No Wonder I Need a Lie-Down

You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be human.

If you ever look at “perfect” women online and feel worse, you’re not alone. Your people aren’t the ones performing perfection — your people are the ones laughing about spilling tea on their clean top.

Those glossy, curated lives? Not your tribe. Your tribe is the women with greasy hair, mismatched socks, and a sense of humour about the chaos.

You’re allowed to not have your sh*t together — honestly, nobody does.

You don’t need a full face of makeup. You need people who like you exactly as you are.

Stop following people who make you feel like cr*p. Start hanging out with people who make you laugh.

Your life doesn’t have to be aesthetic. It just has to be yours.

Welcome to No Wonder I Need a Lie-Down — …a cosy corner of the internet for women who don’t have their sh*t together (and aren’t pretending to).

Kettle’s on.

I knew I needed reading glasses. I'm getting into my middish fifties. It happens right?

So, fine. Acceptable. Welcome to the club of the non squinters. Bring on the ability to read food labels again.

But once I had had my eyes tested and the squintiness confirmed, the optician casually informed me I also need distance glasses AND computer glasses.

Sorry… WHAT?

Optician: “We recommend varifocals.” Translation: £££££. Me: “Hmm. I'll think about it”

So I bought two already-expensive pairs from the optician, and then — in a moment of wild optimism — ordered varifocals online.

They arrived. I was so excited. I had dreams of becoming a one-pair-of-glasses woman. A streamlined, together, organised version of myself.

Then I put them on.

And immediately regretted every life choice I’d made up until that point.

I couldn’t see a bloody thing.

The world turned into a funhouse mirror. My head started doing that weird tilt thing. Everything looked like it was sliding off a cliff. I walked across the room with all the grace of Bambi on ice. And the nausea… my god, the nausea.

So yeah....no.

Here I am — back to having glasses all over the house for the “just in case”…

Just in case I lose a pair.

Just in case I need a pair in the toilet.

A pair in my bag.

A pair (or 3) in my workspace.

Emergency car glovebox glasses but if I put them on I can see distance fine but not the sat nav!!!!).

“Where did I put my glasses so I can find my glasses?” glasses.

Varifocals: 0 Me: also 0, but with significantly more eyewear scattered around the house.

I now own more pairs of glasses than shoes. And I still can’t find any of the s*dding things when I need them.

*AKA (Why I Deserve a Refund and a Lie-Down)*

So I bought a fresh pair of tights from Amazon.

Lovely, thick denier, in a stunnng teal green to go with one of my winter dresses.

Today, for the very first time, I wore them.

And what do I discover?

They’ve laddered.

Already.

On day one.

Before I’ve even had a chance to feel smug about making it out of the house in clothes that match.

So onto Amazon customer services I went to request a refund.

And Amazon — sweet, customer-obsessed Amazon — tells me:

“Please return the item to receive your money back.”

I’m sorry…

Return the tights?

These tights that have been:

- On my body all day

- And now feature a new ventilation hole in the crotch area?

I told the agent all this.  I even admitted I no longer have the packaging because, silly me, I thought they would last a bit longer than a few little hours.

But all I get is "just send them back in any packaging".  

ANY packaging.

So I am returning a pair of worn, sad, teal tights in a Tesco carrier bag (how nice for the returns department eh).

And yes, I did have to send a photo of the crotch hole.  A photo.  Of the crotch hole.

So really, Amazon… please enjoy these tights.

May they bring you joy, enlightenment, and perhaps a moment of reflection about what women go through just to get dressed, and expect.

Every evening I play a fun little game with myself. It's the game of where the hell does this even live? (Don’t worry, nobody ever wins.)

Somehow, over the busy chaotic week, we’ve managed to accumulate a collection of… things. Not important things. Not useful things. Just stuff.

A single odd sock. A mysterious wire that absolutely belongs to something — but God only knows what. A broken pen cap with no pen. A hair bobble that has somehow fused itself inside a pocket and refuses to come out.

Now, these little bits usually end up in…The Pile.

You know the one. Every house has one. Or maybe it's just mine. That little mound of “might have a home one day” objects. My Pile is a shrine to future intentions I will absolutely never carry out.

This evening I decided to tackle it. (Why? Good question. I clearly hate myself.)

And so began the ritual dance: Pick up a thing → stare at it → walk around the house with purpose → realise I have no earthly idea where it belongs → put it somewhere slightly different → repeat until bedtime. if I just move that blanket over there to somewhere else, suddenly all of life will fall neatly into place.

Spoiler: It will not.

In the end, the odd sock is still odd, the random wire still has no device, and the Pile… still exists. A little smaller maybe.

