Women who are fourty weeks pregnant don’t tend to have much going on anyway, but wouldn’t you rather be kicking about enjoying your last few lie ins instead of strawpedoing raspberry leaf tea and sticking primrose oil up your coochie?

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I am in such a good place with Remy right now. I spent our first few months together admiring his and Danny’s relationship, because damn it is a beautiful thing and I think it always will be. It was lovely to watch, but I couldn’t help but feel pretty left out of it all.

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Honestly, before I was vegan or even vegetarian, I was That Bitch who had definitely eaten kebabs whilst sober. I bloody loved a kebab, and the best part about being vegan is veggie kebabs are always going to be nicer and more flavoursome, because whatever they use in regular kebabs is a sorry excuse for any kind of meat. Seitan does it better! Honourary mention to What The Pitta in London, and the Common Room in Sheffield for also doing nice kebabs, but Make No Bones wins here.

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I wanted the hypnobirthing, water-pooling, meditating labour of dreams. But obviously, this is me and so everything was about to go tits up.

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he’d stood on a bar screaming the lyrics to sugar we’re goin’ down into a microphone, before throwing up all over the floor and disappearing. meanwhile i was tilting my head back while the bartender poured a bottle of shots down my throat, and excitedly telling my friends that danny had hinted at wanting to propose to me soon. everyone squealed. i was SO grown up.

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