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The Duchess of Hazard
I am the Fun Police. At least as far as my daughter goes. She wants to take her scooter down a slight incline and I’m there, sucking my teeth on the sidelines, hardly daring to look. She wants to do...
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Him and her
This is Him, and her. Hello. I’m having a glass of Rioja at the end of one of those ‘Oh sweet Satan’s ball-sack, I’m a TERRIBLE mother’ days. Will you join me? I have had the emotional resilience of...
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Brace, brace!
As someone who has a morbid fear of flying , what better programme to tune into last night but ‘The Plane Crash’, a documentary about a Boeing 737 which was deliberately crashed in order for engineers...
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The Seven Year Bitch
Re-enacting scenes from Sorry (photo: http://www.bbc.co.uk) Today I am picking the carrot out of the fact that I should have been married exactly seven years. What would we have been doing? Probably...
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Hymn to Him
Hello keyboard my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. You’re so cool. (Except perhaps in those wellies) And tonight I just want to riff about my husband. Thoughts of Him occupy me so...
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Bottling Paul Hollywood
Paul Hollywood (Photo credit: Fields of View) With the everyday distractions of a busy life – you know, working, childcare, laughing at Paul Hollywood on Bake Off – it is easy to forget that your...
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Season of misseds and mellow fruitfulness
Mark loved Autumn, and here we are in the throes of a spectacular one. Yeah, yeah Mother Nature, rub my snivelling snout in it a bit more why don’t you? As if I don’t miss Him enough. And golden...
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Come and have a go, if you think you’re hard enough.
That’s me, that is. Perhaps it’s my hormones that are making me irascible as a cat, but that’s me there, a squatting sumo just waiting for a fight. I’ll take anyone on, especially if they have an...
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Storms, floodgates and other climatically-motivated emotional cliches
Me, waiting for the shit-storm to hit I’ll admit, I was perched on my settee yesterday, looking at my watch, just waiting for the shit-storm to hit. It was the anniversary of His death, you see, and we...
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Missing Persons
I switched the TV on the other night and there was Fern Britten in a pair of saucy white jeans, admiring the relative straightness of my Grandad’s runner bean. Which is odd, as my Grandad died over ten...
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