But honestly? Sometimes “a little smaller” is enough. A tiny win. A nightly victory in the great domestic chaos Olympics.

Right — now where’s the matching sock?

Turns out my daughter has been… exploring her mischievous side. Nothing dramatic, just the classic “I genuinely thought I raised you better than this” moment every parent gets eventually.

And yes, it stung a bit, of course it did . We’ve genuinely tried to raise her to be respectful. But also — she’s a human with free will and questionable decision-making, much like myself when faced with microwaveable meals.

So I got my new phone. Big moment. All exciting. It was time to transfer everything from my iPhone to my shiny new Android.

I had the cable. I had the little Apple-only adapter thing. Both phones were charged. It was all looking so promising.

They connected for one glorious second… …and then immediately refused to acknowledge each other like two exes at Tesco.

I unplugged. Replugged. Trusted. Retrusted. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

So I gave up and downloaded all my apps manually. I thought it would actually be good to have a little digital declutter.

Except then I had to remember my passwords — the ones Past Me clearly updated but didn’t bother writing down. So every login went:

“Try password.” “Try maybe password.” “Click ‘forgot password.’” Reset using every symbol on my keyboard.

Anyway — most of my apps are back. The ones I couldn’t get into? Well, I obviously didn’t need them that much. 🤷‍♀️📱🔥

My headphones didn’t work, the camera betrayed me, and somehow I had control of the presenter’s slides even though I wasn’t supposed to. Honestly? No wonder we all need a lie-down.

Full post on Substack if you fancy a giggle.

I admitted it: my iPhone screen is now too tiny for my long-sighted eyes.

So I began the iPhone vs Android hunt… and immediately regretted it. Everyone on the internet has thoughts.

After 400 reviews and several mugs of tea (all lukewarm, obviously): I betrayed Apple. Bought a Motorola for a third of the price.

Will this be the greatest decision of my life? Or absolute chaos?

Stay tuned.

Today’s mission: find a winter coat my daughter will actually wear.

Requirements apparently included: – Not too long – Not too short – Not too warm – Not too cold – Not “giving Year 7 vibes” – And definitely not “a mum coat”

After what felt like 47 shops, we finally found The Chosen One — warm-ish, long-ish, with the holy grail: a detachable hood so her hair survives.

And then…I even found a coat for myself. A rare win in the wild.

Read my story here.....

Tried to go bra shopping recently. Left with nothing except emotional damage and the realisation that I apparently exist between two sizes that don’t exist.

I Googled it, panicked, ignored every bit of advice, and am now sitting here with my hand wrapped in clingfilm like a leftover.

10/10 chaos. 0/10 dinner experience. FFS.

Read more here -

Had my son’s friend round for a playdate. They asked for “more space to create dragons,” so obviously I pulled out every craft supply we own.

Result: – sticky tape that stuck to NOTHING – paper confetti covering the entire floor – a cat observing like a nervous supervisor – two very serious boys building dragon fighters

My son couldn’t find his glove on the school run, so I said the words no organised mother would ever say:

“Just borrow mine.”

He declared them “the BEST gloves ever” (they are very soft), skipped happily off to school… and now he has gloves.

And I walked home with my hands in my sleeves like a medieval peasant muttering:

“FFS.”

No wonder we need a lie-down.

(Otherwise you'll spend your whole life arguing with laundry and stationery.)

There comes a point in womanhood where you realise: you cannot fight every battle… and honestly, you shouldn’t.

Some battles genuinely matter. Most of them? Yeah… absolutely not.

Here’s the new rule for NWINALD (No Wonder I Need A Lie Down):

💥 If it protects your sanity — fight it. 💤 If it drains your energy — leave it on the floor next to the laundry pile.

⭐ Battles We Do Choose

(because they actually matter)

• Calling out passive-aggressive WhatsApp messages • Protecting our mental health • Making sure our child is properly supported at school • Standing up for ourselves at work • Saying “no” without apologising for three paragraphs • Choosing peace over someone else’s chaos

⭐ Battles We’re Not Wasting Energy On

(because they do not matter)

• Matching socks (feet don’t care) • Perfect makeup (a bare face is still a face) • A tidy hallway (it lasts six minutes) • Homemade snacks (shop-bought is absolutely fine) • Instagram-worthy anything • Impressing strangers on the internet • Pretending we’ve got our sh*t together

Pick your battles. Pick yourself. Let the stupid sh*t slide.

Kettle’s on. Wine's in the fridge.

Claire x

She’s getting older and softer and has decided my lap is the best seat in the house.