Limiting Your F***-Giving

**the language may be a bit vindaloo for younger readers – scroll down at your own risk!

First of all, I want to apologise for my radio silence on The Radical Diaries of late. Summer 2018 was the most hectic ever, and I was out of the country for the majority, working on something super-duper rad but more about that later(!) Something happened in my personal life back in May, which led me to grasping the idea of ‘fuck-limiting’ with both hands. Not the type of fuck-limiting when you find yourself cornered by some obliterated human, at a 4am kitchen soirée, chewing your ear off about his tax rebate and other various issues (shout out HMRC sort your shit out) but real fuck-limiting.

You see, fucks are strewn about everywhere nowadays, like god-awful pebbledash on those grey AF houses you only weirdly seem to find in Wales. You give a fuck that the person in front of you didn’t hold the door open. You give a fuck that you burnt your tongue on your really expensive herbal tea (that I’m sure tastes like shit). You even give a fuck when Netflix asks you ‘are you still watching’ and consequently shout at your television ‘OF COURSE I’M STILL FUCKING WATCHING!’ Pop open your peepers punks and look at it realistically, how many times a day, do we as humans, spend giving fucks to trivial things that really don’t deserve it? A LOT, I HEAR YOU SAY! From a personal perspective, I was stressing and worrying about things that actually didn’t affect me directly. I cared too much about things out of my control at work, I cared what people thought of me, but the strange thing was – I wasn’t actually caring about me. To put it bluntly (and also slightly morbidly soz), you come into this world alone and will definitely leave the world alone so the only person that can fully take control of your happiness and fucking-giving in between is (yeah you guessed it!) YOU. So, on the 1st of June 2018, I made a promise to myself (can I just add this promise was made in the toilets at Old Trafford mid-flow) that I would start limiting my fucks and the past eight months truly have been the best eight months of my life.

Limiting your fucks does not mean you need to be rude, abrupt, flippant and careless. I am not telling you to take your foot off the pedal in your career life, nor am I telling you to go all Kevin and Perry and live life like an angst-y teenager, I’m merely guiding your mind to promote even fuck-distribution on subjects and situations that really matter. Cut out the drainers and neggy people in your life (without guilt!), prioritise your mental health and well-being and manifest your fucking goals! This is vital as it affects your happiness, and remember happiness is a choice, so choose a fresh-out-of-fucks-to-give mentality and start living your best life.

The Fuck-Father,

Freja X


Need assisting on fuck-distribution? Hit me up!

How To Navigate A Break Up

We all know that breaking up with someone is never easy, BUT navigating the break up in the right way can make the whole process a little less heart wrenching. I’ve pulled together a list of DOs and DONTs to help you feel a lot less shit, POWER TO THE PUSSY (or PENIS)

you got it dude

DON’T get drunk in the first week, chances are you probably haven’t been eating so this could be a recipe for disaster, especially when you have your phone on you. We’ve all been there, drunkenly sobbing and snotting down the phone, not one of our finest moments ey.

DO write gratitude list; remind yourself of everything else you have in your life that you appreciate and that you are thankful for. When you’re having a blue moment, get out your list and read it over and over to remember why everything else in your life DOES NOT SUCK!

DON’T be bitter, be better. As much as you may be hurting, revenge is a dish best served never. It won’t help you move on, and if I’m completely honest it may only just make you feel temporarily better.

DO give yourself time. Time is the biggest healer and I am absolutely sure of it. It may take you one month or one year but every day it gets that little bit easier. Don’t put a time limit on emotion!

DON’T/DO jump into bed with someone else. There are a lot of different opinions surrounding that old phrase ‘to get over someone you need to get under someone else’ and I think that is totally subjective. If you think a royal rogering will make you feel better, then hey who am I to judge, if you think it will end up you welling up mid-pump DO NOT DO IT, it also may make your bed-buddy slightly worried their performance is tear-worthy.

DO embrace your feelings, chances are you feel an absolute plethora of emotions. If you want to shout, scream, cry or laugh all at the same time, you are allowed to. Holding it all will make it worse in the long run. TRUST ME.

DO surround yourself with your friends. Chances are you’ll be out for dinner, drinks, and adventures a lot more with your favourite humans. EMBRACE IT! Dance wildly, sing at the top of your lungs and cuddle your soul brothers and sisters real tight. They got you!

DON’T social media stalk. The less you see their face the less you will care, so for the first few months, try your hardest to pretend they do not exist.

