As a massive hedonist, I want you to find your joy. No one else in your life can ever have your happiness as their top priority (which is right – only you can truly know all the things that will bring you pleasure), so it probably needs to be a high priority for you. Around this time of year, some of you will likely have broken – or be about to break – one or more of the punitive resolutions you set yourself on the first of January. Restricting pleasure or causing yourself pain in the name of self improvement. I’m not qualified to tell you how to live a healthy or virtuous life, but if you want to make resolutions you can stick to, I have a few tips from the hedonist gutter that might help you set ones you’re less inclined to break.

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For some reason I worry that it might be offensive to admit this. Apologies if it is, I sincerely hope it isn’t: it’s a very real fear and I think I need to talk about it. Like the best horror films, I think this fear comes from the unknown. Or – worse – the partially known. I understand that menopause can give you vaginal dryness and hot flushes. I know that other changes happen as well, in your body and to your… I actually find it hard to write this down, so great is my terror at the potential loss of it… libido. I know enough about the menopause to understand that I definitely do not ever want it to happen to me. But I also know that it’s a privilege to go through. Ageing is a gift: it means I’m not dead yet. Bodies change all the time so we shouldn’t be frightened of change and… oh fuck. Sorry. Yeah. I can’t sugar-coat this, really: I am absolutely terrified of the menopause.

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I did my hair nicely today. I wanted you to love the way it looks so much you’d grab a fistful and yank my head in for a biting kiss. I feel pretty today, I made myself pretty today. And I only did it because I want you to fuck me up.

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Sinful Sunday is all about the image. It’s a fantastic, sexy photography project that inspires people to take their own beautiful photos (usually, though not always, of themselves or other people naked) and share them each week. It is hosted (and run) by my good friend and sex blogging hero – the kickass photographer who started it all: Molly Moore. And it has now been running continuously for 700 weeks!

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I told this story briefly, while at the festival last year: ‘I sucked a dick at Glastonbury’, I tweeted, with undertones of ‘achievement unlocked.’ The response was a combination of welcome high fives and entirely unwelcome shame: eww, blow jobs? At a festival?! I hope you used wet wipes first! Some people are so weird. But to each their own. I don’t tell sex stories without knowing that sometimes I’ll press people’s shame buttons. Some people’s instinct to say ‘eww’ when they hear that some random slag got facefucked in a field in Somerset is as natural as my instinct to brag about it in the first place. I sucked a dick at Glastonbury last year. And as I pack my bag for this year, I’ve decided now’s the time to tell that story.

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