Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Sunday, 24 February 2008
Sometimes it seems like the world is trying to tell you something - the same message gets played over and over in a 24-hour period until it finally clicks. And then it's up to you to do with that message what you will.
Friday, 22 February 2008
I have found a small chink in the armour commonly known as: You ARE Going To Live In Australia, Like It Or Lump It. Australia is worried that I may be a burden on their health care system. (They obviously haven't read this blog or they'd know that I'm not even a burden on my own health care system, preferring to give birth in my living room attended by horror-struck family members - in fact I saved the NHS money by providing tea for two (tardy) ambulance crews.) They are making me undergo a full medical on Monday morning, followed by a chest x-ray. For the knock-down bargain price of several hundred pounds.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
The arrival of The Girl and Boy's Australian citizenship certificates brought a lump to my throat. I know Australia isn't exactly stealing my children but that's how it feels.
Friday, 15 February 2008
There's an awful lot to do when you're emigrating, I've discovered. For weeks I've been fending it off. I'd managed to convince myself that I was doing more than enough by killing off the house plants, not putting anything in my diary post-April (not that I can ever find my diary) and using up the jam and all that body cream stuff that people give you for Christmas that otherwise sits in the bathroom cabinet for decades (sorry to all those people who have given me body cream in the years when I was not emigrating, but I can never be arsed).
Monday, 4 February 2008
I'm forcing myself into a brief blogging coma in order to get on with a sudden, urgent rewrite of another novel. Meanwhile, if you haven't already discovered Taking Life For Granted, I urge you to read it.
Friday, 1 February 2008
This hot off the press! Err, well not the press but CBeebies: popular nursery rhyme Pop Goes The Weasel is a potential health hazard. As the CBeebies presenters explained earlier today, before you do the POP, you must wash your hands . . .
Great excitement last week as the local POUND STORE had a closing down sale (practically throwing their stock at passers-by). What, I wondered, would they put in its place? It's got great square-footage, and while I wasn't dumb enough to hold out hope for a bookshop or some gorgeous cafe where you can let your children run wild, cared for by a bunch of highly trained staff, while you read the paper (hey, I can dream)... what I wasn't expecting was: