Remember when “screen time” meant watching Friends on a Thursday night instead of your phone tracking your every move? Simpler times. And yet, here we are in 2025, a world where people are willingly swapping their shiny smartphones for what the internet is calling dumb phones.

Apparently, it’s all part of the great digital detox. Gen Z are leading the rebellion, trading apps for actual conversations, while older millennials are reminiscing about the pre-scroll days when you could go to the loo without someone DMing you a meme. Some say it’s about freedom from notifications; others, more cynically, think it’s about escaping the government’s latest attempts to “protect us” by knowing everything we’re doing. Either way, the idea of being unreachable is suddenly fashionable.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wearing two different brands of smart ring — one on each hand. I also own a smartwatch, a smart bracelet, and two smartphones strategically positioned on either side of my sofa like tiny digital bodyguards. If there’s a signal, I’m probably in it.

So no, I’m not the target audience for dumb phones. I like data. I like step counts. I like being able to Google “who played the dad in Mamma Mia?” halfway through a train journey. But even I can see the appeal of a simpler life, one without doomscrolling, pop-ups, or that existential dread that comes from accidentally opening your camera in selfie mode.

Still, the idea of going fully off-grid feels a bit… 1998. I did that era once and have no intention of reliving it, thanks. I’ll happily light a candle and journal my feelings, but I’m keeping Spotify and Google Maps.

That said, if you are tempted to try life in 2G again, there are some genuinely brilliant dumb phones out there — sturdy, battery-powered bricks that can survive both drops and existential crises.

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Shop the Nostalgia (Affiliate Picks):

📞 Nokia 2660 Flip – it actually flips, which is half the fun.

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📱 Nokia 105 Classic – the original unkillable phone. No apps, no chaos, just vibes.

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🔋 JCB Rugged Phone – ideal if you drop things, live outdoors, or just enjoy pretending you’re on a survival show.

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🕹️ Uleway Senior Phone – big buttons, loud speaker, zero nonsense. Surprisingly chic in an “I don’t check email after 5 p.m.” kind of way.

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So yes, the dumb phone is back and honestly, I get it. We’re all a bit tired of being “available.” Maybe this is less about rejecting technology and more about reclaiming peace.

As for me, I’ll stay right here surrounded by Bluetooth signals, wearing a ring that tells me when to hydrate, and silently admiring anyone brave enough to go offline.

Because someone has to keep the Wi-Fi on while you’re all being mysterious. 📶😉

Low-Spoon Liverpool: A Day of Cake, Calm, and Capitalism (With No Decent Coffee in Sight)

 

Today I arrived in Liverpool for a short solo stay, and I’m staying at the Radisson RED, which I’d hoped would bring five-star vibes to match its iconic location opposite St George’s Hall. The view from my room? Genuinely beautiful, grand, historic, and full of cinematic potential. But the room itself? Let’s say the energy is more “urban minimalism” than “luxury escape.” It’s not terrible. It’s just not quite as impressive as it thinks it is.

Add in a poor night’s sleep, a migraine, and the general chaos of travel, and I decided quite quickly that today would be a low-spoon day. No pressure. No full itinerary. Just soft wandering, sensory-friendly spaces, and hopefully something sweet by mid-afternoon.

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First stop: the Liverpool Central Library rooftop

If you’ve never been, it’s stunning. This place is like a secret slice of serenity right in the middle of the city. I headed straight to the rooftop terrace, which has panoramic views over the city, including a perfect vantage point of St George’s Hall and the surrounding skyline. I brought my camera and had a quiet little main-character moment while the city carried on below.

Inside, I took a slow wander through the Picton Reading Room, which feels like stepping into a Victorian novel. High dome, spiral staircases, big desks, the kind of place where you feel instantly clever just by existing in it. I didn’t stay long, but just being there felt nourishing in that “this counts as doing something” way that’s very necessary on days like today.

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Then came the shops: low-effort retail therapy

After a brief recharge, I headed over to Liverpool ONE, which is just a short walk from the hotel. I wandered around Kenji and Miniso, two of my favourite places to browse when I want comforting, affordable chaos. I was surprisingly restrained (for me). Just a couple of bits, mostly sensory-friendly, probably pink.

