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Under my skin

Under my skin

With the impending house move, it has dawned on me that neither of the BUBs are going anywhere for weeks. For now it’s just five days a week, me and them, a house to pack up, swear words to be swallowed, fists to be bitten, tears to be dried and activities to find. But weirdly, I feel a little bit relieved. Continue reading »

Moving on. Again.

This move is different from the many, many that have gone before. There is no serious pest infestation at my current address or noisy-aggressive-neighbours-who-are-friends-with-Mike-Tyson or a landlord selling the roof from above my head. No one is putting super glue in my lock. Continue reading »

SAHM. WTF?

With their litany of engorged bosoms, sexless rows and vomit-splattered shoulders, I envisaged it would be like root canal and a career in mining combined. But worse. But oddly, it isn’t. Continue reading »