I got a call (well, a tweet) from an ex-colleague on Monday, offering me the chance of a few days work at a large ad agency in London. As I’m not that busy with my own business, I thought ‘Why not?’ I’d give it a go. Just a few days writing. A few days freelance. …
Now I’ve moved house, I’m trying to get back on track with my health and fitness. (Mmmm, just seeing the word ‘track’ makes me think of a delicious nutty treat…) I don’t need it. I think I am obsessed with food. Having a wobble So my week pans (…mmm crispy fried bacon) out like …
My blog has been sadly neglected. Poor little bloggy. Moved house. Moving on. Saying goodbye to some things. It was quite cleansing to unburden myself. Going through piles of papers. Throwing out crumpled cartoons, wrinkled pages of writing, years and years worth of diaries. It’s like taking a weight off the mind or soul. I mean, if you haven’t looked at …
So when it looks like not much is happening. A lot is going on under the surface. It’s just harder to show. There’s always something interesting, bubbling away inside our heads. It’s getting it out. That’s the thing.
Been a bit quiet lately. Lots going on in my interior world.
This is the kind of week I’m having. Good day to you.
Why do we become who we become? I puzzle over this a lot. Fixated that I could’ve been better, done better, achieved more, ‘if only’, ‘if only’, ‘if only…’ Who were you supposed to be? Apparently, who we become isn’t just a matter of nature or nurture. For instance, murderers and psychopaths are both born …
I saw the birds perched in a tree at the end of the road. Black bird shapes on black branches, settled in silhouette against the cold white winter sky. I count 10. I think there are 10. What is in their minds? I know birds cannot be said to have consciousness of self in the …
Did you read this story? See Homeless ex-pianist dies So many questions I’d like to ask Anne. Why would an obviously gifted woman choose a life on the edge? Living in a car (or on a railway embankment) must have been tough and uncomfortable. What words could’ve persuaded her to come back to ‘normal’ life? What is ‘normal’ life, anyway? Why …
I was about 11-12 years old, on summer holiday in the Norfolk Broads with my mum, dad, 2 sisters and a cousin. I was one of the youngest children. It was early afternoon on a clear and sunny late summer’s day. We’d moored our hired long boat in a very quiet area next to fields and …
the crone 