*This is an article I wrote for the BBC a few years ago. Normal zany service will be resume next week along with an update on my self-publishing journey and some news relating to The Changing Room.* Say “NO!” to Camping! With the prospect of long summer evenings and some pleasant weather ahead I won’t be the only housewife fantasizing about lying on a beach, nibbling grapes, sipping Pina Coladas and being waited upon by a handsome young manservant. Unfortunately, when I’m in the middle of these and other exotic fantasies a whining voice asking an annoying question often brings me back down to reality. A recent example of this was when I had my hands immersed in the washing up bowl whilst dreaming about surfing with Damien Lewis when suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the question every mother dreads; “When can we go camping?” Now imagine the onset

Books played a vital role in my childhood. Forty years ago, before the advent of computers and game stations my days were spent drawing, making mud pies and, most significantly, reading. My world was one of fairytales and fables, myths and legends, witches and wizards. With no Sonic or Mario to distract me the open pages of a book were the places where my imagination took flight. Like Dorothy, I was swept away to a land of make believe. My first school memory was being the second child drawn to the front of the class to read aloud from a newspaper, the reward for becoming a competent reader. I recall too that Sarah, my best friend, was first and though pleased for her I jealously noted that she was five months older and so must have received an unfair advantage. Those early days were filled with Ladybird editions and picture

A couple of my new blogging friends, Wendy and Paula have been participating in a weekly meme called Wednesday Hodgepodge run by Joyce Daley over at From This Side of the Pond. It looks kinda fun so I thought I’d join in once in a while. Today I am going to do last week’s meme otherwise I’ll miss out on all the great questions from last Wednesday and, conveniently, there’s no meme this week as Joyce is on hols. Now I think the idea is that Joyce posts random questions (hence use of the word “hodgepodge”) which then everyone answers. Easy peasey! 1. Four (supposed) secrets to happiness from around the world are: a) overcome your fears by facing them head on b) allow yourself to relax and reset c) work to live versus living to work d) find the good in life. Which of the four do you struggle with most?

So the school holidays are upon us. The best thing about this is I don’t get hypertension trying to get the boys to school on time and the bad thing is I am doing even more driving than usual. This is not good for the life expectancy of hedgehogs, rabbits and low-flying pigeons. So we are now into the second week of the holidays and the boys and I are in the midst of their summer tennis campaign. In between the driving and competing I am trying to manage my publishing endeavours, write and do all those other things that mothers are supposed to do. (Excluding ironing which I try to avoid as much as possible – it’s the feminist in me.) And the rest of the time I am trying to catch-up with the TV series Ashes to Ashes  which I highly recommend, especially if you want a taste

It annoys me when I have to be polite And sound all erudite When I want to be rude Stick my fingers up and be crude It’s such a pain being an English Rose Who would never pick her nose* Sometimes I want to say naughty words And call people nerds But I don’t Cos I’m nice And always think twice** I also write particularly bad poems Not even half as good as Wilfred Owen. Who was very unlucky and got shot Whereas I have just lost the plot *in public ** only sometimes

Blimey, I haven’t even had time to write my list of lost things yet and The Guardian are already banging on about feminism again. Apparently, it’s not okay to call women “girls” but it okay to call men “boys.” Surely, there’s more to life than that to complain about? I can think of some really big issues worth having a rant about. I could even make up some stories to rant about. Maybe about something I’ve lost. (Not a ring obviously – see last post.) How about when I lost my virginity? That’s got to be a hell of a lot more interesting to just about everyone including feminists and misogynists. Anyway, I am happy if a man wants to call me a “girl.” The fact that he would probably be 95 years old, blind and suffer from senile dementia is irrelevant – it would still make me feel young

For the benefit of you folks abroad, I must first explain that The Guardian is meant to be a bastion of British newspaper intellectual reading. However, of late, I’ve had some weird clickbait stuff feeding into my Facebook stream which has caused me to react rather like this: “What the heck? Did I click on The Daily Mail in error? Oh crap. I didn’t. It is The Guardian.” “No really? Another article on feminism?” “Hmm. What? Another article on Jeremy Clarkson and Top Gear? “ “Okay. This definitely looks like a clickbait article. Let me see…uh-huh…okay…so sexual deviancy in feminists is fashionable. Hmm…where’s that link to The Daily Mail?” “Hmm. What another article on Tim Hunt? Leave the man alone, he’s a nobel prize winner. He made a poor joke – he didn’t massacre innocent babies! I’m going to stick my head in a bowl of sand in a minute.