This week I’ve written a fair amount about my vagina, so if you're a member of my family, my in-laws, or under 18 maybe skip the first one (actually if you're underage what the hell are you doing here at all!). To everyone else: enjoy becoming better acquainted with my puss. Happy reading my thirsty little calves!

Won’t someone please look at my vag!

On Valentine's day I paid for a stranger to finger me- romantic. I went to have a Mummy MOT at my local physiotherapy centre, where they asses your post natal body. It set me back nearly £200 (that's a very large bunch of roses). Ever since I gave birth I feel like I’ve been trying to bully nurses into looking at my vagina. There are a couple sessions where a midwife visits your house to measure the growing sprog and at each one I desperately asked them to check out my nether regions too. They’d tell me that was only necessary if I felt there was a problem. ‘Yes’ I’d think, ‘the problem is I pushed a baby out my cunt a couple weeks ago- now please look at pussy!’. As the weeks progressed I tried in vain to have a medical professional make sure everything was healing ok. After attempting and failing to reenact the deed that brought my baby into being I raised the subject with my doctor ‘that’s normal’ she told me ‘you’ll feel like a virgin again, which is great for your partner’. This was not the reassurance I was searching for- I love my other half, but right now as my body heals his pleasure is seriously far down my list of priorities.

I don’t want to seem boastful but I spent years declining many a boy who was desperate to see my vagina, so it’s been strange, to be constantly, repeatedly rejected. I tried to have a look, squatting over a mirror, but the truth is I’ve not seen enough to make much of a fair comparison. I should’ve done more leering at myself last year for an up-to-date ‘before’ image. So I paid to go see a physiotherapist to have a look and a feel with her finger, while I clench, cough and ‘bare down’.

Now, I’ve been relatively lucky with my yonic journey post childbirth- I’ve yet to piss myself and I never needed any douches or witch hazel contraptions (if you know you know). Which is why I assumed I would get a stellar write up. Because if there was any problem surely doctors wouldn't be avoiding my va-jay-jay like a creepy ex? I was obviously being overly cautious. In fact I didn't think it would just be good, I went in knowing that the physiotherapist would be floored by the perfection that is my puss. After all, pelvic floor exercises are the only exercise I religiously do. I thought she’d call the cops assuming I'd kidnapped my child because there was no sign of a baby being through that canal. Maybe the sheer impressive pressure caused by my kegel, would have DeBeers organising an emergency board meeting as I collapse the diamond industry with my potential to convert coal into the precious stone. She’d beg me to let her put photos in textbooks, or at least have them printed in veterinarians to calm down pets about to be euthanised. Perhaps she’d subsidise a flight to LA because if Blake and Baldoni both looked into my flawless crevice, they’d weep for joy and embrace once again. Reality check: it did not go like that.

I know I’m an over-sharer, but I’m not going to go through the private workings, of my working private, but suffice to say there was certainly evidence of a 5 pound baby squeezing its way from inside to outside, and I did not receive the five star rating I craved. Instead the physiotherapist recommended some patience and regular sessions with her. But here’s the problem I have- I couldn't help but feel like a lot of her advice was more about working on my general health rather than my specialist subject. I couldn’t disentangle what was actually needed and what was up-selling. No shit the woman I just paid has told me to book in for giving her more money- more than I get in maternity allowance. ‘I won't actually look at your vagina again for a while, we’ll just be doing other work like lunges and squats’. YOU LOOKING AT MY VAGINA IS THE ONLY REASON I’M HERE! I feel like if I’d gone to have my check up at an acupuncturist who looked at vaginas, or a nutritionist that looked at vaginas, or a masseuse that looked at vaginas, they’d all be recommending regular visits to their establishment. I’m sure if I flashed my vag at the local butcher he’d tell me steak 5 nights a week would do it. And I might be wrong, but that’s exactly why looking at my vag shouldn’t be behind a paywall.

