Monthly Archives

September 2019



29th September 2019

Picture of four leaf clover


Right. I hadn’t found a four leaf clover EVER in my life until a couple of years ago, they were a rarity, almost the stuff of fiction. Then my life hit the arguable skids for a relative period of time (also termed by some as ‘the start of my new life’ – God so annoying) and I keep finding them ALL THE TIME. It’s got to the stage where I can give them away and KNOW I will find another. I reckon I’ve found well over 20 in the last two years. Twenty!

Take for example Friday, my work friend Tom, who I rate and was leaving to start work in London, he got a flat four leaf I’d pressed in the back of my phone case and phone to keep as a talisman. Good luck Tom! Here we are today… Sunday on the way to the train station and see above, I’ve got another.

Initially it was when I was running in the downs, I’d catch sight of one out of the corner of my eye and it would feel life affirming. Like something was trying to let me know everything would be ok.

Then I found bloody loads one day at the top of Blaker’s park. Almost felt like a massive joke because life did not feel like it was going very well.

I have a friend who said he didn’t actually believe mutant clovers mean the same for me as they do for other people.

Today I found that clover above, storied it smugly, bought TWO SETS of train tickets to London at the station moments later, left them in the machine and someone took them.

Then I had to buy some more.

What even is luck.





A week of many beautiful things

28th September 2019

Things that came to light this week:

:: looked at my iphoto and it’s a year ago this week I bought 3 VERY EXPENSIVE bees wax covered fabric alternatives to clingfilm from lakeland. I’d just like to clarify – we have none of them left, I say this not to dissuade you from buying – they were for the kids packed lunch sandwiches -but just to let you know they gave no shits. Through no fault of my own and very much down to the disposable and uncaring standpoint of my own progeny – they’re in landfill somewhere. I smile, but beneath that smile is a lake of fury.

:: This week last year I booked a place on the 50k Weald Challenge for 2019. I didn’t end up doing it. Obviously way too optimistic. I remember the day it came up, I was in bed feeling sorry for myself –  Endurance/fitness wise, this year – not happening. That can’t happen again. I need my strong back and I’ve missed it enormously.

:: I turned 38. In honesty I have thought I was 38 for at least 6 months until corrected by both my children on a few occasions. Anyway, 38 turns round the sun. Had a great time with alot of people I’ve got alot of time for.

:: Obviously in that year got to the realisation I am fully into plants – you can track that on @disco_roots – plants are a fully reliable source of satisfaction

:: the dog needs an operation

Other than that I need to get my head round the new margins around the working day (which don’t seem to include natural light). I’m nerding on coding math after a recommendation in the mdn docs.

And I read Inheritance by Dani Shapiro: I picked it up on the way back from London the other week. It is incredible.

Also, the plants are new trandescantia mini’s from The Market Florist in the Open Market.















15th September 2019


I’m going to try blogging again. I wasn’t great at doing it all the time when the kids were small but they’re not anymore and I liked it. I did! The general hiatus has been because basically I’ve been really fucking base level sad and disappointed. For a long long time. I’ve had a-lot of weird stuff come to the fore in the last couple of years that has been incredibly difficult to manage, this, in retrospect sounds utterly ridiculous because I am completely cognisant I’m very lucky in the grand scheme of things. But loss, challenge, trauma. I’ve had a rougher ride than I expected having happily found myself married with two kids and a dog. It’s only about 15 months ago I was sitting in a basement room with a box of tissues and the psychotherapist opposite me uttered the word “anhedonia” and when I looked it up I was like ‘oh……. yeah, that’. I was so tired. I was so done.

this is what that word means : anhedonia : an inability to feel pleasure in normally pleasurable activities.

If you’re reading this you probably know I like alot of stuff: my friends and family, crochet, running, reading, music,  food, my dog.

I didn’t have anything in me at this time.

Pretty much mid last year I was only covering the basics: there were clean clothes, and food and so so many cuddles with the kids and dog. But I didn’t do anything else. I was a high functioning wreck, an absolute drain on those surrounding me, trying to support me, and in turn I found myself walking home in my lunch break and crying for an hour and then going back to work. I made nothing, I barely read, I did what needed to happen, the food, the laundry. And then I flaked.

I got written off work in the end with a horrible telephone conversation in which the doctor on the other end of the handset told me ‘you are not going mad’ – I’ve walked past that person since –  they were totally unaware how their words had reassured me, because I thought I’d lost my grip. The whole thing felt so staggeringly absurd… but I had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING LEFT. I’d burnt out. The last year hasn’t been a picnic, it’s been better, better than better – the person who delivered the news that ‘we’d all adapt’ can perhaps feel some sense of validation in that. But for two and a half years, I’ve been worried about alot.  Where will we live, how will I cope. Basically two years of shit that have entirely benefited from not being documented.

Anyway. Back. Making. PLANS. And reading. If you read this far. It’s ambiguous with reason. You know that.