She was very alive. I know that’s not only a simple statement but a stupid one too. Tam definitely would have rolled her eyes at it. I enjoy thinking about her reactions to my reactions. I got tearful in TK Maxx the other morning and I know she would have cringed and mocked but also she just would have completely understood. She was big hearted and sweet-natured but also very much enjoyed ripping people to shreds. She wore that big heart on her sleeve - I loved the way that as well as being hugely enthusiastic about her husband, dog, Cornwall, cheese and Christmas (she started her countdown on Boxing Day and was known to watch Christmas films in August) she would openly complain about how shit it was to have cancer. I related heavily to the complaining, being far from stoical myself. I loved her. I love her. It’s shit.

It’s a time where I’m glad I’m in comedy (Tam was too). Last year, when legendary comedy producer Bill Dare died, there was a big memorial and it was chockfull of people being inappropriate and saying stupid things; I mean I certainly was. As well as regularly bursting (or rather, kind of dissolving) into tears and asking people not to die. At other death related events I try to hold it together and repress my natural impulses but there I felt entirely able to express my weirdness - knowing that it was appreciated, understood or at the very least warmly tolerated by the glorious ragbag of weirdos in the comedy adjacent world attending. And it was genuinely what he would have wanted, along with all the piss taking and praise.

I’ve been feeling a bit uneasy about mourning. If I’m honest, (and I may as well be) Tam and I wouldn’t have made each other’s top ten friend lists, if either of us were mental enough to make such things. It was a balanced friendship - we were very fond of each other and delighted to keep up with each other on Facebook and the rare times we met in person since those early days where it was a regular thing for work. How much should I be grieving? How much am I ALLOWED to grieve? And of course I know it’s all up for grabs. That everyone is dealing with it in their own way. I’m allowed to be visibly upset. And think about her and write about her. But if I wore widow’s weeds for a year and built a shrine… well yes that would be weird and I’d quite rightly be judged, sorry bad example. My point is that from the outside, the loss of a partner or a parent brings a clarity and focus to condolences. People understand the magnitude. It’s expected. But “friends”? You feel the confusion. It means so many different things. And it’s understandable. I’d be the same. Unless they’re a big fixture of someone’s life, ie: had a kind of proper label, what do you say? Because you have no idea if their death has invoked a mild shrug, a full on existential crisis or anything in between. And as the person grieving? Well I feel a bit silly crying in TK Maxx. But also, a bit guilty when I forget about it for hours at a time. What’s the hierarchy? I know not everyone is like me, showily emotionally splurgey. Some of the people closest to her will be covering their grief; struggling to express themselves; sobbing in private., or just accepting a huge hollow ache that won’t go away. I always wonder if they look down on me as childish or suspect me of being horribly fake in order to get attention. Little do they know I’m perfectly capable of sobbing at a fictional dementia patient’s distress in the privacy of my own home. It’s the way I’m built.

In any case, as I say I’m lucky enough to generally be in a world that accepts my emotional incontinence as well as my bitchy jokes and random inconsistencies. As the world grieves for Dolly Parton (we’re surely allowed to line the streets and howl for her just as fans), I like to remember her saying “forgiveness is all there is” I try to include my own behaviour in this.

Talking about Tam to a friend who didn’t know her, we acknowledged that age means this will be happening more and more. I sniffled into my oat cappuccino:

“This is all my fault for caring about too many people”

He laughed and said

“You should be like me and whittle it down to six”.

In all seriousness, this is the deal - if you fill your life with people you think are great, you have to accept the pain of their loss. Is it worth it? I sigh and accept that yes, it is. Because they (you) get me through the day. Some days are harder than others. We can take it in turns to brighten each other’s days. Or bring each other down in companionable sadness. You can approach me in TK Maxx - feel free to hug me or mock me. This weekend I’m seeing a bunch of people who loved her and we’re all feeling her loss in different ways and to different extents, but we’ll do it in person, together for one night. We’re sad. We will also definitely laugh. Ask not for whom the last orders bell tolls… it tolls for thee.

