I'd lost track of how long I've been at this blogging thing. But WordPress told me last week. I've been writing at Gin & Lemonade for six years. Well. That makes me want to apologise that my last post before this was a muddy puddle. But I won't, because y'know, cute kid. Someone asked me … Continue reading Day One, Again
Regular readers will know that my boyfriend sometimes wears a kilt and walks around with a knife in his sock, in the name of Scottish traditional dress. His 90 year-old Gran recently requested that he get fully decked out to attend her birthday dinner, and he obliged. With a little help. Last April, he bought … Continue reading Bow-Ties Available at Reception
Wherein I get fresh air and new perspectives, remember promises and maybe change my mind. Edinburgh - Glasgow, holiday o’clock. Sarge turns on all the lights in our bedroom to make sure I am actually awake. We have cupcakes for breakfast. They are neither red nor velvet. I put on striped socks, a museum t-shirt … Continue reading My Island Diaries: Mull
‘Is the chair coming off?’ the bus-driver asked Sarge. ‘No,’ I said ‘I thought I’d leave the chair here and walk off myself. Have a nice day.’ And I went down the ramp. Two more ramps and I was on a train to Glasgow. As I dug my book out of my backpack, I realised … Continue reading Going Home
Last weekend, Sarge and I went to the pub (OK, two pubs) to meet with friends and prove that he had survived meeting my mother. We left the first pub in search of another one with an accessible toilet. I spend half my life needing to pee, and the other half looking for an accessible … Continue reading How To Get Free Beer
I was sitting in an airport chair, waiting for my chair to roll through on the baggage-claim belt. Sarge and I were trying to convince the Sky Cap my chair would be through on Over-size Items, which meant we were waiting in the wrong place. Sarge was tired, and I was just wired and wanted … Continue reading He’s So Handsome. You Look Tired.
A few months after I got my favourite pen, my Dad packed it and the rest of my life into the car and drove me down to University. As The Dixie Chicks blasted out of the speakers and through the open windows, I was as excited as I’d ever been up to that point in … Continue reading Where Sweaters Go To Die