I'm Lottie Batty. That's the face in the little picture. Dark curls, gold hoops, and a habit of turning up with wet hair and calling it a look.

I surf when the car starts and the wetsuit has had a day to stop being a crime. I stand up. I fall off. I stand up again. The best bit is the drive home, heater on, and a pebble I didn't know was in my hood.

Climbing is Tuesday, at a wall that smells of rubber. I talk to the holds. The holds do not answer. I come down with chalk on my face and a story about a move I nearly did.

I ride a horse who has already decided the route. I sit up, I say thank you, and I get off with hay in my hair. People think this makes me outdoorsy. I am outdoorsy for about ninety minutes. Then I want a cup of tea and a chair.

Dancing is the mates. Same four of us, same playlist, a pub that is always too warm. Nobody is allowed to film the chorus. I am not a good dancer. I am a loud one. They keep me anyway.

The rest of the week I test things and write down what I actually kept. This started in a badly lit kitchen in 2018. If I stopped using it, it left the page. Some links pay a small commission. The price stays the same.