Love you Tam. Roll your eyes for me, wherever you are.

I’m a massive fan of this week’s guest fantastic comic and Twitch sensation BILAL ZAFAR and loved our chat about herd mentality, grown-up dates, accidentally stumbling upon a smoother version of yourself. Oh and …

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This episode features the brilliantly dark and cool dynamo of a comic, HANNAH PLATT who talks about being queer, being drawn to people who would tie her to a railway track and why boys can’t carry off a backward…

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This episode is with the brilliant comedian Andrew White, who told me all about spending too much mone…

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It’s indefinable but I feel like we all recognise it. Not just when we do or don’t experience it but when we’re asked to believe it onscreen. I recently watched the latest series of Traitors US, and was interested in the mild subplot of the relationship between Rob & Maura, the former Love Islanders who made it to the final as Traitor and Faithful respectively.

They’re both insanely, symmetrically, AI levels of beautiful, even if in Maura’s case, every time she was onscreen I kept thinking “surely this woman needs more skin”. When people are this attractive we seem to have more of a sense of ownership of them. Like they were put on earth to divert us: “MAKE GORGEOUS BABIES PLEASE”. They obviously got on with each other but beyond that? Nah, I didn’t see it. I found myself entirely believing them when they insisted they were just friends, however much the narrative was pushed. There was some very basic onscreen flirting in a “this is what people do” way, but it was very much at the level I expect from bored bar staff getting through a shift rather than any sizzling will they-won’t they repartee. We all love to spot a budding romance, whether in reality shows, fiction or in my case, local cafes and shops. Especially when the people are good looking. It’s like they’re our hot representatives. We love it so much that we’ll try to force it.

In the second series of The Morning Show, where it’s all gone a bit mental and they send a character briefly to space for scant reason, they also fly in Jon Hamm as a love interest for Jennifer Aniston’s character. Everyone I’ve ever met has fancied either or both of those humans. In the early days of Mad Men I was working on a TV show and

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It’s another episode of Crushed by Margaret Cabourn-Smith; the podcast where funny people have all their stories about unrequited love forced out of them. Thanks for getting involved (reading this).

Today’s episode features the hilarious unique comic brain (and body) of comedian and writer Chris Cantrill. Chris has just come off writing all your fav…

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Today’s episode features the exceptionally creative goddess that is comedy writer-performer ROSALIE MINNITT. If you go to her website and scroll to the bottom of the homepage you will laugh at just how Crushed-Coded it is.

She’s do…

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Today’s episode features the brilliant comedy writer-performer TOM NEENAN who lived up to his reputation as super funny, clever, thoughtful and sensitive. His theory that people on escalators are the new celebrities is truly excellent. I can…

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Today’s episode features the iconic stand-up comic, podcaster, writer and drag legend REUBEN KAYE. This interview is proper special - an ideal interview subject, Reuben was hilarious, thoughtful and outrageous. Do get to see his show Hard To Swallow, at A…

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Today’s episode features the fabulous ⁠Abigoliah Schamaun⁠ who is fully on board with the idea that Crushes Are Fun.

She has two excellent podcasts ⁠All British Comedy Explained⁠ with Tom Salinsky and ⁠Neurodivergent Moments⁠ with Joe Wells.

She and Joe also have a…

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Today’s episode was recorded live at the Machynlleth Comedy Festival and features the awesome stand-up comic, podcaster and Last One Laughing Legend ⁠HARRIET KEMSLEY⁠.

She really went for it even though the shame was thorough - super enjoyable for the audience. From …

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Today’s episode features the phenomenal stand-up comic, podcaster, writer and marathon legend JOHN “INTENSE” ROBINS.

This interview is a proper gem - full of insight, laughs and compassion for John’s younger self. You absolutely need to buy his book Thirst - and catc…

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Doesn’t everyone’s Notes App look like this?

