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I was in the shower (shake that image from your mind, especially if you’re eating) when it occurred to me that, in less than two weeks, I’ll be a proper writer. A proper writer?
You know me, I like to help where I can, so I’ve made a list of tips and tricks for living with almost-adults:
I’ve recognised a trait in myself that I don’t like: judgement is my brain's default mode.
Looking back, I grew up in a time when people unabashedly judged others and it’s a hard habit to break.
But it’s ugly and I want it to stop.
When I was young, in Thatcher’s Britain, the unemployed were told to ‘get on their bikes’ and it was illegal to talk positively about homosexuality in a classroom. Illegal.
I thought my Covid temperature had come back again last night. My head pounded and my skin burned. At its worst, my temperature wasn’t like in films, where the patient lies in bed with a cold cloth on their forehead and sweat soaks through a flannelette nightie. It was more of a burning sensation, mainly... Continue Reading →
This week I had a rejection that stung even more than the time a bee flew into my mouth when I was on the back of my friend’s bike in 1982. This rejection hurt so keenly because a) I was convinced this book and this editor were a good fit b) Rejection is agonising - always c) It was the most positive, flattering and encouraging rejection I’ve ever had.
I’ve turned into a moaner. I know this because I saw the look which passed between my daughters when I said, ‘They’re not happy unless they’re complaining,’ to my mother, about people we both know.
Lockdown is easing. Yay! I wanted this. So why do I feel anxious all the time? It’s not because I’m scared of getting the virus. Been there, done that, got the tinnitus. I’ve also had the first dose of vaccine, so, in terms of contracting covid-19, I’m in a pretty good position (Sorry if that sounds smug. If it helps, I had it quite badly for a month. Do not recommend)
When I reached into the cupboard for my coffee mug this morning, the contents of the shelf told me how much I’ve changed. The cups didn’t talk (I don’t live in a Disney animation), but they did make me think about how different I now am from thirty-year-old me:
It looks like this hellish year of lockdowns is finally coming to an end (crosses fingers, toes and eyes) and as we take our first tentative steps back into a world larger than our four walls, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate some of the things within our homes that have made the last year bearable.
I was put up for adoption soon after my natural mother gave birth to me when she was seventeen. My adoption was successful and I’m incredibly lucky to have enjoyed a good life. I am happy. I truly believe she did the right thing for me, and hope it was right for her too.... Continue Reading →