• Sinful Sunday,  Words

    #SinfulSunday – I am – reflective

    As always, I have sought to make an image that is meaningful to me as well as, hopefully, creative and erotic. My father’s death last week has meant that I am reflective rather than sinful but hopefully this fulfils both mine and the prompts’ requirements . Don’t forget to click on the lips to see who else is being sinful this week

  • Words

    Searching for a better song to sing..

    I’m all right with you, here in this room; but when I saw those people you were with I couldn’t come in. I would have seized up. Because I’m a freak. I can’t talk to the people I live with any more. An’ I can’t talk to the likes of them on Saturday, or them out there, because I can’t learn the language. I’m a half-caste. I went back to the pub where Denny was, an’ me mother, an’ our Sandra, an’ her mates. I’d decided I wasn’t comin’ here again. I went into the pub an’ they were singin’, all of them singin’ some song they’d learnt from the…

  • Words


    I have been writing this post in my head for a long time, years in fact.  And yet, when it comes to the point I still can’t quite put my finger on what it is I want to say.  The urge to write it comes upon me when I receive a comment about my kindness, my niceness, my obvious goodness that makes me uncomfortable.  “What if,” the voice in my head says, “what if they knew you were a cheat?” Another part of me will then step forward, protesting a little too loudly, too vociferously for my internal task master, but she says, “No it wasn’t like that, no that isn’t…

  • Words

    On truth

    I like the me that writes.  She has a clear eye, she can see through the crowded landscape of feelings and thoughts and hurts to the heart of the matter. Through to what matters. The journey there is easy for her.  She doesn’t get caught up in what others  think or feel and knows in a place other than her mind what the truth is.  And even if that truth is not the consensus of opinions, she has enough about her not to be concerned about this. She knows and that is enough for her. My other part is more conventional.  She can get hung up on what he, she and…

  • Words

    The Bolters Daughter

      “When she pronounced my name however, one of them said, “Not by any chance the Bolter’s daughter?”  Nancy Mitford – Love in a Cold Climate I am a Bolter’s daughter – not in the same way as Nancy meant  – my mother has been married to the same man for 60 years this year, however the onset of her Dementia has brought this part of her self to the fore as her impulse control and social filters fade and her true feelings rise to the surface .  She likes to take off, walking quickly and determinedly to somewhere that it seems not even she knows for certain.  Usually though it’s…

  • Me,  Moments,  Words


    It’s hard to unpick the fabric of lives that have been woven together for over a quarter of a century. Initially there is a tear, maybe a small one in a corner that doesn’t show. Perhaps it gets darned, perhaps not. Perhaps someone sticks a finger into the hole and makes it bigger. Perhaps it is just simply ignored or covered up in the hope that it will go away. But ultimately the fabric is weakened, and unless a timely repair is made it will not last. I was, and am, a skilled seamstress. Not so good at knitting. But when it came to weaving a life I could pull…