Spring Personnel Feltham

Straight out of drama school I temped at Spring Personnel Chiswick (temping at a temp agency? WACKY). I sat opposite a woman who loved Ally McBeal and talked about her as if she were a friend. Confusingly, her flatmate was also called Ally, which would have been OK if she hadn’t also been the sort of person who talked about herself in the third person. Because her name, I swear to God, was Ally. It was a hard time for me, smalltalkwise. I preferred talking to Narinda, who once went to Turkey on holiday and on return told me:

“they put fish in everything there, even the onion rings!”

The fourth woman in our office quartet, was our boss, Jacqui, who was quite fearsome. She had beef with the boss of Spring Personnel Feltham. For those of you who don’t know - Feltham, pronounced Felt-em (or more usually Fel’-em), is a grim canker of a place festering in the shadow of Heathrow airport. It’s most famous for its Young Offenders’ Institute, and the air is rich with chips and menace. One time Jacqui had to ring her equivalent in the benighted office, we heard her answer:

“Good morning, Spring Personnel Felth-am”

We all smothered laughs, even before Jacqui retorted:

“Call it what you like love, it’s still a shithole”

I added “shith-ole”, silently. I was a bit scared of Jacqui. Spring Personnel Chiswick remains the only job I’ve been let go from. She told me it was because they’d found a permanent member of staff, but I suspect it’s because I was a bit scruffy and she once heard me mutter “I’ve got a degree” while I was counting biros.

Midnight Van Men

Post university, when I was saving up for drama school I lived in a super boring industrial London suburb, in a box room of a houseshare with two adorably mild male friends who called me “Duchess” and warmly tolerated my personality. It was a

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Today’s episode features the glorious, larger than life, legendary character comedian, writer and performer SELINA MOSINSKI. Selina is the woman behind the legendary Charity Shop Sue. I loved hearing about her colourful past and joyful scrapes.

Selina Mosinski is at …

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Today’s episode features the hilarious sparkfest that is comedian AMY MATTHEWS. She’s the host of the English Heritage Podcast and preparing for the Edinburgh Fringe (and UK tour) with her new show ‘Definitions of Toast’. Dates and tickets info ⁠here⁠.

Watch Amy’s special ‘I …

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Today’s episode features my old mucker, fantastic writer-performer FROG STONE. She’s the writer of the smash Finnish hit TV show L/Over and is currently wowing us all in Emmerdale. Unlikely bedfellows but that’s the broad talent that is Frog. Not ALL of this chat is Julie An…

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This episode features fantastic comic, writer, podcaster, quiz show host ⁠JAKE BHARDWAJ⁠. I really loved bonding with Jake and hearing his stories. It was one of those podcasts that left me on a high afterwards. What a privilege to intrude on lovely funny people’s inner li…

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I was asked recently what my fantasy life was. I have a special gift for finding hidden criticisms so I immediately felt offended on behalf of the real life I have spent 50 years building. But I’m also obedient, so I set to work imagining it all – the easy, secure, well remunerated work, the townhouse décor, the high end knitwear, the absolute decadent lack of responsibility. The sheer CLEANLINESS of it all. It was fun. But it also reminded me of a friend who once wistfully commented “imagine living here” when we were gazing at a spectacular view, from the kitchen of a beautiful holiday home in Monmouthshire. And I did so and instantly felt the cold grip of loneliness. For I am nothing if not Duchess of Downer-ness. It’s a gift.

Let’s analyze our fantasies. I’ll go first.

Here’s one: I’m a mistress (HEAR ME OUT). Lounging in designer basques and kimonos, all chosen by “him”, in a tiny, pristine atelier, being occasionally drenched in Chanel and/or vintage champagne and living on quality cheeseboards on a balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower Je suis une Bitch Basique.