DO re-frame your thinking, remember – you broke up for a reason! However big or small the reason was, you need to think of the positives. What have you learnt from it? This gives you the opportunity to grow from it and decide in the future the type of person you want to be with. A huge part of healing is realizing you are a much better person after this separation.

And last but not least – get EXCITED. There is a big old world out there just waiting for you, millions of experiences and millions more people to meet. Put it in the fuck it bucket and know that you are the absolute cat’s pyjamas – YOU GOT THIS!



69. Write to a prisoner

I have always been really interested by crime and punishment growing up, my mother used to have shelves full of case files whose pages played host to some of the most notorious criminals. Think Myra Hindley, Fred and Rose West and Jack the Ripper. I really used to be intrigued about the psychology behind criminals and why they carried out such heinous crimes. There was only one way to find out..

I’d toyed with the idea of writing to an inmate for a few years. Everyone I spoke to thought I was absolutely crackers; they simply couldn’t comprehend why any ‘normal’ girl would want to engage with a criminal, and even more so, build a friendship. I remember how it happened, I’d just finished a long binge-watching stint of The Keepers (an absolute watch if you have Netflix) and I’d made my mind up. How could I find out who to write to? I stumbled across a website which played as an almost match-making site. Think Plenty of Fish crossed with Toughest Prisons. I started trawling through the profiles, and to be completely honest I didn’t actually know what I was looking for. Some inmates wanted friendship, some relationships and some even legal aid to help their cases. I then began to filter my searches, I wanted to find someone who was near enough the same age as me. I wanted to see the parallels; how an incarcerated twenty-four year old in the US got to where they are, and how I got to where I am. I had in my mind I would lightly use our interactions as a social experiment, but I was apprehensive.

I selected my inmate (let’s call him D) who is imprisoned in Menard, Illinois and he is serving a life sentence for a gang-land home invasion gone wrong, resulting in the slaying of a mother and her fifteen year old son. This is where I must add, by writing to D, does not for a second make his crime okay, nor am I condoning anything he has done, because it is horrific. D was fifteen when this crime was committed, and was part of a gang initiation. After the robbery, the gang leader said D must enter the house again and shoot the witnesses, because if he didn’t they would kill him. As a fifteen year old, with no real family and not mentally developed (our brains actually are fully developed at twenty-four), I can imagine he didn’t have a choice in the matter. Regardless, the crime committed was unfathomable.

Let us fast forward, D was tried as an adult and sentenced to life imprisonment. My first letter to him was quite difficult to write. I didn’t know what I wanted to say, how I wanted to explain why I was writing to him. After hours of piecing together what seemed like a rambling letter, I popped it in and envelope and posted it on. It was a whole two weeks before I heard anything back, my office wife Nicolle came running down to my desk holding an envelope with a big USA stamp on it, and probably the neatest cursive handwriting I’d ever seen. We both just stopped and stared at the letter. After carefully opening it, I pulled out four back-to-back lined notebook sheets, covered in words. He’d actually written back to me. I was just shocked, I was also quite shocked I was holding the hand written letter that a murderer had also held, days before, and it was very surreal and also quite haunting.


Since that day we’ve written back and forth; he’s told me about his upbringing, his family, what his ambitions are and what he’d do if he ever got out. He’s told me about prison life, how building friendships is hard because you can never really trust anyone and how twenty-three hours in a cell is mind numbing. To combat the boredom he says he reads a lot, he has recommended a few books to me, and I’ve done the same. It is strange because I kind of understand him, we can have a laugh and joke about things that ‘normal’ twenty-four year olds talk about. In his letters he shows a lot of remorse for his crime, committed nine years ago, he has even written to the family of his victims. Again, by feeling conflicted sympathy towards D, does not mean he shouldn’t be where he is. I am a firm believer in justice (although not so much the judicial system) but what I DO believe is that everyone is human and everyone can choose to feel remorse. I am really glad I decided to write to D, as it has opened my eyes to a wider way of thinking and feeling, and if he can learn from me, and I can learn from him, then there must be a positive in there somewhere.



34. Climb Snowdon

Hey! Are you a fan of sweating from every orifice? Do you crave the feeling of searing pain through those things you call legs? What about the total enjoyment of actually considering throwing yourself to imminent death off of a mountain 3,560 feet above sea level? WELL if you answered yes to all of the above, boy – you are in for a REAL TREAT!

