Am not really getting the hang of this blogging thing.  Well, I am, I come up with lots of thought-provoking-insightful-amusing things to write about…and, then, it’s time to burn the fish fingers or do my  pelvic floor exercises and the bon mot gets forgotten about.

Shame, my not-written-blog posts are blardy marvellous.  You’d have liked them.

Rest assured, I’m on a roll.  Got lots of thoughts.  Most of which, predictably, relate to pelvises.

Have totally failed to tidy the spare room today – but, I did get the first chapter of my book scraped together.  Literally scraped, as most of it’s scribbled on the back of sweetie wrappers, bus tickets and slightly fermented hankies.

In other news – I went on a colo-rectal course (I learned that pooing is a lot more complicated than you’d think) and need to practise finding the anatomical landmarks.  Mr Grips has previously extorted child-free time in return for his volunteering as a back and neck model…

So, the other day, he’s distracted with something “important” on the ipad I asked

“I wasn’t sure about finding obturator internus after that course, would you mind me having a poke about later?”

“mmm, eh?  Oh, ok”

He’s not quite realised that it’s a “glove and gentle” job.  That’s ok, isn’t it?  Still counts as informed consent, right?  Hmmm.  This is going to cost me.

Still.  Budge over, JK, I’m writing a book.



The creaking Royal Undercarriage and Me.

So, poor Duchess Kate’s growing a spare and so is puking her wee ring up again.  I feel sorry for her, my sister-in-law had hyperemesis gravidarum and it looked like no fun at all.  (no joke, it’s really not funny)

The upside of one woman’s hormonally induced misery and the circus that is now surrounding her uterus (#bumpwatch is already a thing.  Does not feature Bill Oddie.  Or, at least, I hope so, no bird wants Bill in her bush) is that there’s huge scope for getting pelvic floors in the media.  Woop!

Because, if we talk about it then we can share experiences.  And, that allows empathy.  And, that is how taboos are broken down.  Someone Big in Medja (can’t tell you who, she’ll kill me) says that incontinence is the last taboo in Broadcasting…but, it’s changing.

So, kudos to Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour who had the velvet-voiced Dr Ruth Jones on talking about men’s pelvic floors ( as a follow-on to the article with Vicky Keates, women’s health physio about hypertonic pelvic floors (

The Daily Record featured, erm, me recently too –  “This Morning” let me talk pish on their settee too.  Check out my Serious Face as I try very, very hard to not to say “labia” on daytime tv.

Talking about it works. 

So does laughing about it.

So, here’s the two sides to my “campaign” – an article I wrote for our professional magazine, Frontline

And, a link to Mumsnet’s #Blogfest14, where I’m speaking on a panel of actual funny people about how to be funny.  Am somewhat out my depth, and have until November 8th to figure out comedy.

Please help.  Send jokes.  (even ones about HG are gratefully received)





Fringed. Past tense.

Gusset Grippers has left the bedlam.

Am very glad I did it, have learned loads, not least that I really, really love the Fringe.

Where else do you meet a bi-pedal penis who does rude things to your knitted fanny bag (nowhere, I hope) or a woman who debunks rape myths by getting Pissed and naked (Adrienne Truscott’s “asking for it” is brilliant), or hear some of the most moving spoken word ever (Other Voices and Kate Fox, Banshee Labyrinth).

I have also learned there’s a lot of work to be done. Cannae wait.

The picture (check me getting all technical on wordpress) is of the cash donated by my lovely audience (smashers, all of ’em) for the Freedom For Fistula Foundation.

About 2 million women in Africa exist with horrific injuries caused by obstructed childbirth. I say “exist” because living with incontinence, shame, pain and no sanitation often means there’s little quality of life for these women.

I think there’s enough to fix half a fanny. So, I guess I need to keep fundraising, as I expect that most women would find it difficult to choose which half to repair.

Am mulling over a “clenchathon”. Would be a laugh.

I am sure that laughter is the way forward. If I make women laugh about their leaking then they’ll talk. And that means they share experiences, gain empathy and, hopefully, be encouraged to seek help. 

It seems to me that breaking down the taboo in the West might have an impact on the amount of funding charities who help improve maternity care (and deal with the consequences of there being none) for women in developing countries.

So, a clenchathon. Like a McMillan coffee morning, only with information and education about your bits, raising cash for women who’s bits were broken.

You up for it?donate directly here.

Fringe Whinge

The Fringe Society really hold your hand when you sign up to do a show. They send you emails saying “get your press release done this week” with loads of attachments telling you how to do it. “Got your posters ordered? Here’s some we liked from last year” Brilliant. That all needs to be done by about January.

So, last year I sent out lots of posters and flyers, did a whole bunch of SoMe promotion, told EVERYONE, including anyone. Spent about 3 solid months promoting Gusset Grippers before speaking one word into a mic.

This year, I’m a last-minute show. So, there’s not an entry in the Big Pink Fringe Book. And, the playgroups/nurseries don’t know that I’m on. And, to my surprise, flier-ing is Quite Hard.

Here’s how it goes:
1. Scan crowds for likely looking audience material.
2. Attempt eye contact with subject. Alternatively, sidle up. Or just body stop her.
3. “Show about pelvic floors? Voted weirdest show of the Fringe last year!” Thrust flier forwards, preferably with a wee flourish and a big smile.
4. Watch as her face changes to a glare, and her eyes flick to her partner. (Uh oh).
5. Awkwardly quip “accepting this flier is not an admission of incontinence”.
6. Watch her stride off, indignantly accepting fliers from the Giant Haggis, Zombie Acapella Choir and three Mary Queen of Scots in a row.

Guess I’ve got a Wee-Dar. It’s no use running after her whispering “me too! It’s curable! You don’t need to put up with it! Come and see my show, we’ll laugh and not leak!” Tried it. Made her cross. More cross, actually.

I am going to try playing dirty. I have about 400 samples of “intimate wash” left which I am giving away at the show. Free soap with an attached flier?

Wish me luck.

Oh, and, here’s YOUR flier – Gusset Grippers, 1940 hrs, venue 430, the George Next Door, 9 George IV Bridge (just next to the bit of the bridge where you can keek over into the Cowgate) Am downstairs. Possibly, alone. You don’t want that for me, do you?

Fringe Whinge Ends.


I talked pish on tv yesterday.

“This Morning” had viewing figures of 2.9million people.

Nervousness isn’t really something that I feel, but, frankly, I’m still nauseous. And, that’s not got to do with anything Eamonn Holmes did, he was Very Nice Indeed.

Haven’t watched it. I mucked up, I was supposed to mention The New Pad, and, erm, I never. Partly because TV happens so fast, partly because I was confused about what I could say and not say and partly because I was concentrating so hard on not saying “labia” that the interview was over before I’d remembered to say “oh, and, there’s this new pad”…

My greatest triumph was not collapsing in a fit of giggles when I realised the other guest was a dog.

Not just a dog, but, a dog with a tragic story. And, a wheelchair.

Upstaged by a dog. Who, most probably has continence issues.

I’ll post a link to the interview when I figure out how to do it. My one, not the dog’s. That dog was a total diva, by the way.

Anyhoo, am starting to get messages from women who are needing help. So, that’s making me Very Happy Indeed. The reach of tv is staggering, I’m hoping that some women realise that They Don’t Need To Put Up With It. Fingers crossed. Instead of knees.

Fringe in 2 days. Better get some writing done…