It’s not easy being a blogger. Something mildly colourful happens and you’re all OMG I HAVE TO BLOG THIS. You whip out your camera (phone) and you hope that one picture later, you’ll have the perfect picture to pimp and prime in one or other of your many photo-editing apps, so it’s 97% better looking than it was, then you can whack it on the blog along with a string of words and call yourself retired for another week. Continue reading
In the never ending saga of my big bad bastard back, it’s Magnetic Resonance Imaging week, a clever contraption used to have a peek inside my anatomy and see what’s what. I’ve been looking forward to it for yonks. The poor old NHS had to defer my appointment after the MRI machine caught fire a while back. I know, not exactly a relaxing image for when you’re stuck inside the tube trying not to be claustrophobic. Continue reading
In recent years my mum and I have created what can now confidently be described as a family tradition. Annually, we pick a one day course in something crafty, cookery or clever in nature in order to improve ourselves in one way or another.
We have tried book binding, Thai cooking, silver jewellery making, knife skills, fish gutting, carpentry and how to have better conversations (yes, an actual course in talking, which I blogged about here) Continue reading
I win I win I win. That’s right, after seven long years with Princess Beardface, I am finally bequeathed the title of person who has had the longest relationship with the man who is now my husband. Continue reading
We did also have a lovely holiday, before all the shenanigans with Thai hospitals and psychedelic drugs handed out by British Airways. And while I very much doubt I’m done milking the dramas of my pratfall and the associated decline in my physical wellbeing, I thought this week I would lighten the load and hark back to happier days pre-accident. Continue reading
Some people have a signature dish. Crumble. Fish pie. Maybe they make a mean toad-in-the-hole. Others are famed for their obsession with football or, for my international readers, perhaps that thing they do in America where they run around a football field not calling it football, dressed in a cage, wearing black eye make up.
Me? I’m getting pretty brilliant at herniating discs in my back. I’m 33 years old and I’ve just done it for the third time. It’s not big and it’s not clever. It’s chronically painful and anyone who has never had a bad back can just bugger off right now because they have no idea how much pain I
am in would be in if I wasn’t dosed up on so many fantastic drugs that I rattle. Continue reading