turn, turn, turn

The vibrancy has gone from the green. Leaves are getting ready to fall.

The school preparations are nearly done, although Girl2 will be happier once she has mastered the knotting of the new tie.

The end of August is in sight, but the temperatures are those of later in the year. “Like October” said the weatherman, and nobody was surprised. We’ve all been putting on the heat. People have been spotted out and about in winter coats, scarves and hats. Children are donning the warm things without being told.

On the other hand, I just found the linen trousers I put away carefully for the summer. I’m wearing them. I’m wondering where I put the thermals.


the week that was

team pudsey

Mince pies, chatting, peeling, chopping, visiting friends, friends visiting, cloves, ham, boiling, reindeer food, lunch out, stuffing, packed chapel, girls helping, crystal glasses, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, onesies, team Pudsey, team Westie, Cluedo, Qwirkle, charades, unnecessary nibbles, bike rides, damp walks, sunshine, power cut, coats, boots, scarves, gloves, sale shopping, novel reading, log fire, Love Actually, Die Hard, Arthur Christmas, Gaudete, cinnamon, One Direction, hoodies, the sleep test.

team westie

What did you get up to?

on moving to the dark side

Stylish people of the whole wide world, I have a confession.

Somewhere this summer, possibly in Somerset, a switch flicked in my head.

I have long been a wearer of comfortable shoes. I don’t do proper heels and have a dodgy foot, so I find a brand of comfy shoes and stick with it. That’s not to say I don’t have lots of shoes that have been experiments, or that may get worn again eventually, once, but generally I’m not a shoe person.

Even so, I have always resisted the lure of brightly coloured plastic ‘shoes’. Why would I want to look like I have clown shoes on my feet? My legs are stumpy enough, those things would only emphasise that. How can I pretend to have long, lean legs if there are big bright blobs drawing attention to where they end?

During the heat of July, Girl2 struggled with her footwear. Everything cut or rubbed her bare feet. I found an unexpected solution in the ugly plastic things. No more moans, cuts or blisters. Her feet are the same size as mine; I discovered the comfort.

A little niggle started in the back of my mind. Caravan. Beaches. Walking. Where nobody could see me.

Yes, yes I did.


Feel free to scoff. I’m in Donegal and can’t hear you.


Most of the time, we’re all here together doing the same old same old normal stuff. Life being life.

For the last few weeks, however, we’ve been gadding about. We visited Nana and Grandad and the caravan and The Brother, Arty Lady, Little Miss Pink for Now and Lightning McQueen. We’ve been in the big city and the empty beach.

There have been shows and nights out and hours just hanging out. Playing, chatting and exploring. It has been exciting, invigorating and heartwarming. We enjoyed spending time with those we love, doing nothing in particular.

But, on Saturday evening?

Four people fell in the door of their very ordinary house in a very ordinary street in a regular town small city.

We took comfort in the worn stair carpet and the gathering of dust. The bundles of books, clothes and mystery cables have the joy of familiarity. The bills could stay sealed another day.

We came home, and there’s nothing like it.