My parents always celebrated Bonfire Night with much enthusiasm, and I've been terrified of fireworks all my life. So I can't think they repeatedly kept the tradition going for my benefit, but I seem to remember enjoying the Parkin though. I think we might have celebrated Halloween a boarding school but there are no memories of carving pumpkins ingrained in my mind. The dormitories were housed in a building first erected in the 16th Century. As with most creepy old houses, well-crafted stories of ghouls and ghosties roaming around the corridors at night probably put us off celebrating Halloween, as it might have felt a bit too close to home.
I am grateful to Word Press for introducing me to Grammarly. I have been resisting the temptation to buy it and download it onto my Mac, having successfully convinced myself that I would buy it as some sort of reward after I a) Got shortlisted for a competition or b) Found myself an agent
I’ve been stockpiling again, but not in anticipation of a no-deal Brexit, which may, or may not, happen in 10 days' time. At 7.30p.m last night, a lorry load of our annual supply of perfectly dry logs was offloaded outside our garage. We have been benefitting from this arrangement for about five years and have always taken a cavalier approach to the storing and stacking of the logs, which we always do as soon as the load arrives and involves a considerable amount of physical exertion.
And when you reach that woman of a certain age status, you're body is hijacked by menopausal madness. Suddenly you're itchy, bitchy, sweaty, sleepy, bloated and psycho as your oestrogen levels plummet.
I’m part way through Ruby Wax’s book How To Be Human and many things have already resonated with me, apart from enjoying the fluid, funny and fulfilling way she writes when tackling sensitive subjects. Chapter 3, Emotions has really drawn me in. I have always been fascinated by our emotions and how they work. Through... Continue Reading →
Whilst on safari, I lost weight fairly quickly and it wasn't just to do with the heat. After enjoying a sundowner watching impala gambol happily in the bush, we would return to camp to find them on the dinner menu, which was just too hard to swallow. The only time I have ever been offered a gin and tonic for breakfast at 5.00a.m. was on safari and it was the only time I have ever refused one, sensibly realising I was getting enough quinine in my anti-malarial tablets.
It was hot and steamy on the makeshift dance floor as I swilled what I thought was a lot of bitter lemon with a little gin, but the bitter lemon disguised a lethal cocktail of various spirits. With my sound system set to max volume, Tina Turner’s Nutbush City Limits began to sound hollow and distant as my surroundings blurred and my speech slurred. I managed to make it upstairs to the bathroom where, kneeling in front of the lavatory, I projectile vomited the fermenting brew inside my stomach.
What was going on in my teenage brain is unfathomable to me now. I was driven by the overwhelming desire to be expelled so I could spend more time with my dog and my horse.The only teacher that had any control over me was my English teacher, but only from the day, he asked us to write a poem. I wrote hundreds, then moved on to short stories which he helped me get published and I became more focused and a little less defiant.