybe somewhere in her diaries, if she could bear to read them, there it would be. In black and white. Written in her handwriting on pages of truth. Of course, she was such a mess would she have wanted to admit her stupidity? Would she have actually wanted to inscribe the dirt and disgust onto paper?

And then, out of nowhere, in her Inbox of all places, in her ‘Recommended Articles’ email from ‘The Times’ (God bless them) is the article that tells her what to do if she does want the evidence. If she does want to hold it, hard and honest in her hands. On her phone of all things. On the record app. And just like that, she knows how she could get her evidence. But what then? What would she achieve? She doesn’t think he will ever come after her. Ever chase her. Ever lay hands on her again. But then why is she so scared? Why, when she sees him at a distance is she so filled with anxiety that leaves her shaking and a cold sweat forms on her back. Her hands twitching, her throat goes dry.

But what would him being called to attention about that horrible night achieve? He can’t be that stupid drunk boy now? Now he has a family. Now he is older.

No, nothing can be achieved by holding him to account. Can it?


How could the sex be so good?

How could the sex be so good and yes the be so distant and uncaring?

It wasn’t the same as with Daisy’s first husband, because at least he had at least seemed to love her for a time, but Daisy could undoubtedly see similarities.

In the text Trudi, thinks that she can sleep her way into the affections of the man she loves, and delusional as this seems, Daisy can relate to this. Mr Unavailable, is good in bed. Not good enough to bring Daisy to the sort of orgasms she has with her toy collection, but close enough to pleasure in a physical state that she can be sated. However, without trust, their last bondage experience went to hell and Daisy honestly can’t see a way back from that.

Her new reading material is frighteningly close to home in its depiction of not only Daisy but some of her closest friends.

‘Women Who Love Too Much’ by Robin Norwood.

More to follow…

‘A Letter To My Future Self’ – She is strong, but not in the way most people think…

‘A Letter To My Future Self’
Written by Marian Nicholson with comments by Daisy

Dear Laura,

(Dear Daisy)

I know exactly how you’re feeling. You’re 26, (34) and you’ve just found out from the doctor that you have herpes. You’ve just burst out crying in front of the awkward-looking trainee GP.

(You’ve broken down in tears in your bedroom. The world feels like its ending. No one will ever want to have with sex with you again. Touch you even. You are infected. Dirty. Disgusting.)

You feel like your whole world is over, you’re damaged goods and no-one will ever want to have sex with you again.

(Yes, this is totally me now. It feels like the world has ended. I’m angry at them (yes – I was an idiot twice) and mostly at myself because at the end of the day it was my body and I could have stopped this. Could have prevented this. I will never forgive myself for this.)

You’re going to spend the next week in the flat, crying, downing wine and despairing at the terrible injustice – you only had sex with him one time! And you didn’t even really like him!

(I am not going to spend the week crying, because in my life so far, let’s be honest more shitty life altering crap has happened to you. But you are undoubtedly rocked to the core. And let’s be honest, if Mr Unavailable cared so little about your body to protect you from getting pregnant and catching anything then yes, you do need to think carefully about how he fits into your life.)

Well, I’m pleased to say that ten years’ later, you’re doing great!

(Of course, you are. Great! And amazingly! You don’t know this yet, but you are extraordinary. )

Yes, at the beginning it was difficult, and maybe you did avoid some romantic encounters because you felt insecure about having to tell someone you had herpes. But then, about a year later, you met _____ – such a great guy. You waited until you’d been out a few times, and you were about to get near to having sex, and then sort of blurted it out. And he was absolutely fine about it! You ended up dating for almost a year, and then after that, you went on to have three more really happy relationships. No tears, no rejection – everyone you told basically shrugged their shoulders and never mentioned it again.

(This is hard to believe now, but I do have faith. I do have hope. The more I read about this, the more common it seems to be and the more people seem to have it.)

Married now
Then you met the person that you would end up marrying. You were really nervous because you knew he was someone special. You spent the whole meal trying to eat your dinner and follow the conversation, with heart pumping at deafening volume. Well, that was an anti-climax – again -just a shoulder shrug and ‘Oh, I don’t know much about it but I’m not bothered at all.’ Cut to 5 years later, and we’re still going strong.

