They say a week is a long time in politics. Make that 3 days: you know, those 3 days before, during and after the election.
The morning after the night before, we woke up to the surprise of an easy (though narrow) win by the Conservatives; the SNP turned Scotland (and much of Westminster) yellow; voters turned out in unexpected droves; UKIP gained 3.8 million votes yet only 1 seat; and 3 of the top leaders resigned…..the list goes on.
Possibly the biggest surprise for me was the huge wave of what can be called at best ‘debate’ and at worst ‘vitriolic mudslinging’ on social media by those who didn’t vote for the triumphant Conservatives. The latter were remarkably quiet, at least on my twitter account.
All through the election campaign, uncertainty, cynicism and passivity seemed to be the order of the day. The sheer number of parties and policies to chose from and the predicted ‘no clear winner’ lulled us into apathy. But as the clock struck 10pm on Friday night when the exit polls showed a likely Tory win, twitter went mental and people saw red (well, Blue actually). Continue reading
This Thursday in between pick up, drop off, a meeting with clients, hockey, ballet, swimming and cooking the dinner, you have one more job: casting your vote.
I know, I know. We’re all sick of the election campaign, of too many parties to know which to vote for, of white men (mostly) “making it quite clear” about the economy and “balancing the books“, of last-minute manifestos and general lack of ideology. Continue reading
You see, I love the outdoors. My whole family do. But I’m a terrible camper as I need my peace and quiet at night and something soft for my bones to lie down on. I don’t sleep a wink if I’m sleeping in a tent next to someone snoring or playing their ukulele, and get woken at 4am by the dawn chorus. And if there isn’t a loo or tap within a few metres, constantly taking my kids to the loo or making trips to fill up on water doesn’t constitute a holiday for me. So my long-suffering husband has sworn never to go camping with me.
But then a few years back a friend told me about Featherdown Farms where B. It was love at first sight. Continue reading
Since turning 40 over four years ago, I’ve been quietly chuckling at the changes in my life that make me realise I’m getting, dare I say it, *middle-aged*. The list is getting progressively longer, and I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a post listing all these amusing and alarming changes for some time. And then, the other week, I took delivery of a certain item of furniture which screamed ‘middle aged’ at me and so I just had to write this. So, here goes – let me know if you relate to any, ahem, all of it?:
You know you’re middle-aged when: Continue reading