Paddy McGuinness

I’ve always been a fan of the outdoors; fishing, countryside walks, bike rides – the lot. I reckon this stemmed from being forced to ride around our local reservoir every single Sunday with my family, rain or shine. I used to work as a phone chimp at Nationwide (represent) many moons ago, and I remember one week there was a load of buzz about the ‘Three Peak Challenge’. After a quick Google, I found out that it was a challenge to climb the three highest peaks in the UK, consecutively. Bollocks to that, I thought, so I decided when I had the chance I would pick up my lady balls and climb one. Lowe and behold, Mount Snowdon metaphorically fell into my lap. My first attempt fell by the wayside when at the last minute, my boyfriend chose a football match over our trip (big up the Foundry FC) so after that devastating blow of selfishness on the ball and chain’s part (I hope you’re reading this Frankie) we soon had another date in the diary, and we were to be joined by our friends Arnold and Marianne.

Pon route to WAY-ELS we had the grand old decision of picking which route we wanted to complete  – my colleague Trish explained if you’re driving all that way to just tackle the hardest one (can I just add at this point,  it actually states the trail we took was only to be attempted by experienced climbers and scramblers) So, all in agreement, the Watkins trail it was. We started the trail, and within the first five minutes we’d started the uphill walking. A battered and bruised sign, that would later resemble our legs, told us the trail would take us approximately six or seven hours. SIX OR SEVEN HOURS!? I could binge watch at least eight eps of Making A Murderer in that time I remember thinking. Let us fast forward to two hours in, the path was no longer a path, it was now boulders the size of my Nan’s Nissan Micra that we had to get on our hands and knees to scramble over. Marianne, or Le Petite Goat as she was so adequately named, was flying ahead, followed shortly by the resident motivator Arnold. Frankie and I were coming up the rear (that’s what she said) and it was TRECHEROUS. We then got to this absolutely amazing view, and for a moment, after catching our breath, there was an air of calm and genuine appreciation. We all took five minutes to gaze out over the valley and over this aquamarine hued lake.

Marianne view

WE HAD DONE IT! My moment of elation was absolutely shat upon when a man with ski poles pointed up to what I can only describe as a Mordor-looking ridge and whispered ‘no love – it is up there.’


The ascent had now turned into a full blown operation, we were actually scaling Snowdon. To add some context, I am absolutely petrified of heights and you’re parallel to a sheer cliff edge. This bit was the hardest push, our legs had turned to jelly, there wasn’t too much to hang onto apart from falling scree and I was absolutely bricking it. This part of the Watkins path took about an hour and was genuinely petrifying, but soon enough we had reached the top! To celebrate this monumental success, we treated ourselves to a cider and a pasty and took in our absolutely beautiful surroundings.


The descent took us around three and a half hours, and wasn’t actually the worst thing ever, but we opted not to take the Watkins trail back (praise da lord) and finally made it to the pub for a sausage and mash. For me, it was physically one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to complete and even though I have littered this blog posts with complaints, I’m actually now motivated to complete the other two peaks; Ben Nevis and Scafell Pike. I took myself out of my comfort zone and really pushed myself to complete what I set out to do, so fuck it – give it a whirl (if you dare!)

Why Not?

I was a pretty naughty child growing up; think tantrums, playing truant and generally being a complete shit. I was selfishly living in a bubble of always wanting to have what I couldn’t have and yearning to be where I shouldn’t be so when my estranged parent/sperm donor  Jacob used to tell me no, I’d whine ‘WHYYYY NOTTTT.’ That phrase always had a negative connotation in my younger years. Little did ten year old Freja know – this double-entendre was going to end up forming the very foundations of her young adult life..

The teenage years came along, and I’d like to say I shed my cocoon of being a troublesome tyrant, but if we’re buttering bread here –  I was still the same. However, the phrase ‘why not’ had started to evolve. Instead of it holding me back, it was pushing me forward. I started saying yes to things that took me out of my comfort zone, that challenged me and it felt fucking great! ‘Why not’ gave me a kind of fire in my belly, and a freedom within reaching distance. It broke down barriers and limits became non-existent. I felt like I was living.

Let us fast forward to the present. What does ‘why not’ mean to me now? I feel like I’ve gone through the motions of heartbreak to evolution. I’ve metaphorically gone from crying on the bathroom floor listening to Bon Iver to contently smiling to Rusted Root. I’ve found a mutual understanding with ‘why not’ – we get each other, we’re like homies. Those two words have taught me I can do all of the things I’ve wanted to do, to see the world, to develop relationships and to kick the social boundaries that were chaining me to monotony.  I am no longer self-doubting, mentally anchoring myself to ‘I can’t,’ because I know I can. In the least egotistical way, if I can inspire anyone to do anything, it would be to say ‘why not’, because, why wouldn’t you? Now go on, go kick some ass you wonderful humans.

