It was a tough few months, the CFS crash between April and August of this year, the days stuck at home plastered to the sofa. But I survived – just – and I was ready to enjoy my reward: normal life. I got over excited about being reunited with my trainers and enthusiastically jumped around the lounge, happy to hear Jillian Michaels shout at me; I started filling my diary with lunches, meals out, trips to the theatre, and weekends away; I reunited with my writing plans, determinedly working out my route from Blogger to Grazia. Continue reading
If I had to rank my husband’s present giving, he would be top of the Husband class: he is thoughtful and creative in his choices, and does not rely on saying it with flowers. (And he wisely knows to stay away from anything domestic – ‘it’ can never be said with a toaster.)
My first present was from Japan (a trip he took about a month after we met), it was a beautiful, and stylish, handmade jewellery box – and so the present scene was rather boldly set. When we were away for a month in Seville, and my birthday fell whilst we were there, he had a ring made for me at our favourite jewellers in Nottingham, and had it couriered over. Another time, in the middle of a normal dull week, I came home to an invite, hidden in the laptop, asking me if I wanted to go to Morocco that weekend. (Yes, I am a spoilt wife, but let’s not forget that I am also a worthy one.) Continue reading
As a child if you wanted something to read (or you were being
forced encouraged to read by your over zealous parents who wanted to make sure you were on the track to greatness, at seven) you were probably taken to the library; I was taken to the garage.
My dad worked in publishing for all of his working life, and as a result, we were always surrounded by books: shelves were stacked high around the house and the garage was always full of boxes of books. My brother and I were always encouraged – although not forced! – to read, and from an Continue reading
Despite my fear that one day soon, alarms will sound off as I enter Topshop, and a voice over a loud Tannoy will shout, ‘you are too old to shop here, please leave the store immediately,’ it is still on my shopping hit list. And I was in one of their changing rooms the other day, and I have to say, it was a fairly pleasant experience. I say fairly, because I’m not sure any of us take great pleasure from a close-up, full-length view of ourselves (especially when you take your jeans off and have that sexy sock and underwear look going on). But the lighting wasn’t too harsh and everything looked, well, okay.
Fast forward ten minutes, to the Marks and Spencer’s changing room, and there was nothing pleasant about the experience. The lighting was so bright Continue reading