That they may have life?

Virginia Woolf: I miss London life. Leonard: This is not you speaking, Virginia. This is an aspect of your illness. V:  It’s me, it is my voice! L:   Not you. V:  It’s mine, mine only… L:  It’s a voice you hear. V:  It is not! It is mine. I am dying in this town. L:…

Thinking things through with my inner artist

Last weekend, I rooted around at the bottom of a cupboard and dug out my long-forgotten jewellery-making stuff. Time for the resurgence of a creative hobby methinks. This was largely inspired by a visit to the London Art Fair where a number of little galleries had gathered to promote their peops and sell their work.…

A few days in the Life

Yesterday was stressful at work but it’s not really stuff that I can blog openly about. Maybe I’ll just store it up for my memoirs. Suffice to say I spent a large chunk of the morning playing with toys with a little boy to distract him from the police and paramedics who were in and…

Being speechless

Two weeks ago I was literally speechless. I had totally lost my voice. After a day of thwarted communication, of ‘conversations’ in which all I could do was listen, I set off to youth group with a slight sense of trepidation. It shouldn’t have surprised me that running a youth group with no voice wouldn’t…

Typical times at youth club

It was a quiet reopening at the start of term, but sometimes those are the best opportunities to actually chat. A bit of table football and Wii, leftover mince pies, and the happy jokes and comfortable banter that come with shared experience and the security of consistent friendship. All with the familiar background battle over whose phone pumps Afghani music – just a…