Tom Ballard's surely soon to be confirmed death on Nanga Parbat makes me so sad. When his mother, Alison Hargreaves, died on K2 in 1995 I was on holiday in Cornwall, and still remember opening The Independent (when it was still a great paper) and reading a two-page spread about her quite amazing achievements. They... Continue Reading →
The exquisite torture of skiing with children
I have a twin sister who currently has a lot more time for crazy adventures than I do. As she's a translator, she can work from anywhere, and spends several months of the year skiing. So she decided to take our five year old on a ski holiday to Grindelwald. I had thought she was... Continue Reading →
Failing up
I have been resting from my writing more than usual. This is mainly because of the usual loss of faith in any of my abilities, whether creative, professional or maternal. I never embarked on the more creative endeavour of journalism that I wanted when I was 24, because it was quite likely even when newspapers... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 