I read this one to Patreons in December, and it’s long, so here’s this post as audio if you prefer.

I have a message here for men. And before I get stuck into it, I’ll clarify (as I always have to) that obviously I don’t mean all men. In fact this time I don’t even mean ‘most’ men. I am speaking very precisely to single, straight/bi/pan men in London between the ages of about 30 and 50. My message is this: up your game.

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As a massive hedonist, I want you to find your joy. No one else in your life can ever have your happiness as their top priority (which is right – only you can truly know all the things that will bring you pleasure), so it probably needs to be a high priority for you. Around this time of year, some of you will likely have broken – or be about to break – one or more of the punitive resolutions you set yourself on the first of January. Restricting pleasure or causing yourself pain in the name of self improvement. I’m not qualified to tell you how to live a healthy or virtuous life, but if you want to make resolutions you can stick to, I have a few tips from the hedonist gutter that might help you set ones you’re less inclined to break.

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Usually when I split up with someone, I’ll wallow in wistful nostalgia and take a little time to say goodbye. I’ll be gutted, of course, but sadness is familiar and life has helpfully taught me that it will pass. This time it’s different: I’ve found myself frightened and destabilised – turning fear and despair inwards till the panic of it starts to choke me. Life goes on, though! Unfortunately, it kind of has to! Despite my most fervent wishes, I am not allowed to just shut down all my organs and give up the ghost! This is partly because my lovely friends won’t let me. Here are eight things I have been offered by kind people who want to comfort me in the darkness.

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I’m so excited to bring you this week’s guest blog, from a brand new guest blogger who has already submitted a second (excellent) post that’s coming up in January! He’s here to talk to you today about sex and disability, specifically fulfilling his hunger for kissing, skin-to-skin contact, and other forms of intimacy, and the ways in which his disability makes him focus more on the journey rather than the destination…

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When I was young, my family used to be big followers of soaps: Neighbours, Eastenders, Coronation Street. I can’t remember what else there was to do on evenings in the nineties besides yell things at the telly as ludicrous fictional characters cocked up their lives in ever more creative ways. Perhaps this is testament to how my Mum raised me, but when I watched soaps, the thing that got me most irate was how terrible people were at just fucking talking to each other. 

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