(I do believe this will happen, I haven’t given up hope. One should never give up hope. Because at the end of the day, hope is what keeps us going.)

So, what I’d love to be able to do for you (and everyone who might be going through something similar) gives you a giant hug and tell you that IT WILL BE OK!

(I needed to read this here, but also hear it from one of my closest friends. She and her partner have it, and have had it for years, and look at where she is now and what she is doing. It’s not life ending don’t give up hope. This is a blip. It really is.)

You are the person who will be the most worried about things – not your future partners. They will choose you because they fancy you and love you – as you would for others, because why on earth would you not go out with someone because of a skin condition? How ridiculous! And if you do come across someone who judges you on the basis of that skin condition, do you want to waste your time with someone like that? There are so many good ones out there.

(That is what really strikes me, it’s a skin condition. It’s not killing me. It’s really important that you keep reminding yourself about this.)

Honestly, the hardest thing you’ll have to get over is your own feelings of shame and embarrassment – and you’re still working on it (that’s why I’m using a pseudonym here). But there are people like Marian and Nigel trying to break down that stigma, and in time maybe you’ll work up the courage to be 100% open.

(The more people who talk about this, and show it’s not a life-ending life-shattering diagnosis the more that stigma will be reduced about herpes. Daisy, suddenly realises that this sort of thing happens to people like her because things need to change. People need to talk about this, and a difference needs to be made to end the stigma.)

But in the meantime, dry your tears, and try not to worry too much about the future, because it’s a really really happy one.
Lots of love, you +10

Thank you to for their informative and helpful website. If you have a moment please consider having a look and educating yourself of this misunderstood disease.

This is what other sites don’t tell you:

  1. Genital herpes is caused by a herpes simplex virus (type 1 or type 2) – nearly everyone (70%) will catch at least one type, sooner or later.
  2. Most don’t know they have it: 1 in 3 will have symptoms and get diagnosed. The others have mild symptoms and so they are unlikely to be diagnosed – or they have no symptoms at all.
  3. The word ‘incurable’ is used to make it seem important when it isn’t.
  4. Some people get recurrences and we can advise on how these can be reduced and stopped.
  5. Many other infections stay with us – chickenpox, glandular fever are two. Other infections also hide in the body. Nobody makes a fuss about them.


Sometimes, friends have the answer.

