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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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
Wonga, dosh, moolah and wedge. Money has been much on my mind this month and not just because Christmas is starting to exert its ruinous grip. In fact, the economic devastation begins early chez nous thanks to the Word Up Wean’s insistence on having his birthday in November. Inconsiderate wee blighter. However, there’s nothing like the annual
There’s not a single ounce of hippy in this auld rude girl’s DNA, but recently a Zen-like state of calm has descended over a psyche which has been rather prone to turbulent tendencies. This emotional equilibrium joins a diverse psychological CV, and although composure is certainly not always present, there’s been a noticeable shift away from stormy waters.
It gladdened this old heart to watch a quietly spoken but authoritative woman deliver some solid blows against some decidedly anti-democratic behaviour this week. That Lady Hale was sporting a rather splendid spider brooch only added sartorial shine to her forcefield. All hail Spiderwoman. As a woman of a certain age myself, it was bloody marvellous to see
Two weeks on the Dalmatian coast did wonders for this old wordsmith’s suntan, but a long overdue holiday unexpectedly left me with a yawning gap in my life. This spiritual hole is not so much existential crisis, simply a severe case of ennui. That feels a bit wrong. Holidays are supposed to invigorate and energise, aren’t they? I’m
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