I DON’T normally write ‘how to’ posts for parents. One, because I am no expert. And two, well because even the experts don’t always have the answers. Us mums, us dads, we all know that there is no rule book for parenting. No essential guide book that will make this parenting malarkey a breeze. It’s tricky. It’s testing. It’s pretty much all trial and error. But goodness me, if there
AH travel. There’s something about staying in a different place, having a change of scene, that’s just so good for the soul. Certainly if I had my way, I would travel every single week to a different destination if I could. But when you think about travel, how much do you think about staying in the UK? Because although whilst it’s true, we may not have the best weather in
IN my life I am surrounded by beautiful, damn right fabulous women. The kind of women that make me proud to know them. The kind of women who make juggling modern life demands seem easy. The kind of women whom I know, you would all love. One of my good friends is one of these super women. Beautiful, clever, talented, funny and kind. She has a creative and demanding job.
ON Saturday night I gave a new beauty of a dress it’s first outing. For a night on the town with some of my dearest friends (here I am with Christina and Laura) to celebrate the lovely Laura’s birthday with some early birthday drinks. (Happy Birthday darling!) Feeling a bit grotty from a couple weeks of catching one bug after another, I felt instantly better when I popped on my
“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”
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“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”
WE’VE been in our house for three years now. And our lovely 1920s house, still needs a lot of work. When we moved in, with Elsie at just six weeks old (yep, totally mad!), it was like an 80s woodchip city. And although we’ve done lots of work on the house already – knocked down walls, put in a new kitchen etc etc – the one room in the house that
OVER the past few weeks, I’ve come across some general unpleasantness towards blogs. And more to the point, the people who write them. (Including me) Which has made me feel, well, a little bit sad. I’ve read that blogs are pointless, boring and dull. I’ve heard people say they’re not interested in any blogs, because they’re only written by narcissists (yes, really). And I’ve even come across one blogger who
SOMETIMES being a mum feels like the easiest job in the world. Other days, it’s the hardest, most challenging, frustrating, damn right difficult job I’ve ever had. Or ever will. We’ve all been there haven’t we? No mum is immune from those god awful parenting days. The ones that force you to your knees in the kind of way only motherhood can. Not even the best mums. (Whoever they are) Not
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