The Space Pilot, The Sewer, The Jock And Her Lover.

Before summer, we asked the ‘Dactyl what she wanted to be when she grew up. She said, after marrying her brother—which alarmed us slightly—that she wanted to “stay home and do nothing like Mummy.” Crikey. Nothing? That worried me more than wanting to marry Bob. “Best you get a job,” said the Dimple. “Inspire your … More The Space Pilot, The Sewer, The Jock And Her Lover.

It’s With Great Reluctance I Admit I Am Not Mrs Incredible.

I always thought that in life and death situations I would do amazing feats; lift cars off small children, run through burning buildings, pole-vault to save strangers. Like Mrs Incredible. This sense has heightened since we moved to the woods because our neighbours are a little wild: scorpions, bears, bastard deer ticks, snakes, poisonous plants … More It’s With Great Reluctance I Admit I Am Not Mrs Incredible.

Nature, that place where large birds fly about, uncooked.*

Gardening, I always thought, was for old ladies suffering from Empty Nest Syndrome; they miss watching children grow so plant sunflowers instead. With a track record of owning plants that committed suicide I expected to become a fusty gardener around 68. Having prided myself on always having a good title: Vodka Strumpet, Ad Slut, PR … More Nature, that place where large birds fly about, uncooked.*