Oh and – 70. Add to tattoo collection

Why Not

Bitches Who Brunch

79. Go to a drag queen brunch

Picture this; neon pink lighting, espresso martinis (of the unlimited variety..) and a Gemma Collins drag act. Am I wetting your whistle? If so, read on..

I’ve got a lovely group of girls I work with – Nicolle; my right hand woman and the girl that has me in stitches every single day, Mel; she’s a dreamboat with a fab bottom, Meg; so edgy I mentally call her the dodecahedron, and Helena; self-titled socially awkward, but insanely witty. If you know me, you’ll know that I am a seasoned bailer, I flake so much I belong in a ’99, so when the idea of going to a bottomless brunch was put on the table, I said yes but in the back of my mind I told myself I wouldn’t actually attend (don’t tell me you all haven’t done this!) Soon enough, a venue was selected – Rascals, in Shoreditch. A couple of clicks later and I was perusing the website, hold on I thought, this is a bit of me. Bailing had gone right out of the window and I was bang on it, even suggesting pink as the colour palette we should all dress to.

Saturday soon arrived, and of course me being me, I was accidentally hungover. You know the one, you go out for dinner the night before you’re meant to be doing something, you drink too much wine, you forget that you’ve drank too much wine, so proceed to drink even more wine, then wake up wallowing in your own self pity and stinking like a bin. Or…. Is that just me? Any way – lets fast forward past the almost vomit-inducing train journey, and we are in a bar around the corner from Rascals having some pre-brunch drinks. I don’t know how I managed it, but two cocktails deep I was back to my normal self and I was READY. Two women stumbled into the bar we were in, and made a beeline for us. ‘WE HAVE JUST BEEN TO THIS UH-MAYYYZIN BRUNCH,’ the vegan squawked. ALAS, how did I know she was vegan you ask? Because she proceeded to tell me the place wasn’t very vegan friendly and how she’d been a vegan for two years. We kind of twigged it was Rascals and shimmied back over to our booth. 3pm was upon us and it was time to head to our destination, the queue was small, and we were shortly ushered in to the best table in the house. I’m still unsure why this happened but I was semi-lit and feeling prestige so I wasn’t going to question it.

On the table, we had an espresso martini and mimosa waiting for us, along with a rather strange but fantastic character, Ginger Phlappage, our host for the brunch. I’m unsure if it was the free-flowing alcohol that made Ginger so hilarious, but HOLY SHIT she was funny. Every time we took a sip of our drink, it got topped up. After playing some games, drinking some more and three courses later, the GC made an appearance. I think even the GC would have liked the fake GC – the resemblance was uncanny. Brunch soon ended – so we went next door to Ballie Ballerson to get balls deep, and Mel used her charm to get us all in for free (holla). I’m going to stop the story there, as I would hate to embarrass anyone (psst so basically as the night progressed, Mel, our good-time gal, got super clarted and threw up x3, and once more in a Burger King bag on the way home). All in all the brunch was a success, 10/10, would recommend.

Budd Goes Bottle-Feeding

44. Bottle feed a lamb

With it being March, the opportunity to bottle-feed a lamb was readily available to me, as of course –  it is lambing season! I’m guessing it will be slightly harder in November, so if you want to give it a go soon, keep reading!

Mother’s Day was fast approaching, and me being me, I left everything to the last minute (the more you get to know me the more you’ll get to know this..) I wanted to do something a bit different to what seems like the norm on M/D and as I was driving to work one morning, it hit me like a big furry ball sack in the face – I’LL TAKE HER TO THE FARM! I was so impressed with my idea I was smug the whole way to the office *enter smug face emoji* – you know the one.

After drafting the perfect text inviting Big Linz on a magical farm adventure, I clicked send and hoped for the best. ‘I’d love to’ the reply pinged. Green light. Sunday soon arrived and we were pon route to West Lodge Rural Centre in Desborough (I’ll link everything at the bottom). After surviving the car journey with the old dear – she’s a fan of braking at the last minute and ‘accidentally’ sitting in third gear whist driving 65mph – we were at our destination. Mother, you could tell, was totally embarrassed. The average age of humans in the establishment was probably about six. Nevertheless we were here, and we had a task to complete.

