When I arrive at the door, we kiss and hug and make all the noises you make during plague time: it’s so good to see you. I’m so glad you came. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. There’s wine in my bag, something smells delicious in the kitchen and earlier this week I texted him ‘pls can you tie me up?’ and he replied with ‘yes, yes I can’ so I’m fizzing. But somewhere in the back of my mind there’s a nagging girl who reminds me that ‘support bubbles‘ can impact the speed and intensity with which you embark on new relationships.

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It’s a special occasion, so I dress up fancy. I toy with the idea of wearing my standard ‘slut’ outfit (thigh-high socks, tight black top, Doxy butt plug) but ultimately chicken out. What if he wants to chill out when he arrives before we get down to the fucking? Maybe he’ll be overwhelmed by an immediate and clear demand that he get it in me right now please please get it in me? What if the special occasion dictates that we should spend some time on wine and chatting first? So I, a wuss, eschew the slutty outfit in favour of a lovely posh dress – one I wore to a good friend’s wedding before Covid, which I hope to wear to dance at other people’s weddings when the After Times arrive.

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Sorry to break it to you, gang, but it’s nearly Valentine’s Day. To those of you smug wankers with ideas and gifts and confidence that your love will enjoy what you’ve already planned, I say ‘piss off.’ This post is for people who only just realised that it’s nearly Valentine’s Day and feeling worried because they might be expected to do/buy something but have absolutely no ideas at all.

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Big news, team: we’re not making resolutions this New Year. We’re not telling ourselves to change our body shape or stamp out bad habits. We’re not asking each other if we’re doing Dry January or nagging people about how they live their lives. We’re not making resolutions this New Year, we’re embracing dreams.

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This is not a Christmas gift guide, because in my family we’re not doing gifts this year – we’re doing ‘hugging those we can and vid calling those we can’t and making plans for a big fuckoff party once we’ve all received our vaccines’. I checked my calendar this morning and was unsurprised to discover that 2020 has lasted at least ten years so far. And while it’s glorious that we’re now hurtling rapidly towards the end of it, with joyful vaccine news on the horizon, I don’t think any shiny presents will be sparkly enough to brighten what’s been such an objectively devastating time. So this is not a Christmas gift guide.

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