From a very young age we are taught to write, and to read those written letters and eventually form words from them. There is a magic in those letters that often passes us by in the every day-ness of using them.
My personal experiences with writing have generally been positive. I largely enjoy writing, I certainly enjoy reading, I am still complimented on my handwriting in greetings cards and I did well in my English GCSEs (we’ll skim over the details of my A Level results for now). However, when it came to writing diaries or journals, something that I have been endlessly encouraged to do as an adult, I have a block. It has taken me a series of painful attempts and half hearted gestures to realise that I don’t have to write down everything, some things are simply more magical when they don’t become a shared experience. However, some experiences can also be processed, filed and forgiven once out in the open word.
This site will be a work in progress – as I am also. I certainly am no expert in the world of website design so expect an ever evolving, slightly chaotic and non linear experience. Click on a title below or the blog button at the top to enter into my funny little written world. You couldn’t write it? I’m going to give it a good try…
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The Blame Game
Growing up we were consistently told that problems, health or otherwise, were generally somebody else’s fault. As an example, if we ever had an upset stomach – it was my grandfathers fault because he used to suffer from gastrointestinal upsets. The reason my mother drank? That was the ‘fault’ of both of her parents, who…
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Super Nanny
On paper our childhood was idyllic, privileged and plentiful. We were born in Royal Leamington Spa hospital and my parents moved to a beautiful Georgian house in the Cotswolds when we were young. Prior to that we were in an equally beautiful house in the Warwickshire countryside, of which I have limited memories as I…
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What’s in a Name?
What’s in a name? In my case it was years of disliking mine – until I didn’t. My name was different back in the day – not so much now. You can even find it on a tacky keyring these days. I didn’t like having a ‘different’ name. My siblings all had much more traditional…
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Littlest One
I am the youngest of four and my father affectionately called me ‘Littlest One’ even into my late 40s – he died when I was 49 and he was 89. Not only was it age relevant but also factual as I dipped out on the tall genes that my 6ft 4 twin brothers bagged, and…
Littlest One 