The Musings of a Thirty-Something Lady

There are few things that have disturbed me as much as the news in America over the past week. 2,000 children have been separated from their families, now kept caged in converted abandoned shopping centres and halls. Their crime? Their parents trying to get into the US to seek better lives. Whether for genuine asylum or for economic migration, who knows. To be honest, who really cares? I don’t. Put yourself in their shoes for a minute. Children, some have been described as babies, in a strange, foreign country. Away from their parents, away from their culture and potentially their language, crammed in with other children who are equally scared and in fear. They must be terrified. It just makes me feel sick. In all the photos that I have seen, I have only seen young boys. What has happened to the girls? Where are they? Are they safe? I have so many questions haunting me. What safeguards are in place for these children? Who is in charge of looking after them, and are the ‘carers’

They saw one another from across the park. The sun was setting low after a long day in the sky, the air still humid enough to make your skin glisten and your clothes stick. Rowers remained on the river, their oars cutting through the water with practiced ease. Boats leisurely passed by, their tables full of wine and the day’s food, their occupants sun-kissed and merry.   Her blonde hair shone as she jumped off the swings and walked towards him, a smile on her face. His feet swayed on the edge of the water, toes dipping in with every swing - his hideaway for the day. His book rested on his lap as she walked closer. “Can I sit here?” she asked, her smile dazzling him. “Erm, sure” he replied, his eyes quickly looking towards her, then looking away. She took off her ballet pumps, dipping her feet in the cool water, watching the ripples stretch out around them.  He had seen her before, but always from a distance. She was in the same school as him, and were often in the same c

Hello all!  Long time no see, I hope you are all well and looking forward to a proper Summer. It's currently raining outside, and rather damn chilly here. Where has that Sun gone?! As some of you know, I have recently challenged myself and started writing fiction, after partaking in the *brilliant* Don't be a Writer, be a Storyteller writing course by Laura Jane Williams (you may know her from the brilliant book - Ice Cream for Breakfast).  It taught me loads about writing, but seems to have unlocked a bit of courage lately. After a bit of a pause, life seems to be looking up a bit (my fingers are firmly crossed, dear Reader).  Anyway, I digress. Part of that courage is to start sharing some of the writing that I have been working on. I haven't quite figured out whether this will be in the form of multiple short stories, or building on top of what has been written, but let's see how we go, right?  I would love to have some feedback about what you think. What you

Some of you may know that I am a *bit* of a Disney / theatre geek. There's a song I've been listening to on repeat lately, and a frankly awful day at work today has finally made it click into place. That song is "Waving Through a Window" in my new favourite musical ( sorry, Lin ), Dear Evan Hansen. The show follows a teen with social anxiety, after the death of another student to suicide ( cheery, I know ). Anyway, I digress. The opening line is " I've learned to slam on the brake, before I even turn the key ". I've been relating to it thinking " yes, I always worry about the million-and-ten things that could go wrong before I do anything ". But today I've realised that it goes deeper than that. Because at the moment for me, that brake is firmly slammed on. The key is in my hand, not even nearly turning. After the London Bridge attack, I went to see a therapist. We spoke about what happened initially, then when the shock subsided,

I am feeling a profound sense of loss today. My country, my tolerant, welcoming, open, progressive, supportive, multicultural, friendly country, disappeared in 24 hours of shame and heart-breaking closed-mindedness. The referendum has dragged me, and 48% of this country from light into darkness. Their insecurities about our culture (and let’s face it, this was the overwhelming reason) has caused possibly the biggest insecurity in decades. It has made me apologetic for my country, not for the minority of idiots fighting at a football game, but for 52% of our UK voters. I have found myself saying sorry to my European friends, to people on Twitter, and to the lovely French guy in Pret who I say hello to when paying for my overpriced salad fix. I have found myself looking at everyone on the street with an eye of suspicion, did they vote out? Did they condemn us to this? I’m also feeling a real loss of identity. Above all I do identify myself as European first, British a very far o

There's a saying in nursing "Pain is what the patient says it is". It basically means that everyone's pain is specific to them, to their perception, and to how they are dealing with it. Today, my pain is 10/10. Unbearable, and uncontrollable. It will sound trite to people, however yesterday we lost our family cat, Abbey. She was an old girl (a rescue cat so we were never sure how old she was, but we had her 16 years, and she was a few years old by that point), and she was getting progressively more frail, but when my mum called yesterday to say she had deteriorated, I knew the time had come. I know everyone says this about their pets, but Abbey was one of a kind. She was kind - she never bit or scratched (apart from my parents' leather sofa, which was a constant victim much to my mother's frustration), she loved nothing more than a cuddle and mum's breakfast, she was naughty and bullied me - the weak link - until she got what she wanted, which she alw