Time In A Bottle

1982. I’ve left school, and done a secretarial course. My place at Oxford is in the bag.  A family friend has wrangled a job for me in Munich and I am feeling pretty grown up even if I am living in my Omi’s flat.

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I Must be Mad

At the end of the session, I was mindful of the fact that my therapist had on a previous occasion commented that I would often still be speaking as I rose from my seat after she said ‘we have to stop now.’  

All Change at Acton Town

So we joined the already full platform and waited for the next one. It arrived jam packed but a few of us crammed in, to the dismay of those already having a bad journey. I’d prefer to wait, but… work.

But I *Should* Have More Money Than You

One of the reasons I didn’t like the school one of my kids went to was I thought it exuded an air of privilege.  I don’t like braying young men, earning a living for the first time and gathering in pubs on a Friday, for the same reason.  I have been critical of friends over the years who have (in my view) been chippy or ostantatious.  Etc.  So it pains me to recognise my own thwarted sense of privilege.  My inner monologue, as well as the usual ‘I’m crap’ messages, now that I am listening closely, also has an unpleasant and mortifying line in entitlement.  Shit.

Lately Old Men Talk to Me

I was on the tube, irritated by a small group standing too close and talking too loud in Cantonese. I suppose my feelings showed in my face, because when I looked up from my newspaper, possibly still scowling, I met the gaze of a twinkly white haired man who was observing me with evident glee.  

In a Vase on Monday

I’ve been enjoying In a Vase on Monday for a while now.  Only planted my garden a year ago, and it’s mostly foliage, rather than flowers, so my first dipping of a toe in the water is a little sheepish, and if I hadn’t been feeling inadequate beforehand, the arrival of this post from A Coastal Plot with its gorgeous photos of eyewateringly beautiful tulips, beautifully shot and labelled, would have done it!  I’m trying to overcome my shame at the discrepancy, and jolly well post anyway.

If Facials and Masks Give Us Spots Why Do We Do Them?

A few days later and I still have this disfiguring, distracting, throbbing lump.