8 Jul 2020

Dear Louise, again...

No description available.

Ah, fuck. 

10 years ago today, 8 July 2010, I wrote a blog post called 'Dear Louise...'. It was a letter to my future self from 16-year-old me. I wrote it, I published it, and I told myself not to read it again until I was 26. Today. 10 years later. A decade later. 2010 to 2020. It's happened. We're here. Time has done the thing. I'm about to read it and reply.

CAN YOU SENSE THE EXISTENTIALISM. CAN YOU. Buckle in and hold my damn hand.

7 Jun 2020

Luxembourg (February 2020)

It's like Luxembourg City has its own model village

We all know I am not a spontaneous person. I love a plan. I love having a million tabs open, literally and metaphorically, and I love being and feeling prepared. I love feeling like I'm getting the best out of every morsel of energy and every penny spent. So, when I found myself booking too-expensive flights for my friend Claire and I to go to Luxembourg two weeks before we were due to go, that's when I knew 2020 was a true shady lady...

17 May 2020

Sense and flexibility

The holy lockdown symbol, praise be to the banana bread

Every morning my neighbours, in their 70s, run up and down their (very big) garden. Every single morning. In their running gear. Early. They've taken to self-isolation like ducks to water, which is impressive considering they were truly living their best retired life by going on 2,837 cruises a year and were rarely to be seen at home.

Watching them from my bedroom window (creepy) has become a staple of lockdown life. I love watching them run, do the gardening, walk up one side of their garden together with their hands behind their backs to inspect their carefully kept plants, take tea and a plate of biscuits to the bottom of the garden in the afternoon, and hearing the bell that she rings for him to come inside for dinner. It's all oddly idyllic, considering.

5 Apr 2020

She died, I think

They say when someone dies, you want the world to stop. You want everyone to be sad. You want the world as scheduled to pause and reshuffle and not ever be the same again. You want everyone to observe the fact that this incredible, integral, powerhouse of a person has gone, and how dare anyone try to carry on as normal. Why are you laughing? Work? Well, what's the point? Why are you going out, what could you simply want to be doing? Just stop.

My nan died a week ago. She didn't die from coronavirus but did die during coronavirus, and there's no difference. The rules are the same. There are rules, now, with dealing with death.

11 Oct 2019

Jury's out

Disclaimer: I’m not going to talk about any of the details of the trial here so if you’re looking for those juicy nuggets of trauma, sorry. Netflix is your friend. 

I walked past someone who I did jury with on my way home from work today. Weird. She didn’t see me. We were crossing the road in opposite directions, and she was holding the hand of her ‘my little girl’ as she kept calling her with a smile in our two weeks together. 

My reaction was… extreme. It was like parallel universes crossing with nails-on-blackboard friction. My legs went, my bum felt weak like my insides were about to fall out, and the world seemed to bubble in my ears for a split second. I was, essentially, on the verge of a panic attack.