Another one: I’m a sweet village cricketer’s wife. I make jam and host impeccable teas in marquees while cosy murders are solved in the background. I grow courgettes and never accidentally let them become marrows. I have a crisp white apron and coiffed hair and boy I cannot tell you how far any of these things are from my universe.*

How quickly would I become deranged if either of these scenarios were my life? Within minutes I reckon. Because in these pictures, I am basically a figment of someone else’s imagination. Wouldn’t that be relaxing? No inner life at all, except to be someone else’s dreamgirl. I’m PERFECT. I’m not clumsy or competitive. I have zero creative ambition, and no insecurities. My fantasies tend to pare my life right down. To a scaled down version of me that does not (and cannot) exist.

In both of these scenarios I’m basically serving someone – I’m identifying by my relationship to other people. I have no decisions to make. I don’t have to think about my needs, because some kind of higher power is dealing with them. A higher power conveniently controlled in my head. They are also, I should say, super-informed by the fiction I was fed growing up. For more discussion on that I can highly recommend listing to most episodes of Crushed.

There are always boring bits; painful bits in real life. In Parisian Mistress, I never imagine dealing with a long Sunday afternoon where “he” didn’t make it over and I’d dressed up for him and felt humiliated and drank too much good wine so fell asleep at 8pm and woke up with a furry tongue and pounding head and a face-tearing sense of existential dread only a Frenchwoman could experience.

In the Fantasy Village Wife life? I never have to worry about the time the plumber has spread fox shit all through my cottage when I had the norovirus and the wi-fi had gone down because of some weather, when you have to book a parent teacher meeting for an adorable child that has just spilt jam behind a radiator.

To be fair, fantasies can be a good way of assessing your own life to see what needs fixing.

Parisian Mistress? It’s all about the juggle of work/family life – how difficult is to make decisions all the time (so many pasta bakes, so many Whatsapp groups), and how embarrassing it is to be known (so ashamed of my board game meltdowns and my mismatched school run fashion). Imagine just showing the best sides of your body and personality. Imagine only having things in your wardrobe that go with everything else, and dropping into people’s lives when you’re on highly glossed form, like St Nigella.

The Village Wife scenario was strongest when I first left drama school; single and adrift. I was fortunate enough to know that the things I did have (a love of the city, good friends, supportive family and dreams of a big juicy creative life…) were important and real. 25 years later I’m no closer to being a good cook or gardener, I’m no calmer, gentler or more selfless. And the idea of living in a village fills me with the heebie-jeebies more than ever. Don’t get me wrong I LOVE to holiday in a village. And I know lots of people truly love it. But that thing of everyone turning and staring when you enter the chip shop? Not for me.

Everything I have (and everything you have by the way); is on someone’s wishlist. Got a partner? Got kids? Got a kitten? Got a Nando’s Black Card? Got a Brabantia Breadbin? Got a lava lamp? Got central heating? Got a goddamn roof over your head? Someone is pining for all of those.

The point is, fantasies, by their nature are about what you don’t have. I find it shocking how quickly the parameters change as soon as you achieve anything you’ve dreamt about. An agent?? Good reviews? A TV role? Even being in the Christmas Radio Times didn’t sate me.

I went to the doctor about my mental health a few weeks after getting together with my now husband (having been single for most of my previous 27 years) because I’d realized that I’d got into a happy, fulfilling, secure relationship but WHOOPS, look who wasn’t suddenly the serene, confident, hair-swishing relaxy healthy sexbot I’d pictured after all.

The awful truth is that when you achieve dreams, it’s YOU achieving them. Wonky, imperfect old you, not ideal, dreamy version.

So, getting what you want is good but I can categorically say it

a) isn’t how you imagined,

and

b) doesn’t make you happy.

Sorry CEO-bros and The Secret aficionados.

We’ve got to stop saying “All I want…” because it isn’t all you want is it? You want loads of things and they change all the time. That doesn’t mean you’re greedy, you’re just human. No-one’s satisfied and grateful all the time. When people ask me about the happiest day of my life I think

“A whole day!? What, all day? Don’t think so!”

