Sentimentality has never been my thing, or it wasn't until recently. There had been hints of some softening, when I found myself mulling over family photos, but stronger evidence for real change came when I felt sorry for a rat. The point is that I hate rats. Not being a Beatrix Potter sort of a…
Losing the plot
Compared to moving house or getting a divorce, losing one's allotment is way down on the major life-event scale. But nevertheless it is sad and is happening to us. Plot 8 has been ours since 1994, and in November we will stop paying our subs to the Management Committee and will hand back the key…
The cake shop and the milliner
After twenty minutes and as many Canadian dollars, my hat, more specifically my hat band, was again in pristine condition. And the change was the unlikely outcome of a chance meeting, a smidgeon of alacrity, and the work of a true professional. I have worn hats for years. The habit started in the 80s when,…
A perfect foil
My recent trip to Canada was full of surprises. Not least amongst them was the decor at my Bed and Breakfast. In my limited experience B&Bs are more functional than fun. My week at Wendy's was different - here was a visual cornucopia. Each day for a week I worked with my son Joshua on…
Time traveller
On trips abroad my mother-in-law would wear two watches. Wherever she was, she needed to know at a glance exactly what the time was at home. I would tease her - surely she could work it out for herself! And why did it matter anyway? But she never changed. Then, one morning last week, I…
The scenic route
Last week a favourite cartoon from the sixties popped into my mind's eye. It showed a large, unshaven prison escapee, dressed in a characteristic arrow-covered uniform, bearing down on an old woman standing by a fork in the road. He asks "Which is the best way to the railway station?" She replies, pointing to the…
Stand corrected
I wanted to give Charlie a hug. He had been yanked into the air by his wrist, yelled at, then whacked. He had got out of his pushchair and was caught by his distraught mother just as he was about to cross the kerb into the road. She was angry, he burst into tears, and…
Rough and tumble
Although I am recovering now, the events over the last three weeks have given a sobering reminder of how bodies - mine at least - age. Despite regular sessions in the gym, my trunk and limbs were suddenly forced to declare, or so it seemed, how they had become less able at coping with physical…
Of ice and men
Exhibitions are an acquired taste, and as I age, going to them tastes better and better. Ice Age Art at the British Museum is one of the best. Not because of its design - I found its juxtaposition of original artefacts with more contemporary art infuriating - but because it set me thinking. Then, over…
A stake in the ground
A few weeks ago I stayed in a rather grand seventeenth century merchant's house in France. It had walls a metre thick and backed on to a hill, which was all very fine for protecting against the biting north wind but, 350 years later, made phoning or texting a lottery. Unless, that is, I went…
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