I'm not beautiful despite being fat. I am beautiful. Full stop. I choose being beautiful as a radical act of resistance.
Now is not the time to diet!
Remembering an old friend no longer here
I have been thinking of her today, here’s how I remember her. She holds herself upright, a head teacher used to being listened to, though that authority long since diminished by age and circumstance. She is a ‘fat old lady’ now, her words not mine. She doesn’t take ‘fat’ as an insult, more of an…
Resting in the darkness.
I am writing this sat in the early morning dark, my favourite time to write. The room is lit by just the Christmas tree lights and the ghostly glow of the laptop turned down low. Today is the Solstice, the turning of the year when the reign of darkness is at its peak before the…
A life shared
I volunteer to phone old ladies. Not randomly, I don’t just dial any old number and ask ‘Are you an old lady? Right, off we go?’ I phone, once a week for an hour, and chat to those in our communities who are isolated at home. It’s a bit weird at first. I’m a bit…
Hunting for Treasure
Remembering the summer. My grandson came to stay. Him, the new baby, my son, and daughter-in-law. They live six hours away. It’s been two and half years since they visited last. Different countries, different lockdown rules. All just trying to do our best. I hold onto my son as he walks through the door like…
Quilting A B C
A is for not following the instructions. B is for basting and other boring activities. Or maybe that should be D for discipline? A quilt is made of three layers: the top is the pretty bit, the middle is the filling or wadding – normally wool or polyester, the backing is more, slightly less pretty…
Tomatoes in Lockdown.
It was me. I stole all the tomatoes. Well, I didn’t steal them but while you were all panic buying loo roll and chocolate digestives I, in a covid-induced stupor, ordered tomato seeds. Do you garden? Were you one of the new recruits keen to make use of time on your hands, becoming self-sufficient on…
Walking my daughter home.
My daughter calls. Not for a chat. Well, no. We chat. But it’s not like chatting when ‘Strictly’ is on and we like Aj’s dress or how utterly fabulous team JoJo are. It's not just hanging out on the phone, catching up. This call has an altogether different purpose. It always starts the same. “Hi…
The raising of ducklings
Photo by Armando Are on Pexels.com We have this myth that our kids are grownups at 18. This is a myth mostly perpetuated by 18-year-old who think they know everything, and possibly by the parents of young children who are desperately clinging to the idea of a little light at the end of a very…
Powerless in the face of a greeting.
I have offended the local drug dealers. Not in a ‘my house is going to get torched and I’m in hiding, fearing for my life ’kind of way. Or at least I hope not. More that they don’t say ‘good morning’ to me anymore. Before, they would all greet me when they saw me out…
Going home
The river is resplendent in the colours of the season. Oak leaves turn biscuit brown, the Gelder Rose a dark lipstick pink, deepens to vermillion. Field Maples litter leaves the colour of sunshine, while Lime, leaves limp like hankies, drip to the floor. The Willow, luxuriating in a great unrobing, scatters its leaves across the…
What time is it really?
Photo by Dimitry Anikin on Pexels.com ‘What time is it really?’ The dog and I stalk around the house trying to work it out, the shifting of the clocks having discombobulated us both. With our precise internal clocks, we are tipped off-kilter for the whole of November, trying to perform mental acrobatics to work out…
Standing at the shops
It is hard to tell you that I have six children. Not hard for me, I am used to it. But it’s hard for you. I could lie to you. Not lie, so much as not tell the truth, there is a difference. I could tell you I have four children and we will laugh…
Becoming my own star.
I felt bad. Trouble was I should’ve felt much worse. Which was why I felt bad. Everyone told me I was going to find the last of my duckling’s leaving home hard. And I mean, it was a bit. I’m not a monster, I shed tears. But mostly, I was just thrilled. Which is bad.…
What’s in a name?
I quilt. Bear with me, there is a point to this. I make beautiful quilts. They are quirky, unusual, stunning - ask me nicely and I’ll show you my Harry Potter bookcase quilts. I have no difficulty in calling myself a quilter, even when meeting fabulously famous quilters, whose skill I could only ever dream…
Bordering Grey 