The first one...

My life so far:
1987 - 2006: Island dweller, teenager, non-fish wife.
2006 - 2008: Brightonite student, (very) part-time model, professional party goer and bad influence.
2008 - : (Unwilling) island dweller, (willing) fish wife.

I will explain.

Up until 2006, I lived in Guernsey, (this is in the Channel Islands. It is nice, if you like that sort of thing), went to school, worked for a (gap) year and generally annoyed the hell out of my parents by flouncing round, slamming doors, constantly protesting that life was 'so unfair' and other characteristics which meant that no one would have been unjustified in labelling me 'Kevin'.

Apart from that I am a girl.

Kevina, then.

Then, in September 2006, to the accompaniment of huge sighs of relief from anyone who had been within the door-slamming vicinity, I took myself off to the University of Sussex, to study English Language, drink lots of cider and attend any party that was going, be it in a ballroom or a squat.

I had a fantastic time, perhaps over-indulged more than was strictly wise, put myself in some fairly idiotic situations (more on that another time), did some (very occasional) modelling, worked in a very dodgy nightclub to top up my meagre funds, met lots of boys and generally had a lovely time.

Then, in August 2007, I met another boy. Not just any boy, The Boy. I met him in Guernsey, where I was home on my summer holidays, giving my liver a chance to breathe between the constant bouts of vodka and cider that it usually experienced, interspersed with regular top ups of Monster Munch. I was not planning to enter into a relationship, or fall in love with a fisherman (hence the title of this blog, obviously), but it happened. I didn't realise I loved him then, but we embarked on a relationship, despite the fact that I don't even like fish, (something which is more of an issue than you'd think), despite the fact that fishermen go away a lot and I don't really like being alone all that much, (pathetic creature that I am), and despite the fact that I had another year at uni and was a confirmed Brightonite, and he had his whole life over here and was a confirmed island lover, and despite all this, all parties concerned were happy.

I returned to university and continued to assault my liver, but somehow it wasn't the same. The parties, clubs and bars seemed to have lost their sparkle, and at first I couldn't work out why. I didn't want to stay out until 6am, chatting up strange (and I mean this in both senses of the word) men, I wanted to be on the phone to The Fisherman. I didn't want to dance on bars, or down 10 (extremely dodgy, student-night specials) tequila shots, I wanted to...well, I still wanted to do that, but with The Fisherman. This seemed bizarre, so I did what I normally do with anything I don't want to confront (university assignments, things that go bump in the night and my irrational fear of midgets) and ignored it, until one day, I realised that I wanted to be with him all the time. One thing led to another, and to cut a long story short, I ended up leaving university and returning to Guernsey, (also known as Alcatraz) (to me, when I'm in a bad mood) to live with The Fisherman and work in a (very cool, actually slightly too cool for me) advertising agency, until one day I realised while I didn't miss many elements of uni (actually doing work, having to speak in lectures and the fact that I couldn't read any textbook without the aid of abut ten dictionaries), I did miss writing. And so this blog was born. (I'm actually a bit disappointed in myself that my boyfriend's profession defines me so much that I am prepared to name my blog after it, but feminism be damned. Also, diary of an advertising account executive would sound dull in the extreme.)

I'm not really expecting anyone to read it, but I think it will be a good outlet for any stresses I may have (like going out with a fisherman - trust me, the smell of fish is not the worst thing. More on this another time as well) and also might make me feel like I actually haven't forgotten how to string a grammatical sentence together. More, maybe later, if I haven't lost my nerve.