I returned from my honeymoon on Monday to (to be quite honest) a bit of a shit storm in my home country of the UK.
I’ve only quite recently learnt in my pole dance journey the hefty benefits behind spreading yourself out (giggity) across as many pole studios as possible.
Unless you have been living under a rock (or pleasantly avoiding Piers Morgan’s rants, in which case fair play to you), you’ll know that we
Well shit the bed and call me Barry a new decade is upon us! After the delicious overindulgence of the festive period (minus one or
Fucking A my lovely readers, we have (practically) made it to the end of 2019 and smashed another year of pole dancing adventures. Go us!
Remember when you were a kid and you would write those batshit crazy lists to Father Christmas? Ones that you would conjure up before you