Someone on Wigmore Street, on the afternoon of Wednesday 25th January, took Santander bicycle and found a beautiful tapestry in a bag on the carrier. It was the goddess Flora. I bought her in 1999 and loved her with all my heart.
And so, to everyone who ever defended the monarchy to me by saying it was an insurance policy against the abuse of democracy by power-hungry totalitarians, I say fuck right off.
I don’t have
@silverpebble
’s incredible skill, but every Saturday, the 14yo runs the bingo at my mother’s care home, and I make up mini bouquets from the garden as prizes, and it is helpful in the sadness of where we are x
Today, this tiny bean enters upon his adult life as his grandma hovers on the brink of leaving hers.
Happy eighteenth birthday, sweetheart. And mum - we’ll be ok. I promise x
I am very concerned that eldest’s GCSE English Literature texts - Macbeth, Lord of the Flies, Great Expectations - are the same as my O level ones were in 1987.
Mum died yesterday evening. New 18 takes his first A level exam today. And although ‘All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,’ it will take a little time, I think x
Today, this tiny bean enters upon his adult life as his grandma hovers on the brink of leaving hers.
Happy eighteenth birthday, sweetheart. And mum - we’ll be ok. I promise x
Our beautiful, imperious, magnificent glory of a beloved cat has been killed by a car. He owned everything in the universe, but he always came home. We love you, Bandito. Sleep well xxxx
A lot is written- quite rightly - about new motherhood. What about old motherhood? When the children become teenagers, the heady romance of early marriage evolves, infuriating parents become frail and untouchable, and none of the stories you burn to tell are you own to write?
I am reading through a novel I wrote, that never found a publisher. And I’m sorry I can’t write that ‘I’ve got news’ tweet about it, because I’d have loved to share it with you. But I wrote it, and that has to count for something. Our words count. Love to all us brave tryers x
It is with joy, delight and a slight sense of incredulity that I report that my extremely clinically vulnerable, immunosuppressed husband will have his first vaccine on Monday.
The trouble with
@TheDailyShow
stealing from
@MrMichaelSpicer
is that they’ll see how brilliant he is and lure him to that America. And we simply can’t spare him.
Parking at the hospital is a nightmare, but if you spend £5 the supermarket next door gives you 90 mins. And I’m always late and so bloody stretched and now my cupboard looks like this.
When you finally get up the courage to ring your vet and tell them that your beautiful, beloved cat was killed by a car, wouldn’t you like to hear more than a cheery, ‘I’ll update that for you’? He wasn’t a number, he was our master and overlord, and I will never not miss him.
Abortion is healthcare. Abortion is healthcare. Abortion is healthcare. Oh god that poor woman. What kind of country are we, to send a mother of three to jail for this?
Now look. I do a radio show about BOOKS- small, beautiful, local community station. I follow - and am delighted to be followed by - some incredible authors. If any of you want to choose 12 songs and talk to me about your books (which you KNOW I’ve read) all you have to do is ask.
Twelve years ago this little snowbaby arrived - no midwife or ambulance could reach us, but she knew what she was doing. Still surprises us every single day. Happy birthday, lovely girl x
I was lucky enough to interview George Alagiah for
@Our_Bookshop
in 2019. He’d just had devastating health news, and we talked about it before the interview. And then, for an hour, we talked writing and craft and creation and his audience was rapt. Sleep well, sir.
I’m wading through grief treacle, I’ve failed at almost everything I’ve tried to do, and the effort to fail better might just kill me, but my Twitter corner is where I survive. I just want to thank you before I’m injected with 600 ads for fat burning pills and get shut down x
For reasons that I cannot share, this morning is going to be fucking awful and there is no way out but through. After it, James and I are going out for lunch. He has a blood test on Friday so cannot drink. I do not have a blood test on Friday.
I always wanted a Vivienne Westwood dress, and I finally got one for my 40th birthday party. It still makes me happy. Goodnight, Dame Vivienne, and thank you x
Boots would like you to know that, after the Daring Liberation of the Garibaldi Biscuits last night and a trip to the emergency vet, she’s feeling much better and would really, really like a garibaldi biscuit.
Nineteeen years later, you squeeze an anniversary lunch in between the solicitor and the psychiatrist, before he leaves for Paris alone because child
#4
has a music exam tomorrow🤷♀️
What I would like is to buy a castle or something, and to have people come and write safely. Or dangerously, or however they wanted, and I would bake them cakes and cook lovely meals. And - crucially - they could bring their children. Goodnight xxx
And so begins what will be a fraught, emotionally complicated and logistically insane week. If middle age is when you’re squashed between your children and your parents, then I am a PANCAKE. The tissue thin crepe kind, not the lovely soft pillowy kind.
I think writers are actually quite open about pre-publication rejection. It’s rejection post-publication I’d like us to open up about, because just maybe, that’s normal too.
If she’s with you, please let me have her back. She can’t bless you until she’s finished with me. And if she’s not… well, thank you for reading. The glories of the world pass soon away, but love and words remain. I love you, Flora, and the space I keep for you, I’ll keep x
Suppose two people who’ve never, ever owned dogs find themselves listening to the dreams of their four reasonably well-trained children and decide a dog might be a Good Thing? What would these purely hypothetical people do next?
@Leilah_Makes
@samatlounge
Oh, money doesn't buy happiness. It buys you a place from which happiness is possible. Those who don't know that have never not had it.
Youngest (13) carefully prepared a meal and ate it alone - complete with candle and gold-dusted chocolate mousse - to celebrate Valentine’s Day with herself.
Thank you so very much for all the good wishes and lovely messages yesterday. Sorry for being cryptic but sometimes the stories that dominate our lives simply aren’t ours to share. But please do share these meringue ghosts (I’m the one that got dropped and eaten by the dog x)