When my kids were born I felt many things, including fear and anxiety - and on my wedding day I can recall with precision a few exchanges I had that made me exasperated or sad (for example straight after the service my grandfather approached me about some admin he’d been expecting me to do for him). Maybe that makes me a bad person. But I can also reveal that there have been few days in my life where I haven’t felt joy or contentment; or at the very least found something really funny.

So what more could I want from life? I tell you what – LOADS. Just off the top of my head:

A sold out West End Run

A trip on the Orient Express

A book deal

The ability to do pull ups

Straight calves

A load of high end knitwear and lingerie

A less rabid inner voice

A six pack

etc

etc

And I know you have the same kind of list.

We’re coveters. We covet. But as soon as you got any of those things, how quickly would a new fantasy grow in its place? Turns out that leopard print knitted bomber jacket didn’t cure me either.

Life is complicated and being a human is messy.

Nobody is just one thing – and if you ever try to limit yourself to one thing, you’re setting yourself up for devastating failure because if you fail even slightly at that one thing, you’re done.

So if you make a horrible error as manager of a regional TGI Fridays one morning, you can still be a good friend that night by listening to your mate Kerry worry whether the bloke she’s been talking to online likes her or just wants to sell her some crypto. If you upset your sister by openly laughing at her fake tan during the week, you can still literally smash it out of the park on the tennis court at the weekend (I’m thinking of my beloved reader at this point, you realize. I have never succeeded in tennis or retail management. We’ll draw a veil over my friending and sistering).

I’ve long had a horror of the phrase “they’re my everything”. Your everything should be… well everything. Branch out.

You can’t have it all. Famously. Sorry. As soon as you’ve sunk your face into that cake you can’t keep its cakey perfection. Anyone who’s eaten in Starbucks knows how bitterly disappointing a cake can be.

Because if you get a pixie cut. you can’t keep your long curly tresses. As soon as you leave the hairdresser’s, it’s all growing away from what you asked for - if you were lucky enough to get what you pictured which is unlikely. I don’t mind my hair but with each cut, I look less and less like the Linda Cardellini photo I’ve been taking in since 2020. Time changes everything. I’m trying to live with it.

Reaching is good, but so is liking what you have. Fantasies should be fun – but they’re also fully bullshit.

Have another look at the owner of that shiny, sun-kissed thong-clad ass photographed on that hilltop villa.

Because I’m pretty confident they have body dysmorphia/they’re in debt/they’re addicted to something weird/they were up all night worrying about a discoloured wart they can’t quite reach.

I keep thinking about a Jon Ronson podcast series I heard, where he mentioned the huge dreamy mansions in LA and how he’d gawp at them (I’m paraphrasing) but the more he met the residents inside them, the more he realised they’d all been driven crazy by wealth and loneliness.

The truth is, I feel like some of my fantasies can stay in the “hobby” column forever, rather than needing to be achieved – especially when lots of the things you want directly contradict each other eg: you can’t be single and married. Though I hear a lot of hetero men are trying their damnedest on the apps.

And when you achieve your dreams (cue the Disney music), take a minute to marvel at how different it feels to how you thought it would – appreciate the wonky joys of reality. Because some poor soul might be looking at your leopard print bomber and assuming you’ve got it all worked out, when actually last week you got scammed by someone pretending to be a priest, this morning you fell asleep on a bus, and you CANNOT work out where that smell is coming from…

And I suppose what I’m saying is that grass might be greener because it’s drenched with tears and sweat.

Have a good weekend exactly who and where you are ❤️

Today’s episode features powerhouse character comic and drag king Daisy Doris May. You can catch her show ⁠Big Night Out ⁠at the Soho Theatre on 24 - 28 March. Loved talking to Daisy about her big juicy crush history.

Thrilled to announce that my gu…

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