Wherein I get fresh air and new perspectives, remember promises and maybe change my mind. Edinburgh – Glasgow, holiday o’clock. Sarge turns on all the lights in our bedroom to make sure I am actually awake. We have cupcakes for breakfast. They are neither red nor velvet. I put on striped socks, a museum t-shirt and a Mom-made sweater. We take a taxi to the train station and get there with time to spare. This time I actually booked ramp…
Lorna loves to write. Her first short story, written on a yellow legal pad when she was six, starred a family of mice. The next year, she wrote a poem about black roses, which caused her teacher to request a meeting with her parents. Lorna has been trying to cheer the hell up ever since. She was a kid on a New York Island, and grew up in the Highlands of Scotland. While there, she couldn’t wait to get off…
On Friday, I posted my post and went to the pub. I left my phone safely at home, and instead concerned myself with this delicious beer. After a few, we came home and I decided to check my email while Sarge brushed his teeth. There were lots of little yellow flags in my gmail inbox, and I discovered I’d been Freshly Pressed. It was the third time I’ve seen my little blog up there. Exciting, as ever. I’d like to…
Let’s say you forgot your phone somewhere. Left it on your desk at work/in your locker/in a field/dropped it down a toilet. This is what you might do while you waited to retrieve your phone, if you were in this purely hypothetical situation: Call it. Five times. To make sure it isn’t in the house. Curse silent-mode. Stare at your bag, where your phone should be. Lift the bag and call your phone again, to see if you…
