THE GRAND NATIONAL IS A GLAMOROUS LIE PEOPLE KEEP DRESSING UP.
Every year, the same spectacle rolls around again and somehow we’re still expected to treat it like a glamorous social occasion. The Grand National is marketed as fashion, fizz, fun, and a national day out as if that is the whole story.
But it isn’t. Because behind the champagne, the outfits, the selfies, and the Ladies Day energy, there is something far less comfortable that gets ignored. Horses are being pushed to extremes in a race where catastrophic injury is not an exception and once again a horse, just six years old, was injured and put down today.
And yet the country still shows up to celebrate it. Liverpool City Centre will be bursting with celebrations long into the night.
Why is no one disgusted? Horse racing is no better than fox hunting or cock fighting in my opinion. Using animals for human entertainment really needs to be stopped.
Fashion, hospitality tents, betting slips and overpriced corporate packages have tried to disguise the event but let's not forget what is essentially at the heart of it all: the poor animals pushed to their limits in the name of entertainment.
I personally don't like horses but I appreciate their gracefulness and beauty and power. They scare me but I don't like to see any animal being exploited.
When a horse is injured and later put down, it is reported briefly, almost clinically, and then quickly replaced by the next year’s narrative of excitement and anticipation. The discomfort is contained and then pushed out of view so the celebration can continue uninterrupted.
No one wants to say anything to avoid spoiling the fun, but I will. Shame on all of you who took a bet. You'll go home to your pets and nuzzle them with affection without giving a shit about the poor horse put down today. And you'll fool yourself into thinking that you're an animal lover. But I'll remind you again. A horse that was just six years old was euthanised today because of its injuries on the racecourse that you all cheered on.
Fuck the Grand National.

WHY MODELS DON'T SMILE
It happens after almost every fashion show I plan.. Someone will inevitably ask the same tired question: “Why do models always look so miserable?”
At this point, the question itself says far more about the audience than it does about the fashion industry.
Because runway models are not there to look friendly, approachable or entertaining. They are not influencers posing for engagement, nor are they trying to project personality in the way social media has trained us to expect. A fashion show is a professional presentation, closer to theatre and the model’s role within it is highly specific. Their job is to showcase the designer’s work, not compete with it.
Designers spend months developing a collection. Every detail is considered: silhouette, fabric movement, colour palette, lighting, soundtrack, pacing and mood. The runway is the final expression of that vision. When a model walks, she becomes part of that creative direction, effectively a moving frame for the clothes themselves. A broad smile introduces emotion that may completely contradict what the designer is trying to communicate. A collection inspired by strength, minimalism, futurism or even melancholy would look absurd if presented with pageant-style grins.
Neutrality allows consistency. When dozens of looks appear consecutively, buyers, editors and stylists need to focus on construction, tailoring and movement rather than individual personality. The expression often referred to as “model face” removes distraction. It ensures that attention remains exactly where it should be — on the garment. Fashion professionals attending shows are analysing proportion, wearability and craftsmanship, not judging who looks happiest walking down the runway.
There is also a practical reality that tends to be overlooked. Models are working under intense concentration. Runway shoes are frequently extreme, garments can be heavy or structurally complex, and timing is precise. Walk too quickly and the clothing doesn’t move correctly; miss a cue and the entire rhythm of the show is disrupted. Models are navigating lighting marks, photographers, choreography and backstage direction, often after hours of preparation and fittings. Maintaining composure and control matters far more than projecting warmth.
What sits underneath much of the criticism, however, is something cultural rather than fashion-related. There remains an enduring expectation, particularly toward women, that they should appear pleasant at all times. Smiling has long been associated with approachability, agreeableness and reassurance. When models walk with confidence and neutrality instead of friendliness, it unsettles some viewers because it challenges that expectation. The runway does not ask permission to exist comfortably within everyday social norms, and fashion rarely aims to make everyone feel at ease.
Runway fashion experiments, provokes and sometimes deliberately distances itself from mainstream taste. Not every collection is meant to feel joyful or accessible. Some are intellectual, some confrontational, some purely aesthetic explorations of shape and movement. Expecting constant smiles misunderstands the purpose entirely and reduces fashion to performance designed purely to please.
So when people complain that models look unhappy, what they are really saying is that the presentation did not cater to their personal expectation of friendliness. But fashion shows are not customer service experiences. They are creative statements.
Models aren’t failing to smile. They are doing their job exactly as intended. And the runway isn’t about entertaining you personally.
It’s about fashion.

