We had a pretty uneventful Christmas. Just the same as every other person who comes back into the office a few days after New Year, I'm sure we both fell into the same patter of "Yeah, quiet one for us, stayed at home". I vaguely envy the people who post pictures of their family Christmas... Continue Reading →
Vogue surrealism
I have been quite a fan of Vogue since I was a teenager, and now that I actually have a house and everything, I also have a Vogue subscription. In 1995, when I was 17 and quite definitely a dancing queen, there were photo spreads of beautiful models, wearing obviously expensive clothes in expensive materials.... Continue Reading →
Our weekend
We are sitting on the 6.53 train, slightly later than planned, on a Monday morning. It is forecast to rain all week. The world is hurtling towards mutual destruction. We don't spend enough time with the kids. We never have enough time to feel on top of our chores. My job is too hard. Boo... Continue Reading →
Master builder of dreams
Today was not really the day I wanted to see almost three hours of Ibsen. The children had been a bit fussy all day; nothing unusual, just crying at inopportune moments, the older one getting upset about me going out, the little one wanting more of my milk in the middle of M&S, and then... Continue Reading →
Envy politics
London tube strikes are always amusing. The streets swarm with a variety of tourists holding the hilarious belief they will be able to hail a taxi, commuters who have decided they're on safari and wander round with big backpacks and integrated hydration systems, and of course the hobby cyclists who try to get themselves killed... Continue Reading →
A view from the bridge
I don't get to go the theatre very often any more. I sometimes miss it, but given it means I don't see my baby for a whole day, there is even more pressure for it to be worth it than that engendered by the cost of the tickets. So a play really needs to have... Continue Reading →
Why I hate gardening
Everyone in England wants a garden to call their own. It's one of the main reasons they move out of London, if they were not fortunate enough to have bought a house in Hampstead in the 1960s. Ironically, no one particularly wants a house in Hampstead Garden Suburb, as it seems to have very little... Continue Reading →
How does one write something nice?
My husband wants me to write a "nice" short story. I suppose I can see why he wants this. He's so far volunteered to read the short stories I have produced; the first one was about a prostitute who dies while showing off her jewellery to her children, in an accident involving a pet goat.... Continue Reading →
Australia – Shangri-la for Europeans
I've become quite addicted to yet another daytime TV staple, a reality programme called "Wanted Down Under". It's a rather irritatingly structured show about people who want to emigrate to Australia. They're given an introduction to employment opportunities, house prices, and whatever lifestyle opportunity they think their move will open up to them. They are... Continue Reading →
Knowledge in England
In common with many arts graduates, I delight in accumulating mostly useless knowledge. Since I'm not the brightest person I know, I tend to assume that this is knowledge also accumulated by everyone else. Interacting with a variety of different people suggests that this is not the case, and so I end up feeling bad... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 