For those unaware, this week I’m staying with a friend in Germany. Actually, I say this week, but I actually turned up two weeks ago and haven’t left yet. If he wants rid of me, then he’s being very polite about it. That said, I’m convinced his day job might mean he has certain ‘connections’, so there’s always a chance I could simply disappear unexpectedly. And I don’t mean back to England. 

A woman’s relationship with the hair on her head is a complex thing. Or, at least, it is to most of us. Maybe not my friend Vicky, who once shaved hers off as she ‘couldn’t be bothered with it’ when she went travelling, but me… I feel at one with this mane of mine. When it’s distressed so am I. When it’s full of life, me too.

“A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people,” - Thomas Mann. The other night I heard someone quote the above. Words relaid by the famous novelist prior to his death in 1955. It might be 62 years later, but his words were pretty good at relaxing me. Something usually only wine, a bubbling bath or a hot man’s hands are able to achieve.

Today I’m rather sleepy, having spent half the night binge watching Game of Thrones. Rather than catching up on the final season like most people in the land, I’m actually all the way back in season 3. Yes, having recently bowed to peer pressure...

I should probably point out at that I haven’t starting being at one with the animals or anything, although I did nearly miss my train this morning due to a (failed) attempt to bond with a one-eyed cat, but this title came to me and I decided to go with it...

 

Do you remember a band called The Beautiful South? Big in the 90s, they were famed for hits such as ‘A Little Time’, ‘Rotterdam’ and ‘I’ll Sail this Ship Alone’. Back then, as a school kid, the lyrics I related to most went along the lines of, “I love you from the bottom of my pencil case”...

So I'm back, finally. Truth be told I was planning to blog way before now: last weekend was all about setting up my new website, then I had an idea to write away to my heart’s content. But I didn’t figure on writer’s block, the bitch. Anyone else who is a writer will understand why I just cracked open a bottle of prosecco…

figure if I'm going be blogging about my life, the story should start at home. Isn't that the way the saying goes? Or something. Well, in that case I should probably let you know that as I type this I’m looking at my 4ft high new houseplant, complete with an oversized sequin peacock...