Who decides that, when it comes to subjective, unquantifiable things?

Yesterday I realised that I’d changed.

There’s a photo of me standing on our front door step when I was four, dressed up as a nurse. Work experience twelve years later confirmed that actually, I would be terrible at it.

I’m talking about Murphy’s law here, you know the ‘if anything can go wrong it will’ one.

Last week I discovered the reason why my eleven year old wouldn’t play his clarinet in front of people. I put it down to lack of practice, but I was wrong.

When you can’t do the things you always did, when circumstances have robbed you of any luxury, when you have to drop everything for someone else, what are you left with?

No thankyou. It feels like this year things are starting even earlier than usual. Some shops have always choked us with cinnamon and hurt our eyes with glitter months before they should,

What’s yours? Last week I noticed that Facebook have a new thing where they show people’s ‘stories’. Maybe it’s compensating for the fact that a single snapshot of a pouting thirty year old does not tell us anything about them, but I doubt it.

When I was growing up there was no TV in the house. I used to hide the fact because it was so out of the ordinary.