London mum, aspiring writer and amateur illustrator. Hopes to navigate through motherhood without losing herself. More...
Last weekend we made a trip to Chichester to grab a bun and a coffee at the Goodwood Breakfast Club. Big M loves vintage cars, thus we made the most of spending a few days in the country whilst being surrounded by old time’s glory in the form of polished chrome and shiny chassis. Being away for a few days once again made us think about the place we want to call home. Read the rest of this entry »
Where to live. Round #2
No matter how much I adore living in the city, sometimes I am craving a little peace and quiet with little more to listen to than the wind rustling through the trees. When bright lights and big smoke get a bit too much altogether, there is one little garden square I regularly seek out to have a seat on a bench and let my mind wander. Read the rest of this entry »
Things to love about Islington: little, leafy hideaways
I think I have never been as ecstatically excited and terribly terrified about one thing at the same time. “Project Book” is moving along rather nicely. Characters in place, plot divided into 30 chapters; set up, major disasters and ending defined. It should take me less than a day to finalise the outlining process and then, ladies and gentlemen, the actual writing shall begin. And this is where the confidence slowly makes for the back door. Read the rest of this entry »
About the book. Or: being high and low
If the airplane machine head flies heading up excessively, please ratherish get down the airplan tail department press. If the airplane flies the opportune moment head gets down to wash, please ratherish heading up the airplane tail department lift.
Must drink less. Must drink less. Must drink less.
Sunshine on a rainy day lies at the bottom of a puddle
Scarves + leaves = August in London
I am loathing August in London. I always did. Firstly, whilst the rest of Europe enjoys the peak of summer in skimpy dresses and open toe sandals, I usually catch a cold as I desperately hang on to wearing my only recently acquired summer wardrobe. Thanks to London’s August being what would be classified as deepest autumn anywhere South of Calais, I’d be better advised to wrap summer scarves around my neck and cashmere cardigans around my shoulders. In August! Read the rest of this entry »
Bad hair days. Or: a holey summer
It all started rather harmless. When my friend Monique* handed me a tattered, pink paperback, I was a tad bit surprised by the cover. The photograph of a girl and a boy in a tight embrace, apparently joyful smooching away, made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. And desire. Desire to open the book and plunge right into the story of love, pre-pubertal lust and longing. Read the rest of this entry »
My dirty little secret
Stockholm always has a soothing effect on me. Surrounded by clean water and crisp air, decorated with beautiful buildings and healthy looking people who smile at you with their big, straight white teeth, beach blond hair waving in the wind – Sweden is reliably fulfilling its clichés.
Sweden gives me an instant holiday feeling. And it pleasantly reminds on the very beginnings of Big M’s and my relationship, when he was still living in the city on the waterfront. Fortunately, one of my best friends is still living there, giving me the best reason to go back again and again. Read the rest of this entry »
StockholmEvery time I picked up the phone to call my grandma during the past months, I dreaded that she’d fall asleep on the phone again, that she’d again confuse names, that her speech again was slurred and that again, I would feel her health and her spirits deteriorating. I found excuses not to visit her – after all it is an eight hours drive away. But you can’t avoid your demons forever.
I took the red-eye to Dusseldorf yesterday in the wee hours to get to my grandma’s care home in the morning. What I found was devastating. My grandma, the woman who has cared for her daughters her whole life long, who accommodated both my brothers in her home when my mother couldn’t have cared less, who gave literally everything, is alone, left in an environment unfamiliar to her, a filthy, hot and horrible room, and she is slowly and painfully dying.
Holding her hand yesterday, I couldn’t help but wish she would have died there and then. I know that this is an awful thing to think, but at least she wouldn’t have been so alone. 96 years of sacrifice for nothing?
I am so angry and unbelievably sad that my mother and her sister have taken everything when there was something to take and now don’t give back. At all. I would love to move my grandma to a home in London, but then she wouldn’t understand a word of what’s going on around her.
What shall I do? What shall I do? What shall I do???