We made our way to the ‘demo barn’ where we were ushered to a collection of small benches, it was here, that I fell in love. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the smallest, fluffiest little creature bounding towards me, my heart was literally imploding! Of course this love affair was short lived, the four legged bleeting machine was in fact running past me, to the farmer who was holding the bottle of milk. After elbowing many children out of the way, it was now my turn to hold the bottle and show everyone what I was made of. I took a deep breath, aimed the bottle towards the lamb that rejected me and low and behold, the feeding began. Oh it was a glorious moment, but the thing they don’t tell you is that the lambs pull so hard you look like one of those workmen on the streets of NYC drilling into the floor. The encounter was short but sweet, lasting I would say about five minutes before the snottiest child in the whole of the land demanded a go.

After we’d bottle fed our little friend, I took Mother Dearest to see some snoring pigs (bears such a resemblance to me when I’m asleep) and then forced her to milk a fake cow.

She’d been tortured enough by this point, so obviously I had to make it up to her and take her for sushi. She had the last laugh in the end, when I spent the following two days in bed (or should I say with my head down the toilet) with food poisoning. Classic.

Until next time punks!

Love Thy Self

The topic of ‘self-love’ is nine times out of ten, misconstrued. We live in a society where we are constantly shown what we don’t look like, who we aren’t and what we don’t have. But what about what we do have? What about the infinite qualities we actually do possess as individuals? Everyone and everything seems to be judged on the outer layer – your face, your body, how the coffee looks but not how it tastes (mine is a chai latte if you’re offering)

Unfortunately, self-love has this type of mistaken identity, that if you love yourself then you’re clearly arrogant or extremely egotistical which is utterly ridiculous. Self-love actually forms the very foundation of your single, most important relationship – that with yourself.


Although, technically, we are all just organized bones wrapped in flesh, roaming the planet, we are all mentally wired completely differently and we can all bring something to the table. I absolutely, whole-heartedly believe that everyone, yes everyone, possesses qualities they should be proud of, and proud to show to the world. In this millennial culture, where imagery of  unrealistic body expectations is everywhere we look – it is vital that we utilize our wit, kindness, intelligence and integrity to shine from the inside and promote something with meaning and feeling. Wake up, look in the mirror and tell yourself you’re fucking awesome, because you are (I’m beginning to sound like a self-help book aren’t I?). Even the little things you do you should recognise; you didn’t eye-roll Debra from accounts when she told the same story three times about her niece shitting herself at a christening. You gave your last pound to the homeless man outside the corner shop. You even may have shared the last Milky Bar yoghurt with your sibling (note the word shared – those things are like crack) These things all matter and you should be proud of the person you are. It has taken me months to get to a point to genuinely say I am proud of I myself, I’m proud of the person I’m becoming, I’m proud of the person I was (even though I’m the first one to admit I’ve made some horrendous decisions in the past) and I’m proud of the person I will be. Strive to be the best person you can be, but not just for what you show on the outside, but for who you are on the inside, your character and integrity *drops mic*

F x

Return Of The Budd

I am BACK! For those that used to follow The Radical Diaries, I HAVE MISSED YOU – and for the new readers, hopefully I can entertain/inspire you to milk the udder of life.

I stopped writing in 2016 after one of my best friends passed away. We came up with the idea of this blog together, and to be totally honest I didn’t feel like I wanted to continue creating content without him right by my side. With it approaching two years since his passing, I feel like now I want to dedicate this space to him. I’ve grown so much in what seems like such a short space of time, I’ve adapted, explored and opened my mind to what it really means to live. Guys – our days are numbered, we need to make everything we do count and by this I don’t mean living in your overdraft (holla) to do extravagant things every weekend but to organically and purposefully grab your life with both hands. Without being the most cliché girl on the internet, YOU ARE THE MASTER OF YOUR OWN DESTINY, and if you look where you are right now, you got yourself there.

As most of you know, my main purpose of The Radical Diaries was to complete my bucket list, this still stands, and I’ve even added some brand spanking new challenges on there for good measure. I also want this to be a space I can talk to you about things that matter to me, everyday happenings and maybe (if you’re lucky) a few drunken tales. I’ve removed all of my old posts (which was strangely therapeutic) and I’m ready to grab 2018 by the balls! I’ve decided I want my life to be a testimony to the fun and excitement that can be found in spontaneous living – I’m going to push myself to do as many cool, weird, exciting, challenging things as I can and document it right here (warts and all). Hopefully I can encourage you to live in a way that inspires you to find out who you are uniquely made to be and what you are uniquely designed to do. This personal blog is going to be my way of telling my on-going story until everything on this list is checked off – feel free to join me! When I look back on my life, I want to remember the fulfilling things I did, and all the times I worked harder to make each memory stand out. Here goes…