Somerset Anniversary

It was our sixth wedding anniversary on Saturday. We’re not great at doing much to celebrate it. Twice we made a huge effort. On our first we went glamping in Pembrokeshire. Come to think of it, that’s the only anniversary we’ve had sans kiddos. Hadn’t realised that until about now. Another time we went to Harptree Court, mainly because we were expecting Ophelia and it was a last/first chance to spend a night just the two of us before starting the newborn thing all over again. But we’re pretty sure the other three kind of disappeared into the mists of…

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That bad word, “homemaker”

I’ve instinctively struggled with the idea of gendered roles in marriage since we got engaged two years and two months ago. I’d like to think I’m closer to settling the matter in my mind by now but every time I turn a corner I find myself pausing, uncertain of where to go.

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Kittens, coughing and something like helplessness

I often joke that Laurence is the real grownup in this marriage and that I’m still working out this adult thing. I may have the book sense but he’s got the infinitely more valuable practicality. But every now and then I realise just how much I depend on him, and it’s not something I’m altogether comfortable with.

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What only rotten apples could teach me

I’m struggling to put the weekend into words. It’s been such a revelatory one that I don’t feel like I can move on to talking about anything, whether deep or inane until I write about this. So, instead of making this a week of silence at Circus Queen, I’ll try to explain it, to myself as much as to you, in objects.

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Want me, Britain, want me

I don’t have a problem with it. I understand that immigration needs to be controlled… What I always find hard, though, is feeling a little bit like a criminal going through the process or at least like I’m begging to stay here – just a teeny weeny bit.

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Love and cold feet

“Keep those blocks of ice away from me,” he says, “Why are your feet always so cold?”

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