I have an inkling from somewhere in the depths of my memory of a game where you get a list of items and have to come up with something that connects them all together. If there’s not one, there should be. One person would select a list from the pack and the rest of the…

Let there be light….

There is such strength in kindness, in reaching out to people when they need it, whether we know them or not, whether we’re sure about how to help or not.


I have discovered through some intense and serious research (participation in a hilarious ranty thread in my favourite online group that keeps getting longer despite being started quite some time ago) everyone has certain things that make them grit their teeth just the slightest bit.  You know, the petty things that irritate, bemuse, or make…

‘Twas the Week Before Christmas

’Twas the week before Christmas, and Violet (aged four) Had more questions re Santa than ever before; Why squeeze down the chimney? Our front door is fine. Does he like fake trees, or should we have pine? We don’t have snow, so what’s with the sleigh? And what does ‘Ho Ho Ho’ even mean, anyway?…

When silence is not golden: On Weinstein and all the rest of them

We are silenced by fear. We are silenced by shame.  We are silenced by guilt.  By the myths and legends and stories and films and comments and images that tell us our voices are not as important, that we may be a victim but we are also at fault, that we just have to shut up and take what comes because this is the reality of life as a woman.

If there’s one thing for certain it’s that more silence is not going to change anything.

Channelling Pollyanna

There was a fair bit of denial over the course of last evening.  Denial and swears.  And chocolate.  With some wine to take the sting off.  I blame the polls for getting my hopes up.  And my own stupid self for not floating outside my leftie, social consciencey, feminist, anti-phobe, social-media bubble and having a look around at what the other folk were talking about.

Puppy Love?

A puppy turned up at our place on Saturday.  A pudgy, floppy-earred, jumpy-licky, short-wheel-based pup with no sense of boundaries or outliving its welcome.

Stigma, Shame, and Suffering.

A 15 year old made me cry recently. She knew it too; saw me well up and turn my head to blot a couple of escapees with the heel of my hand.  She didn’t say anything, just looked at me with large eyes and a guilty half-smile. Students have brought me to tears before, although…

Teacher with a capital T.

This time two years ago I was marking a clutch of Year Twelve essays; sitting on the couch, red pen firmly clasped, a stack of film analysis on either side (Marked and Yet To Be), the television keeping itself company in the background.  A commonplace scene in our lounge of an evening, especially as prelim…

Allium Cepa

The kids have been running some sort of noise-relay so there’s not been a moment of silence since you were woken in the predawn gloom, the toddler won’t tolerate being out of your arms for more than 23 seconds, and it starts pelting down just before you head out to feed the chickens, but you’ve…


I’m sure Chekov had no idea his instruction … could twist and swirl and be reimagined as a prayer: Find me.  Bring me back.  Help me out of the darkness and into the light, bit by bit, a small glimmer of joy at a time. Please, show me a glint of light.