DON'T MAKE IT PERSONAL
There comes a point in life where things are moving but not yet settled. Invoices have been sent but not paid. The house sale is progressing but buying a replacement is up in the air as I can't find anything suitable. I’m constantly scanning emails and mentally making calculations on timelines and finances. For the first time in ages, I honestly have no idea what the future holds or where I will land my next family home.
I am functioning daily, producing work and showing up, but mentally I’m exhausted. I am temporarily suspended emotionally and everything is starting to feel personal. A flippant comment from my brother sent me spiralling all weekend. A criticism online that I usually brush off wobbled my confidence.
When plans are not concrete, my mind starts searching for fault and the easiest place to direct it is inward and I am the queen of taking everything personally.
I have to remind myself that waiting for invoices to be paid does not mean I am undervalued. Waiting for a property sale to complete does not mean my life is unstable. I am fortunate to be on the property ladder. Not yet knowing my next address doesn’t mean I am lost. It means I am in transition and there is a vast difference.
In life there will always be a period where the old door hasn’t fully closed and the new one hasn’t fully opened and that space in between can feel exposed and vulnerable. Especially when you are used to being in control.
Growth rarely looks neat and tidy and things unfold in their own time. Of course the composed response is not panic. Tell that to my brain please, which likes to catastrophise everything.
The mind loves certainty. It wants dates, guarantees, assurances but strength is learning to operate confidently even when those details are still forming.
Impatience is my red flag, I can’t stand not being in control but I am reminding myself that this year is a year of repostioning.
Selling a home is not instability, it is leverage. Sending reminder invoices is not desperation, it is evidence of a business in operation with deadlines to meet. Not knowing exactly where I’ll live next is not chaos, it is the opening of choice. And choice is freedom and power. My identity is not tied to a postcode
However this uncertainty is escalating my inner panic so while I may look calm on the surface, inside I am juggling flaming chainsaws whilst blindfolded and riding a unicycle.
Mid-transition is not weakness, even though I feel fragile. It is positioning me for the next chapter where I will be mortgage free. I have to keep telling myself this will all be worth it. This space, uncertain as it feels, is actually rich with possibility. I am becoming. And when everything settles as it always does, I’ll see that this in-between season wasn’t something to survive, but something that quietly strengthened me for what’s next. And who knows what or where that will be.
In the meantime though, go easy on me.

 IS AI REPLACING JOBS?
There is a quiet panic running through the media industry right now. Every shrinking newsroom, every freelancer quietly wondering how they will pay their bills as jobs dry up. People are leaving journalism, advertising is being swallowed by apps and even the professions that once felt solid and immovable are shifting under our feet. My daughter got a first in a law degree, worked as a paralegal for a year, and was using ChatGPT to draft letters. Not because she was incapable, but because it was expected. Now she’s turned her back on the office life and is embracing a future in entertainment in Cyprus where she’s needed and valued.It’s scary how AI is replacing jobs.We’re told that in 10 years jobs will shrink significantly where where automation replaces junior, administrative or repetitive professional roles especially in clerical, sales and managerial and seasonal work.But it is not replacing people in the way headlines would have you believe. It is replacing the tasks that were never truly about judgement or creativity in the first place.For years, media professionals believed that if you could write well, sell advertising space, produce content or manage accounts, you were safe. Then platforms like Meta and TikTok allowed brands to bypass traditional channels and speak directly to their audiences. The gatekeepers loosened their grip. The budgets followed the data. Traditional advertising did not collapse overnight, but it began to erode, quietly and consistently, because apps could promise measurable results and real-time analytics in a way that glossy spreads and thirty-second slots never could.
And now AI has entered the room.However AI doesn't eliminate excellence. It eliminates average. Basic press releases and ad copy, templated proposals and reports can be made in minutes. But if your value lies in strategic thinking, narrative positioning, crisis management, understanding nuance, knowing which journalist will actually open an email and which will not, that is a different story entirely.The real shift is not technological. When everyone has access to the same tools, the advantage no longer lies in access. It lies in interpretation. Anyone can run ads through Meta. Anyone can ask ChatGPT to write a campaign. But not everyone can build trust, craft a reputation, read a cultural moment correctly or sense when a brand is about to step into dangerous territory.
In law, in media, in PR, in HR, the future will not belong to the person who drafts the fastest. It will belong to the person who thinks the sharpest. The lawyer who survives will not be the one who produces the most letters, but the one who understands leverage, negotiation and human behaviour. The media professional who thrives will not be the one who resists AI out of pride, but the one who uses it as a tool while doubling down on judgement, relationships and credibility.
We stop trying to compete with machines at speed and start competing on insight. We use AI to free up time for higher-value thinking. We specialise rather than generalise, because generic work becomes automated first. We build personal brands and authority, because people still hire people they trust. And we charge for strategy, not simply execution, because execution is becoming cheaper by the day.
The media industry is not dying. It is recalibrating. Print once felt permanent until digital proved otherwise but it is still valued. Lifestyle magazine is still thriving. Social media disrupted digital. Now AI is disrupting social.
The advantage many experienced professionals have, particularly those of us who have weathered multiple industry evolutions, is perspective. AI has access to information but it does not have lived experience or emotion. It does not understand reputational risk in the way someone who has spent decades navigating public perception does.
To stay relevant we need to adapt and learn to use the tools AI give us to enhance our creative thinking. Visibility is no longer optional, it is essential to su

