Bore da Chickens, I know you weren’t expecting to hear from me today after all the drama about my flaps (really, that joke never gets old). I could get badges made, ‘Ask me about my Flaps!’ You know how I might have mentioned I’d written a book? You know the one with the fabulous…
Today is M.E Awareness Day I’ve forgotten that I am sick. Well, I say I’ve forgotten, but that’s not entirely true. I know it’s there. I can feel it in the shaking of my limbs, in the burning of my bones, the stumbling on the stairs. So no, it’s not that I’ve forgotten. It’s more…
I am a sick and disabled woman and I am dependent on disability benefits. I will not justify why I receive PIP. I will not explain to you the expenditure that I incur as a direct result of my chronic ill health. I will not list the things I have to spend more money on…
So, Rishi Sunak wants sick and disabled people back to work with the age-old diatribe of how benefits have become a ‘lifestyle choice’ for some people. If the Conservatives win the next election they plan to strip benefits from some sick and disabled people if they have failed to get work after a year. I’ll…
The dog is doing my head in. I should change the title of the whole blog to ‘The Dog is doing my head in,’ think of the precious seconds I could save typing it out each week. We’re at the thieving little shite stage, with an extra helping of, ‘Why yes I would love to…
As autumn ended I lost reading. My energies, turning like the seasons, faded. I needed a little more rest, took a little longer to do things, but this is normal for me and is often a time to disappear into books, a cup of tea and a few biscuits to keep me going. This year…
Oh, my days, I am so excited! It’s begun! It started yesterday! Oh, I can’t tell you how excited I am! (I know that’s a lot of exclamation marks, but this is exciting!!!!!!!!!) I look forward to this every year. Planning as the summer ends, by now I have reached a fever pitch of giddiness.…
Imposter syndrome is alive and kicking. Sat there in the crook of my arm, right next to the dog. It sneers as I sit here on the sofa, trying to type. ‘A real writer would have a desk,’ it whispers, ‘or a shed, or a table. A real writer would have a room of one’s…
Bordering Grey 