Bumbags and birthdays

“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”

Goodbye twenty-seven, I will never see you again

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”