After you give birth, the health of the baby is paramount but they’re not the only one that’s been through something traumatic. As a pregnant person, you're treated with incredible care, but the moment you deliver that precious cargo, you rapidly plummet down the priority list- you're no longer a sacred vessel, you're just a mum. My vagina feels like the plastic shell of a kinder egg, discarded once the tiny toy has been removed. While they won't pay for any of it, in America you are at least recommended to see a gynaecologist three weeks post birth and in France physiotherapy is subsidised with the government’s 'perineal reeducation’ programme, but in England all you get is the instruction to do your kegels. Everyone in the UK seems to agree that being a bit broken is part and parcel of the package you signed up for- but why do we accept this, why is the bar so low? Why can't my yoni be shown the same care that my body was prenatally. We act like its sacrifice was a worthy one, but it’s not an ‘either or.’ My vagina, has done the impossible- it's brought forth into the world the cutest, little podge you’ve ever seen, and it deserves some respect. My health matters; my pleasure matters; my vagina still matters! So please, someone, anyone- preferably a trained medical professional- LOOK AT MY VAGINA!

Por Favor!

If you haven't watched the viral clip of the Spanish show ‘Temptation Island’ you need to. The premise of the show is that 5 couples are split into two villas on an island and surrounded by ‘temptation’ - aka hot singles, desperate for main character status. The clip in question is a man being shown what his partner is up to. As she starts to give in to her lesser urges and hook up with another man, Montoya breaks down, tearing off his shirt like the hulk and clawing at his speedos before taking off down the beach in the direction of his girlfriend as the host chases after him with cries of ‘por favor!’. All the while the audience watches knowing he won't make it in time because his girlfriend is jack hammering away with temptation. It’s the best reality TV moment I’ve seen in years and a brutal reminder of an inconvenient truth: the less ethical the show, the better the TV. I’m not saying we made the wrong call in the UK when we decided to prioritise mental health over trainwreck entertainment (human well-being probably does outrank my need for drama), but the shows just simply aren’t as good. Montoya is clearly in the throes of existential despair, his psyche shattered for our amusement. But damn, if it doesn’t make for phenomenal television.

Buffy’s getting revamped

A Buffy the Vampire Slayer show WITH Sarah Michelle Gellar is in the works and I could not be more excited. I could write several thousand words on why Buffy is the best show of all time and what it meant to me growing up, but alas I have a quota of one long piece per newsletter and, as usual, my vag demanded center stage. You may not know, but as well as writing very serious articles I also write for television and I would give anything to be part of that writers room- I’d let the Gentlemen take my voice, I’d do my spice girl dance routine for Sweet, I’d intern for the Mayor, I’d change Oz’s litter tray on a full moon, I’d help the Trio get laid, I’d even listen to Alyson Hannegan sing. (if you got these references, we can be friends)

Plane Pete

Pete Davidson has proudly unveiled his tattoo-free body in a new ad campaign, claiming the decision was purely practical- to save time in the makeup chair on film sets. I call bullshit. He’s like the women that claim they only had a nose job to fix that deviated septum, or the men that shaved their heads because they like the Bruce Willis look. Let’s not kid ourselves. Tattoo removal is a slow and painful process ($200 thousand allegedly) and Pete isn't exactly Meryl Streep. No, Pete saw the inky writing on the wall. Tattoos aren’t the rebellious flex they once were. Gone are the days when they marked you out as a bad boy or a tough guy. Now, every basic bitch has a couple dainty, fine line tattoos of an infinity sign or a sundial. I personally have gills on my ribs which look suspiciously like a failing wifi signal. I think tattoos jumped the shark with the finger moustache. Now they’ve gone mainstream, and Pete doesn’t want to blend in with the riffraff- a blank slate is the new edgy.

What I googled this week

• How many points would ‘episiotomy’ score in scrabble?

• Is there a word for people who like to have sex with pregnant women?

• Is saying ‘that’s cap’ still cool?

• What happened to the winners of ‘playing it straight’?

• Does cheese before bed actually give you nightmares?

• Is it true that cartoon characters have five fingers in Japan?

• What’s the word for a cow’s vagina?