You may remember that we have a house guest. We’ve taken him out with us almost everywhere since his arrival. Here is photographic evidence of The Oma’s adventures so far: Hugging some cider at Sofi’s: Offering me a rose. Possibly drunk here: Zombie coffee is good for hangovers: More coffee at Artisan Roast. He appreciated the signage: Perusing Festival posters: And enroute to a bookshop. His hosts didn’t buy any books. He wanted some postcards. No such luck. In the…
Sarge and I sent a few overseas and faraway invitations on Saturday. We went across the street to the post office, with me actually praying that I wouldn’t drop them. We arrived safely at the post office and with each PAR AVION stamp applied; I dug my nails deeper into his shirt. This was not a metaphor for anything. Or a comment on the fact that we are suddenly more engaged now than before. I was just counting. Really hard.…
Sarge and I still date. Each other. It’s allowed. And also important. When he’s working late, and I’m not working enough, dating is a way for us to remember what the other one looks like without tired eyes (his) or PMS (mine). These days, our dates are weekend trips to the movies after having coffee that Sarge doesn’t have to make for me. And I promise, these dates do differ from our nights in with fish and chips and a…
A few months after I got my favourite pen, my Dad packed it and the rest of my life into the car and drove me down to University. As The Dixie Chicks blasted out of the speakers and through the open windows, I was as excited as I’d ever been up to that point in my life. Scared shitless, but excited. Pretty much ever since then, I’ve employed Personal Assistants to help me do any of the stuff that can…
I’ve been away from the computer for the last few days. Away from the computer, but not without my notebook. I started writing the lines that make up this post while on the train to Glasgow on Thursday. I like trains, and I love writing while in transit. Something about the rhythm of the journey colours the words, knowing that that there will be some sort of evidence of change from beginning to end. I’ve loved notebooks for as long…
