Boshsuckled: a lazy way of blaming my every problem on the casually aggressive manner in which I was probably not breastfed.

Since 2009 this blog has been a hopefully safe place for self-indulgent navelgazing and occasional experimentation.

It was borne out of redundancy and the first despairing months thereafter. Although such despair has never quite disappeared over the intervening years. It is up and down, but always there.

This blog is a personal shrink of sorts, to which I have confided stories of terrible dates and one-night stands (2009-11), single life, grumbles about family, panic and neuroses about work and money, ponderings on relationships, marriage and reproduction (2015-).

The idea has always been to keep this and the associated Twitter account anonymous because I occasionally bitch about ‘professional’ life in deeply unprofessional fashion, whinge about family, and splurge scarily candid stuff.

This blog never commands much traffic. I’d guesstimate that roughly 80% of lifetime traffic has been commanded by the post about my steamy session with Benedict Cumberbatch.  It’s all been downhill since that heady spike of May 2011.

Most content is true, sort of true, or a twist on true.

Last edited June 29th 2017.



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