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.
By the time I was twelve, I had been at boarding school for a year and had become a bit of a comedienne. I was the classroom joker, not the brightest thing to be, but I was fuelled by an inner rebellion, which I seemed unable to subdue. So, I took my anger out on the system.
Memories of scooping up deceased rodents in the past are ingrained in my olfactory memory banks. Still in my pyjamas, I retch my way to the field, the final resting place of the victims of my killer cat(s).
A crackling log fire reminds me of many things. Loved-up evenings on the sofa in front of a crackling fire binge watching box sets and eating a ridiculous amount of chocolate, without realising it. My childhood, growing up in an age before Social Media, playing cards in front of the fire during long winter evenings; my big brother and parents always let me win. As someone who functions much better during the summer months, a burning fire makes the winter bearable, it is the pumping heart of a home.