Four years ago I wrote a blog called The Wife of Bath in which I explained why I get in the bath with my small kids. BUB.3 was still a twinkle, the first two were 1 and 3. Today they are 3, 5 and 7. Looking through my list of 8 reasons that I used to swill about in… Read more →
It was hard to grieve for George Michael today, with the sound of giant whoopee cushions going off left right and centre to a backdrop of Listen Without Prejudice. The joy of my children at Christmas took the edge of the death of my own childhood, which I guess is the main purpose of having them.
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Climbing the bunk bed ladder feels like such a climb after a long day, when you know you only have an hour or two of wakefulness left (at best). Sometimes you’ve just got to make that final climb and sometimes you just can’t. Read more →
“Did you smell her bag?” he asked me, pointing his finger at the seat where the old lady had sat five minutes before. I hadn’t got a waft but I sensed from his wrinkled nose that it hadn’t smelt of lavender and cold cream. Read more →
“Did you see it?” “I saw it.” “The way he blew his fringe off his face at the end?” 1985. 1984. Who knows? But A-ha were on Wogan’s early evening chat show, and as he finished singing his multi-octave song he stepped back and blew his sweaty fringe from his face. My hand hit dial. Or hers. I can’t remember. Had… Read more →
I think you need to rewind right back, right back to when you were just you. And choose things that were good for you in other ways, that have nothing to do with what is good for you now. Read more →
It was a highlight of all of my trips to New York, because while I wanted to climb tall buildings, he didn’t. I had to force him up the World Trade Centre, and after practically begging for him to go up, it’s lucky we did because four weeks later it was decimated. Read more →