“I’m gonna do what’s best for me…”

If you caught my socials earlier this week, you’ll already have a glimpse into the glorious mischief I got up to on Joby Carter’s Signwriting course.

But let me tell you – that reel barely scratches the surface. I rolled into Somerset (late, obviously), armed with a pencil case, a head full of curiosity, and absolutely no idea just how filthy things were about to get. Within moments of arriving, I’d unintentionally exposed the inner workings of my brain – which, as it turns out, operates like a teenage boy who’s been let loose in a paint shop. (If you’ve met me, this will surprise no one.)

Over five chaotic, creative and completely wonderful days, I made new friends, harassed adorable doggos, indulged in what we dubbed “therapy picnic lunches”, and discovered just how difficult it is to make letters look sexy.

We sketched.

We scaled up.

We rubbed out.

We did all of the above many many times over.

We pounced.

We painted.

We swore. A lot.

Honestly, I’ve never felt so instantly at home with a group of complete coconuts. Everyone brought their own brand of magic – whether it was obscure references, questionable jokes, brilliant ideas, or just the kind of energy that makes you feel like you’ve known each other for years, not hours.

A massive thank you to Joby for five days of head-hurty, hilariously informative tuition. You somehow managed to teach us an incredible amount while still leaving space for laughter, mistakes, relentless Dad Jokes, and the kind of conversations that would make your Nan blush. Also, thank you for embracing – and dare I say encouraging – my particularly inappropriate side. It was... freeing.

Now, my first attempt at a proper sign might look like a badly packed kebab, a punched jam doughnut, or a butcher’s bin (shoutout to the lads for that poetic feedback), but my C-U-N-T has never had so much attention – or raised so many smiles. And for that alone, I am ridiculously proud.