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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Category Archives: Me, myself, I
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
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
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
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