Diary of a Yorkshire Grandad.

I know it’s been a while folks, but I’m all about quality, not quantity. So here is my latest ‘Diary of’ which is a series of direct quotes from my  83-year-old Grandad that I have collected over the years. Now … Continue reading


Diary of a mature student at the library.

As most of you already know, I decided to apply for an MA in Writing for Performance and Publication at Leeds University in August, which I started in September. So I’ve been a bit absent. There are at least three … Continue reading


Diary of a playground terrorist.

Here are the diary entries of an extremely evil 6 – 10 year old. Or extremely genuis, whichever light you choose to view mini-megan in. PS: I was never actually violent, just on paper. PPS: Thanks Mum for tolerating such … Continue reading


Diary of a 13 year old catholic.

So in response to the facebook fans of my 13 year old teenage diary days, I’m ‘publishing’ the best sentences I scribbled in these diaries here. The first ten are the same as facebook but I’ve added some little extras … Continue reading


Men At Gyms

So I recently joined a gym in anticipation of my upcoming holiday to Croatia. I expected to encounter many obstacles, number one being the treadmill which just screams accident waiting to happen. What I did not expect was the main obstacle being men. They are forever getting in your way with their lack of manners and man muscles in your face.

I thought I’d start out slow, don’t want to overdo it and be unable to sit down, so I hit the swimming pool first. It’s a rather small swimming pool but not a busy gym so when I entered it was deserted.
I set myself the challenge of managing fifteen laps (I’m a poor swimmer as it is) and was gearing up for lap number ten when a man descended the steps into the pool. Ok not a problem right? Wrong. Why do men swim like tidal waves? On lap number eleven he came crashing up behind me pounding his fists in the water like Godzilla and I found myself frantically doggy paddling as if a shark was chasing me to dodge him punching me in the back of the neck. I must have drunk my body weight in chlorine by the time I reached the edge of the pool and stopped to get my breath back. This pool isn’t big enough for the both of us I thought, as he stopped alongside me and hawked up some flem for extra flavour.
I decided to give him the pool to himself as I didn’t have the strength or the stomach to swim after watching him gob in it, so I headed to the steam room.
Bliss, it was completely empty. I must have been in there relaxing for about five minutes when the door opened and a man in his late forties entered in tight red swim shorts with his beer belly bouncing over the waistband. I’m not judgemental or snobbish so I wasn’t concerned about this. He sat down on the small marble bench directly opposite me and as the thick steam billowed round us I could see him reaching into his swim short pocket and pulling out a small green tub of some sort.  I thought nothing of it and closed my eyes as the steam was starting to cloud my vision anyway.

Suddenly the air in my lungs became sharper and had a sort of menthol kick to it, making it difficult to breathe. I opened my eyes to see the man in the red shorts deeply inhaling whilst slowly greasing up his hairy chest with Vicks VapourRub. Disgusting! Nice of you to spread those germs around mate, really considerate. I then found myself wondering can I leave now or will it be really obvious that I got out because he got in? But how long can I stay in here before he infects me with whatever disease he’s got? The man in the red shorts then snooked and coughed loudly and I shot out of the steam room like a wasp had just circled me.

I  sneezed all the way home.