Oh, My Days!

Oh, be calm, dearest reader! I know you can barely contain yourself because, yes, the time is almost here. The time when you can relax into the magical surrealism of twenty four days of unique storytelling leading up to Christmas Day which means, of course, that I shall be thrown into twenty four days of angst ridden writing frenzy trying to churn out something half-way readable each day. Bambino has already said he will assist in the writing process by stomping all over my keyboard in an egotistical attention seeking way so if anyone would like to adopt him now, speak up and save an enormous black cat from the Wrath of the Author.  Anyway, after my abject failure to deliver a story last year, I said I would make amends this year and amends I shall make. Actually, I’m already six days ahead of myself which gives me a bit of panic leeway time, so excuse me if I feel a teensy bit smug as we head towards 1st December. However, I am fully aware of the saying, ‘Pride comes before a fall,’ o

 Mostly, I am like this… …all enthusiastic for life, buoyant, energetic, getting things done, embracing all that this wonderful world has to offer. And sometimes I am like this… …a bit of a writer, a-scribbling and a-tapping away in various notebooks and on various keyboards. Generally, I am mostly a writer until I misspell ‘owl’ as ‘wol’ and then I get antsy with myself and give up for a bit. Always I come back to writing. Always. And sometimes I’m like this… …trying not to eat too much then remembering the lovely cake I made that’s in the cake tin. Occasionally I get stuck in a rabbit hole because of the cake eating, but usually I manage to pop out again, if I lay off the cake. Recently, I’ve been feeling a bit like this… …you know, it’s approaching Winter time, hibernation, a bit sluggish, let me hide away from it all for a while, or at least until the daffodils appear…any number of reasons really, just chuck a blanket over me and check every now and then to make sure I’m still brea

 Right, first of all STOP calling roast potatoes ‘roasties.’ They are ROAST POTATOES. They are potatoes which have been roasted. NOT roasties. I don’t even know why a roast potato would be called a roastie, other than through sheer laziness of delivering the extra syllables. What is so busy in your life you haven’t the time to say ‘roast potato??’ Hearing about ‘roasties’ has been on the rise recently because Christmas is on the way and I’ve been reading a lot of magazines about how to achieve the perfect Christmas dinner. Like I care. It is VERY annoying. Just stop it. For heavens’ sake… Secondly, the NHS needs to get itself organised. My Mum pootled off to a hospital orthopaedic appointment last Monday, 1st November, in an attempt to get herself back on the waiting list for her second hip replacement, a list she didn’t even know she had been removed from after almost making it to the operating theatre in January 2020 and being stopped at, literally, the last minute. Anyway, she went