Writing is one hell of a job. I can totally understand those people who give up life altogether and instead find themselves eyeball-deep in the pressure of waking up every day with the belief that they can commit words of value onto a screen/notebook or whatever. Advertisements
You are my CV. Today I write for a living because you told me I can. You asked me to write for you and wouldn’t take no for an answer. You published me and showed me kindness. You edited me, but were immovable. You believed in me and pushed me fiercely. You scrutinised my words… Read More Dear Martin,
Radio 4 is my morning jam. For years, daughter and I have enjoyed the dulcet tones of John Humphries over cous cous/waffles/crumpets (her. She has the fickle tastes of her mother) and poncey herbal tea (yours truly). Mornings with Auntie are the place where my inquisitive ten year old has made all manner of discoveries… Read More Why ‘The Penis Beaker’ will be the death of us.
I am addicted to black. I should go to Black Wardrobes Anonymous. I am the woman who buys black dye thrice yearly to ensure all my blacks are equally black and avoid the hell of ‘clashy black’, which looks crap at the best of times, but especially so in Summer. Only science understands the suffering we… Read More “I don’t always wear black, sometimes I wear nothing.”
I’ve always found it hard to make friends. In most of my memories from ten and under, I’m alone. Don’t misunderstand me – I had friends, but only a few and I found the rituals of girlhood mostly very confusing and never quite got them right. Of course I know why this is now, as… Read More “No one told me life was gonna be this way…”