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Lunch at Yo sushi + a surprisingly good cheesecake

When the hanger kicked in, I ended up at Yo sushi, which turned out to be a great little stop. The sushi was fresh, the setting was calm, and the cheesecake was a solid 8/10, soft, creamy, and a much-needed comfort boost after a tiring morning. Not the best cheesecake of my life, but definitely good enough to make me pause mid-bite and feel glad I left the hotel.

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And then… the great Nespresso heartbreak

Back at the hotel, I was very much looking forward to a real coffee, you know, the “luxury room with a Nespresso Vertuo” kind of situation. But sadly, the machine in my room wasn’t working. So I made myself a kettle-brewed decaf, sat in the armchair with a cardigan round my shoulders, and tried not to spiral about the state of midlife hotel coffee. Not quite the recharge I imagined, but in fairness I still had that view. And sometimes, that’s enough.

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Final thoughts

Today wasn’t flashy or full-on. It was soft, slow, and mostly improvised,

a very neurodivergent-friendly travel day. A bit of beauty, a bit of shopping, a moment of peace in a library, and a reminder that not every trip has to be packed with productivity.

Would I recommend Radisson RED for a luxury stay? Jury’s still out.

But as a base for a quiet day of gentle exploration? It worked.

And honestly, in this season of my life, that feels like more than enough.

From City Buzz to Cotswold Calm: My Soft Life Reset Across Liverpool and Cheltenham Spa

📸 Liverpool, captured by me in 2014 during my “hyper real” photography era—back when everything had to look like it was about to be featured on the cover of a dystopian graphic novel. Still stunning, though.

There comes a point when you’ve stared at the algorithm for too long, cried into your coffee one too many times, and realised the only thing left to do is pack a suitcase and romanticise your life like you’re in a British Netflix original.

So that’s what I’m doing.

Liverpool First: A City With Edge (and Hopefully Less Rain Than Last Time)

The adventure begins in Liverpool a city that’s all music, magic, and unapologetic character. I’ll be there from Wednesday through Saturday, soaking up the atmosphere, the architecture, and possibly trying (again) to ride the infamous duck boat that sank the last time I tried. It’s me vs. mildly cursed tourism, round two.

I’m going First Class on the way there, because if I’m going to spiral about the algorithm, I might as well do it with complimentary snacks and extra legroom. Main character priorities.

Then: Off to Cheltenham Spa (Where I Will Become Cottagecore)

On Saturday, I trade Scouse chaos for Cotswold calm and head to Cheltenham Spa. This is where the linen trousers come out. The gentle walks. The overpriced jam I absolutely don’t need but will definitely buy.

I’ve always imagined the Cotswolds as the kind of place where you write your memoir, fall in love with a goat farmer, or rediscover your inner peace next to a 400-year-old tree. So obviously, I had to go.

The only problem? Saturday’s travel involves two standard class train journeys. I know. I’m already emotionally preparing myself. Unless, of course, the Seatfrog fairies come through and I’m whisked into First Class like the exhausted icon I am.

Why I’m Doing This Now

This isn’t just a holiday. It’s a reset. A deliberate step away from TikTok turmoil and into something that feels more like me. I’ve been running on fumes lately, constantly creating, chasing numbers, and trying to survive another algorithm shift.

So I’m choosing joy. Slow mornings. Soft trousers. Train snacks. Towns that look like postcards. And a little bit of unbothered peace, wherever I can find it.

What’s Coming Up

I’ll be documenting it all, probably in a very “here’s me, blurry, holding a pastry in front of a historic building” kind of way. Expect TikToks, Instagram reels, the odd storytime, and definitely an update on whether I finally got on that duck boat, spoiler alert, it doesn't exist anymore but there's a replacement submersible that doesn't actually sink.

Because sometimes, the only way to fix your for-you-page existential crisis is to leave your house and go be someone else for a while.

And I choose to be someone who gets First Class on the way there and back—and just pretends Saturday isn’t happening.

If You’re Complaining About the Balcony Scene, You’ve Missed the Point of Evita

 I didn’t plan to write about this. Honestly, I haven’t written a blog post in weeks but this one’s been simmering. And after seeing one too many social media threads moaning about Evita, I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer. So here we are.

