“Where did you get that from? Guatemala? Honduras?” I followed the Waitrose check-out lady’s gaze to my crotch area. Ah yes, I was wearing a multicoloured bumbag. Not for fashion reasons obviously, but as a nifty hands-free receptacle for any guinea pig grass I happened to find on my walk (I live in quite aContinue reading “Bumbags and birthdays”
Each and every year, on the final day before my birthday, my internal monologue postpones business as usual and gets stuck in an infuriating loop of: ‘this is the last time I’m going to [insert activity] as an [insert age] year-old’. Today is my last day of being 27 and I just got back from theContinue reading “Goodbye twenty-seven, I will never see you again”
Technically time doesn’t go quickly. It goes at the same speed, depending on how you’re measuring it.