SUNDAY SURGERY

I come from brilliantly creative parents who, in 1938, had the misfortune to be born into the austerity of war-torn Britain, but as a result, they are dab hands at 'Make-do and Mend'. As a child, I was rather proud of the groovy patches in the seat of my beloved corduroy dungarees, and some of...

ON THE PULL

At school I was never what you might call sporty. In the winter we faced a mile long trudge to the hockey ground up the 1:4 gradient known as Chalky Lane. I still shudder at the mention of it. In summer I was supposed to be good at netball on account of my height, but despite once...

24 MINUTES IN A&E

Living as we do, in the wide rural hinterland halfway between the great northern cities of York and Hull, and being country mice, (also having adopted a certain Yorkshire parsimony when it comes to excessive fuel consumption), outings to these bustling metropoles are infrequent, and strictly reserved for special shopping trips, or meals out, so...

Getting Lippy

A while ago I wrote about a dawning (Dawn French-ing, to be more precise) realisation that I will soon have to grow up, embrace ageing as a part of life, and stop being vain. But at the moment I'm still kicking and screaming, clawing my way back towards the light of youth. It isn't pretty,...