Let’s talk about the Jamie Lloyd-directed production of Evita currently running at the London Palladium. Let’s talk about Rachel Zegler. And let’s talk about that moment, the now-iconic staging of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” being sung not from the stage… but from the actual balcony of the theatre.

If you’ve seen the show, or even just clips, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Around 9pm, Zegler appears on the Palladium’s upper balcony, in full view of the street, singing directly to the crowd gathered outside. Inside the theatre, the paying audience watches it unfold via screens.

And for some reason, this has caused absolute chaos online.

People are outraged. “I paid over £150 for my seat and had to watch her on a screen.” “It broke the moment.” “It felt like a concert for the public, not the paying audience.”

But here’s the thing. And I mean this with love:

If that’s your takeaway,

you’ve misunderstood everything this musical is about.

🧠 Let’s remember who Eva Perón actually was.

Eva Duarte wasn’t born into power. She wasn’t handed a mic. She fought her way into history, into politics, and into the hearts of Argentina’s working class. Her most famous speech, the one “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” is based on wasn’t for the political elite inside the palace.

It was for the people outside, gathered in the square below the Casa Rosada, hoping she could see them. Hoping she still remembered them. Hoping she would speak to them.

That’s what Jamie Lloyd’s staging is doing. It’s not just a design choice it’s a living metaphor. Rachel Zegler stepping out onto that balcony to sing to the crowd in the street while the in-house audience watches on a screen is a direct nod to the most famous moment of Eva’s life.

It doesn’t diminish the scene.

It amplifies it.

🎭 The Theatre Is the Metaphor

This is what Jamie Lloyd does best. He strips back everything theatrical and replaces it with pure symbolism. This isn’t about lavish sets or traditional staging. This is about power. Access. Presence.

The elite, us, the theatre audience, are inside, removed from the action. Watching it happen at a distance. On a screen. While Eva sings directly to those gathered in the street.

Those without tickets. Those without privilege.

Those who, symbolically, were always her people.

🎥 But I Paid to See It in Person!

I hear you. I do. But theatre isn’t just about comfort. It’s about challenge. And if you’re sitting there thinking “I paid for the best view and didn’t get it,” maybe just maybe that’s exactly what Jamie Lloyd wants you to sit with.

It’s a gentle reminder that sometimes, the most powerful messages aren’t delivered to those at the top. They’re delivered to those outside. And if that makes you uncomfortable, good. That’s what theatre is supposed to do.

Also… you get every other second of Rachel Zegler’s phenomenal performance up close. Let the street have their moment. That balcony scene belongs to the people. Always has.

💔 My Regret and Why This Matters

I never got to see Jamie Lloyd’s Sunset Boulevard. I thought it would be on longer, and I missed it. It’s possibly my one great theatrical regret. So when Evita was announced, I knew I had to pay attention. I’ve loved this show since I first saw the film with Madonna and Antonio Banderas (don’t come for me — I still think Antonio was the best Che).

Evita isn’t just a musical I love. It’s one I understand. And this production, stripped back, symbolic, political, feels like the closest we’ve ever come to capturing the truth behind the legend.

📝 Final Thoughts

You don’t have to love the balcony scene. But if you find yourself furious about it, maybe take a moment and ask:

Is the production failing you? Or is it challenging you?

Because in this case, I think it’s the latter.

And personally? I think Eva would have loved that. 

Why I’m Breaking Up with Google AdSense (and Choosing the Soft Life Instead)

 

There’s a certain kind of shame in admitting this, but I’m going to say it anyway:

I’ve been earning around £60 a year from Google AdSense.

That’s… five pounds a month. A flat white. A particularly enthusiastic wax melt order. And in return for this fiver? I’ve had to turn my blog — my precious, once-pretty blog — into something that looked like a spammy newspaper from 2004.

Autoplay ads. Clashing fonts. Pop-ups. Rows of boxes selling insurance and clickbait cat food articles. All slapped across my most heartfelt writing like a bargain bin sale sign on a Monet.

And for what?

A cheque that wouldn’t even cover my monthly biscuit budget.