Daisy is still upset though. As much as this isn’t the life ending, earth-shattering end of the world feeling it was yesterday thanks hugely to her GP, (who may be a real-life angel) she is still bereft and feels dirty and soiled.
Daisy’s phone beeps. It’s C. C has just moved into a castle. Yes, literally a castle. She has done it, in the style of only C, with those gorgeous sexy see-through plastic moving boxes which she admits cost her and her partner around 2K. It also transpires that C has three stick blenders. This is hugely fortuitous at Daisy wanted to buy her father one for his birthday, but a combination of a lack of finances and uncertainty over wattage had held her back. (When something varies between 200 – 1000W and all you will probably be doing is soup it’s hard to know which one to choose without assistance). C buys a new one every time she can’t find hers so now has three so is happy to donate one to Daisy so she can give it to her pa a belated birthday gift. The photo she sends of the emersion blenders is of them lying vertically with cables stretched out. They look unnervingly like some form of sex toy. Daisy doesn’t hesitate in mentioning this resemblance to her father when she shows him the picture. As some who when he transfers £15 to his wife and entitles it ‘sex’, it’s not like he doesn’t have an odd sense of humour anyway.
C is sorting out the unloading of her plastic boxes in her new kitchen as they talk, and suddenly screams.
“Oh God, what’s wrong?” asks a worried Daisy sure some terrible incident or situation has befallen her good friend.
“There are no drawers!”
“No drawers?”
“There are no drawers in this whole kitchen! No drawers in this whole house! The guy who did the interior must have been a drawer-ophile. There are no drawers at all! Wait a moment! I’m going to facetime you with this…”
Shit thinks Daisy. She is having a particularly ugly day. Her face has decided to get all bloated, and in her attempts to try and sort her nose, she has caused it to erupt into pimples. Fuck.
“Erm, I’m not looking great…”
“Don’t worry!” shrieks C.
“I’m looking rough too, but you have to see this!”
The phone goes dead, and suddenly Daisy is looking at her own face as the phone demands that she accept C’s Facetime call. Here goes nothing…
The screen lights up with the picture of a cupboard door, that then, accompanied by C’s shrieks of dismay is opened to reveal cupboards. C then provides a tour of a kitchen filled with plastic storage boxes, and cupboards. Daisy can’t stop laughing. It’s a veritable nightmare. Cupboards are a nightmare, Marie Kondo would not be impressed. Marie Kondo loves drawers. Drawers are the answer to most organisational situations. Drawers are like air. Without them how can one live? At the other end of the line, C twists the phone around to show her gorgeous youthful face. Her hair is tied back in a rough bun with one of those 1960’s hair bands that shows off her exquisite jaw structure. Despite being 32 she doesn’t look a day over 27. (A combination of some amazing combination of creams, potions and possibly Botox). Daisy yet again makes a mental note that once all this shit in her life calms down and she has some money she will undoubtedly be seeking antiaging advice from C.
“I can’t believe this! A £2.5 million property and there are no fucking cupboards! Anywhere!”
“Not even in the bedrooms?”
“No. None.”
Neither girl can believe the ridiculousness of this. Their shared love of tidiness and OCD tendencies mean that the lack of drawers is something they both feel strongly about. But also, that they also both find this lack of something so essential, ‘fall on the floor’, ridiculous.
“I love you,” says Daisy. And she means it. Without knowing it C has managed to make a devastated, emotionally destroyed Daisy laugh and smile.
This beautiful girl come, woman, that she has never met, is a kindred soul beyond anyone she could have imagined or hoped to have in her life.
“Love you too hun” comes the genuine response.
The camera goes off and they are back to old skool phone chat.
“So what’s up hun?” says C, and Daisy knows this isn’t just the ‘what’s up?’ of a casual hey there. It’s what’s up of someone who cares.
Daisy takes a deep breath and tries not to cry.
“So I got the test back, and it’s positive.”
“Hey sweetie, are we talking about Herpes? Are you positive for Herpes?”
There is a pause. Daisy holds her breath. She is unsure of what will come next but is worried. Will she be shunned? Will she be rebuked?
“Hun, I’m going to tell you this because I know she won’t mind. You know T?”
T is C’s twin sister. Just like C, she is gorgeous. An ex-model now training to be a lawyer, living in New York with her boyfriend who looks like he stepped out of Gossip Girl.
“Well, both T and her boyfriend have it. They both have Herpes. Have done for years. She got it when she was 16. Her boyfriend at the time, Mike, went down on her when he had a cold sore and she got it. It was so painful when she went to the Dr she told her to piss in the bath, and then to treat it, to put Aclivovir on it.”
Daisy is in disbelief. If this beautiful, talented young lady who looks totally normal can have this horrid sounding disease then maybe, just maybe… She feels tears beginning to well up.
“I’m telling you this hun because I know if she was here now she would be telling you and would want you to know you aren’t alone. This is a skin condition. That’s all it is. And if anyone goes getting all funny with you about it, well then they are uneducated and talking shit they know nothing about. If you had a friend who had a rash, would you not like them? Stop being their friend? Not fancy them? No. It’s a bullshit sweetie. Bullshit.”
Daisy feels the tears falling down her cheek and a sense of relief washing over her. Maybe life isn’t ending after all.
“The fact of the matter’ continues C, in a ‘fact of the matter’ voice.
“The fact of the matters you don’t need to tell every future sexual partner you have that you have it. You are only contagious in the middle of an outbreak, and let’s be honest, you won’t be playing with fire anyway and having any more unprotected sex will you?”i
“Christ no!” says Daisy shocked at even the mention of more stupidity.
“When you do meet someone special,” continues C, “we will discuss how you discuss it with them, ok? When the time comes, we will.”
There are times when phone lines disappear and there is nothing but you and the other soul, connected through life, pain and love, and right there as Daisy cradles the phone, tears rolling down her cheeks she knows that she is truly lucky to have such an amazing friend.
“Thanks” she manages to croak, knowing that it really doesn’t feel enough.

You can find more information about talking to your partner about Herpes here –