​NEW BLOG: I Owe Nobody Anything.
As the year closes, there’s a familiar pressure to reflect and forgive and to wish everyone well. To be gracious at all costs.
But as this year draws to a close I’m not carrying everyone into 2026.
This doesn’t come from bitterness. Quite the opposite, it comes from peace.
For all of my life, I’ve been polite to a fault. I always smile, say hello. I always absorb awkwardness so no one else had to. I mistook that for kindness for years.
Last week something shifted. When I returned to Liverpool I was in town Christmas shopping and I saw someone I used to be close friends with. Someone I helped in business, someone I supported emotionally during her turbulent times. This friendship ended years ago, not through anything I did, but through circumstances, loyalties, and a life that no longer exists after our husbands had a disagreement. In the past, I have smiled at her and said hello in the supermarket aisle. Performed civility out of habit.
This time, I didn’t.
I looked straight through her and carried on with my day. And I felt great.
That moment told me everything I needed to know about where I am now. I simply didn’t register her as someone I needed to carry forward.
That’s what healing actually looks like - not dramatic, just an absence of obligation.
As we get older we realise how many relationships were situational. Built around marriages, proximity, shared routines, or versions of ourselves we’ve outgrown. When those structures fall away, so do some people.
And that’s not failure, it’s honesty.
We are not required to drag old dynamics into new chapters just to prove we’re nice. Politeness should never come at the expense of peace. Growth doesn’t always look friendly. Sometimes it looks like quiet non-engagement.
So as 2026 approaches, I’m being intentional.
I’m carrying forward the people who showed up when things were uncomfortable and the ones who respected my boundaries.
I am not required to shrink or explain.
I can proudly count my close friends on one hand now. These are my confidants, my friends who don’t require conditions.
I am not meeting people for coffee who want to be part time friends.
Sometimes the most powerful end-of-year ritual isn’t gratitude, it’s discernment.
It’s a healthy place to be at. Calm, clear and not fake AF.

SHE HAS SIX KIDS.
I went to a party last night at a lovely restaurant. I knew most of the people around the table, and my friend introduced me to a couple using her favourite party trick:
“This is Amanda… she has six kids.”
Honestly, you’d think she’d announced that I was a UFO crash site investigator by the surprise on his face. The woman smiled. The man practically choked on his falafel, staring me up and down like I’d just admitted to a murder.
Then came the predictable follow-up response, the one I’ve heard more times than I care to count:
“Six kids… with ONE man?”
As if that’s the plot twist that should shake the foundations of civilisation.
No one, at any point, would anyone ever ask man that.
A dad of six gets treated like a national treasure, as if he’s single-handedly repopulating the earth and deserves a medal for remembering their birthdays.
A mother of six? Suddenly she’s a suspect. People start squinting as they work out how many lovers she’s had. And if she looks human or worse, attractive, the interrogation level doubles. God forbid she looks well-rested; then she must be lying about something.
I’ve actually been stopped in airports multiple times and questioned like I’m running an international child-smuggling ring, simply because I’m travelling alone with my own children. That’s the starting point for how mothers are treated.
People love to be scandalised by the strangest, most illogical things. His follow-up line was equally predictable, delivered after he scanned me like he was evaluating fruit in a supermarket:
“You look good on it.”
As if my entire worth boils down to whether motherhood shows on my face. As if my appearance is the miracle here, not the fact that I am an award-winning author and international business owner and I still manage to show up polished.
None of that gets the gasps.
Just the number of kids and the assumption that somehow, somewhere, my morality and my sexual history are fair game for public commentary and judgement.
This is what women choke on every single day: the idea that our bodies, our choices, our past, our reproductive decisions, and even the state of our faces belong to public discussion. Men get celebrated for the bare minimum. Women get interrogated for the audacity of existing.
A man would never be asked this. A dad of six gets a standing ovation. A mum of six gets cross-examined. And here’s the part that really blows people’s minds: my children are intelligent, kind humans with a strong work ethic. They don’t smoke, drink, or take drugs. They’re emotionally balanced, grounded and respectful and not the feral stereotype people assume appears the moment a woman has more than two offspring. Because good parenting isn’t capped at one or two children. The idea that love, attention, or competence somehow expire after baby number two is just another myth people cling to because it makes their judgement easier.
Anyway back on topic....I always think: what exactly am I supposed to look like? Am I supposed to stroll in looking like chaos dressed me without seeing shower gel all week? Why is it shocking that a woman can raise children, build a career, move countries, hit the gym, run a household, fight legal battles and still look nice?
Women are expected to be everything and criticised no matter what we choose.
Too many kids, not enough kids.
Too ambitious, not ambitious enough.
Too much make up, not enough make up.
Every path comes with commentary.
A woman can be exceptional, but she’s still expected to be decorative. And if someone calls me beautiful, I roll my eyes.
It’s the bare minimum observation. It’s the most predictable, unimaginative compliment a woman can get and me and my equally good looking friends are not impressed by it.
Tell me you admire my drive.
Tell me you’re impressed by my resilience.
Tell me you can’t believe how much I’ve achieved.
I’m not here to meet anyone’s expectations, especially not the outdated ones.
I’m here to exceed my own.