I am a natural blonde. No, really. I have proof: It got lighter in the summer and darkened in the winter. By the time I was eight it no longer changed with the seasons, no matter how much lemon juice my Nana squeezed on my head. Maybe that’s why I felt such infinity with fish as a child. My favourite doll was a redheaded kilt-wearing thing of beauty from the ‘International Collection’. I wanted her hair. When…
I went to an interview type thing today. This involved wearing something that isn’t a sweatshirt and getting on the bus. Now, regular readers will know that I am newish to this city. And not the best with directions. I travel with people so I don’t get lost. I choose not to get lost. I choose to have a PA, or Sarge, with me when I don’t know where I’m going, or even when I do. I do go places…
I spent all day Saturday looking for a particular piece I wrote on September 11th, 2001. I couldn’t find it, but in the search I found all my old journals and other writing that goes back pretty far. Some things are the same. A lot is different. I want to give that kid/younger twenty-something a hug, and tell her to stop worrying. We’re not in Back to the Future, so I can’t. But I can do this: Dear you, Relax. …
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…
