Ok. Today was a bad day. It went like this. Lula woke at 6.30. We had our first screaming episode of the morning over suncream. I’ve managed to win the insect repellent battle by convincing her that the bugspray is perfume. She submits to lashings of the citronella now because she thinks Egg, her amour, …
I’m on a train right now. The light is dying outside – and the clouds are glowing rosy pink over the limestone hills. Enough with the pretty. Inside the train it’s prison strip lighting, tacky floors and toilets that make me yearn for a penis (as in, that I had one for peeing with, I …
There are days when I wake up and open my bag and collapse sobbing over its contents. Yesterday I caught the end of Clueless and it made me cry. I love that movie – Alicia Silverstone in awful knee high socks, Poor Brittany Murphy, the guy who marries Phoebe, the revolving wardrobe. That’s what made …
‘There are 28 people in my pool.’ ‘It’s not our pool.’ Hmmmm. Details. ‘There are 28 people in my pool. Don’t they know it is MY pool?’ I cut myself off because I realise I am starting to sound like Lola from Charlie and Lola and I am almost thirty years older than Lola. I …
Somewhere over the Bay of Bengal, whilst John and I were busy decanting our cabernet sauvignon into plastic glasses and grinning manically at each other (it was the first red wine we’d had in two months. The fact it was 10am seemed inconsequential – as I argued to John – somewhere else in the world …
‘You’re running out of things to say,’ John remarks. ‘Yeah,’ I agree. It’s a first for me. For a moment we are stunned into silence. I think it is because life has simplified itself down to just necessities. I think in single syllables now. Beach. Book. Beer. Mango. Oh wait. That last one is two …
The strip light was about three inches from my eyeball. The mosquitoes were biting the soles of my feet – the bastards. The metal ropes holding the bunk were rusting. An elderly Indian gentlemen was dying of emphesema in the bed below. And I was sharing that 12 inch wide, grimy bunk with a small …
‘Welllllllllll.’ She draws out the wells. ‘What I really miss is Number Jacks. Especially the pink three. Yeah,’ she sighs, ‘Number Jacks is what I really miss mummy and Mister Maker. You know? Mister Maker. I miss them.’ She sighs again. I sigh too. Not for Mister Maker, though I do quite like Mister Maker …
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