Blog Archives

Mouldy old dough

Flat as a pancake. My mood, that is. But given that we’re all in the same pandemic-riddled situation, swamped by a dank, oppressive January gloom, I thought I might offer up a bit of levity. Or should that be levain? Veteran and budding bakers will be familiar with that word, indeed it may fill some

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Apocalypse now, or just dress rehearsal?

The depths of winter and the short days don’t help lift the midwinter gloom, but at least recent bright skies and glittering frost have offered some cheer. Sadly, sparkling patterns and dainty ice-drapery are not enough to silence the doomsday chorus which is currently building up to a crescendo. I wouldn’t normally describe myself as

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Stuff and nonsense: imagining an alternative economy

Look, I’m all about words, not numbers. But a deadly blend of pandemic fiscal fallout and Rishi Sunak statements have been sending my thoughts into unchartered economic waters recently. It feels important to set my stall out here. Despite the fact that I am a small business owner, what I know about economics could be

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Finding the right rhythm for blues

You know you’re not quite yourself when music isn’t offering much solace. That’s some serious shizzle if, like me, your lifelong love affair with melody is currently dialled down to a low peep. A recent trawl through some all-time favourite choons (and god knows, there’s a lot of them) couldn’t locate a single soothing rhythm

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Sleepwalking in small business

Blurry, foggy and fuzzy. Everything feels so indistinct these days. It’s difficult to grasp anything tangible, let alone find a break in the clouds to gaze at distant horizons. Never mind taking the long view, when it comes to commerce I can barely see into next week. No, I’ve not ground to a halt or

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Mosh pit melancholia

Sticky, sprung floors; hundreds of sweaty bodies swaying, skanking or simply wigging out; one-two-three-four; the crowd singing along as one voice; and getting mangled in the mosh pit. Live music, it’s the very stuff of this veteran’s gig-goer’s dreams. Tragically, gig-going does feel like a distant dream in these virulent times. A euphoric, soul-cleansing, heart-lifting,

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A two tone life

Some of my best friends were people of colour. Now before you start raising your liberal eyebrows, this is not intended as an exercise in anti-racist virtue signalling, these words come from a middle-aged, middle class white woman who speaks as one who’s led a two tone life, right from the off. Colour, creed or race were never,

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Real people and rose gardens

It’s seismic stuff, innit. The last 66 days of Covid lockdown have meant massive change for absolutely everyone and everything. No part of our daily lives has been unaffected. The ripples have reached families and individuals, businesses and services, routines and recreation, even institutions have felt the fallout – just look at Westminster… One of the places where

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The Covid cling on

Throw me a lifebuoy FFS, I’m drowning. Well okay, then not drowning, but definitely doing a lot of treading water to keep the auld napper above the waves. Some days my personal pandemic psychology is rock solid, buoyant even. However this week, spirits have taken a bit of a dip, partly because the sun has returned

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The birdsong blues

It all began with a blackbird singing in the dead of night. Last night, to be exact. Not content with living through the disruption caused by the biggest global crisis known in my lifetime, my menopausal combustion engine is firing on all cylinders, causing restless, energy-sapping, sweat-drenched sleep. And so it was at 3.05am in the deep, dark night

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