Ah! The Petrol Crisis. I don’t really have anything to say about The Petrol Crisis. Apart from the fact that, along with many other issues, it seems to awaken the hypocrite in most of us. It’s a bit like the Read more
The title of this latest musing leaves me feeling a bit uncomfortable. I’d like to think I am a writer, I would like to make a living as a writer, I dream of turning into a proper writer and of Read more
Mini Seymour is going it alone at Primary School. As her three older siblings headed off to The Big School recently, she wailed after them. She wanted to go, too. She herself returned to school on Monday. She was ready Read more
There is a worrying development in The Funny Little Bungalow’s interior decor. It is so unnerving that I almost daren’t share it. But I like to share. It’s cathartic. And so… My son’s bedroom is looking quite good. His, like Read more
Realisations: I own a seventeen year-old. Boy Seymour has now left primary school. Sh!t the bed. How does this kind of thing happen? One minute I am embarking on the adventure that is adulthood, whereby I am applying for mortgages Read more
I was on the M4 the other day. The weather was good, the road was clear and as I whizzed along in my little blue car, my life flashed before me. Not in a bad way. But I found myself, Read more
Today, I went to visit my mother’s grave. But – here’s the twist – I am really very lucky, because my mother came too. You see, Mum is eminently sensible. She is thinking ahead. And as much as I have Read more
The long-obsolete ipod that was thrown into The Pit of Requirement was a symbolic offering. It had lain around – defunct- for years. There was no charger, no life in the old thing. No point, really. And so it went Read more
My Number One Child has moved out. She is sixteen years old, and she has left the double-aspect bedroom she adored and has chosen instead to live elsewhere – further away from the rest of the family, in a more Read more
There is a grave in our garden. In it, I have buried Oritse (of JLS fame)’s head, his bowler hat, a few limbs, a car or two and many, many bits of plastic tat. OK, so it’s not really a Read more