So I’m done.

This is my soft goodbye to AdSense. Not with rage. Just with relief.

💡 Why I’m Walking Away:

Because the ads didn’t feel aligned with me anymore.

Because the earnings weren’t worth the eyesore.

Because this blog is part of my soft life, and nothing about AdSense felt soft.

It was noisy. Messy. Disruptive.

And I’ve spent too many years building peace to rent out my calm for pennies.

🧭 What I’m Doing Instead:

I’m shifting to a more intentional kind of monetisation:

• Amazon links to products I genuinely love (and already talk about).

• Travel content with affiliate suggestions woven into my actual stories.

• Occasional gift guides that feel helpful, not pushy.

• And one day, maybe, a proper ad network that pays like it means it (hello, Mediavine… we’re not there yet, but I’m waving).

But mostly?

I’m writing again.

And I want my readers to have a clean, calm, ad-free space to come and sit with me in the chaos.

Because the blog deserves better.

I deserve better.

And so do you.

Explore my favourite finds on Amazon — quietly curated, no chaos.

The Soft Life Manifesto: A Declaration from a Woman Who’s Had Enough of Hard Things

 

💛 The Manifesto

I didn’t grow up believing life should be soft. I grew up believing it should be earned—hustled for, shouted about, survived. You worked hard, you didn’t complain, and you certainly didn’t rest unless you were practically dying. And even then, only for a bit.

But somewhere in my 50s, I realised something radical:

I’m not doing that anymore.

The Soft Life isn’t about being idle. It’s about choosing peace over performance. It’s walking away from people who drain you—even if you once loved them. It’s buying the fancy soap. It’s giving up the idea that everything has to be a struggle. It’s dressing for comfort, saying no without guilt, and living in a way that feels like a long exhale.

As a neurodivergent woman who’s worn every mask, played every part, and ticked every box—this is me tearing up the script.

I will not sacrifice my well-being for algorithms, expectations, or the grind.

I am not a brand.

I am a human being with cats, chronic exhaustion, and a cupboard full of wax melts.

I choose softness, even when the world tells me that softness is weak.

Because they’re wrong.

Softness is radical.

Softness is survival.

Softness is the loudest “no” I’ve ever shouted in a whisper.

This is not a phase.

This is not a rebrand.

This is a revolution, scented with lavender and served with a side of fidget toys.

Explore Mandy’s favourite soft life finds on Amazon

Romanticising My Life When I Feel a Bit Broken

There are days when I feel like the heroine of a Nora Ephron film—hair slightly windswept, lighting softly golden, cats purring in the background as I potter about being charming and slightly neurotic.

And then there are days like today, where I feel like I’m running on 17% battery, my kitchen smells vaguely like bleach and disappointment, and I’ve cried at an advert for dishwasher tablets.

It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s soft life now. With a side of mild emotional collapse.

But here’s the thing—I’ve realised lately that romanticising your life isn’t about waiting for everything to be perfect. It’s not about beige sofas, morning yoga, or journalling with a £40 pen. It’s about finding tiny things that make you feel like you’re still here. Still trying. Still you.

For me, it’s been:

1. Making protein iced coffee like I’m auditioning for a Scandinavian lifestyle reel.
2. Cleaning the kitchen with a Fabulosa spray that smells suspiciously like designer perfume and pretending I’m in a montage about getting my life back together.
3. Putting on trousers that aren’t actively offensive.
4. Playing music while I cook and convincing myself I’m the main character in a TikTok video no one will ever see.
5. Sitting with a cat (or five) and whispering “you’re the only one who understands me” like it’s completely normal.

It’s ridiculous. And it’s keeping me afloat.

I don’t have any grand insights. No big life lesson to tie it up in a bow. I just know that on the days I feel slightly broken, the answer isn’t always to fix everything. Sometimes, it’s to romanticise the mess.

To find beauty in a quiet five minutes.

To make your kitchen smell like Winter Angel and call it therapy.

To light a wax melt and pretend it’s emotional progress.

And if that’s where you are too, then just know—you’re not alone. You’re not failing. You’re just human. Possibly hormonal. And doing your best.

And honestly, that’s more than enough.