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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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
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,
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,
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
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
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
I’m a bit of an animal. And so are you. It’s just that you and I seem to have lost the ability to tune in to our instincts. Unlike our furry, feathered and scaly friends we have become myopic when it comes to tuning in to hard-wired signalling. I suspect that the information revolution has
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