A few years ago I had lunch with a former agent who said she had been going through something of a tough time where she had suddenly realized she had hit middle age, and was attempting to come to terms with her mortality.

I nodded sympathetically, but had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

Last month, having been plagued with all sorts of “Lady Problems” for rather a long time, my doctor finally said there was no alternative but to have a hysterectomy.

I don’t like being anything less than Superwoman. Anything less than invincibility makes me feel vulnerable and weak, and nothing is worse than being vulnerable and weak. (more…)

I was browsing the biog of one of the musicians who played at our David Bowie Night of Celebration and started wriggling with excitement when I noticed he had played with Rupert Holmes.

Rupert who? I hear you ask. Rupert Holmes! He sang (and wrote) Escape.

Escape? I hear you ask. Never heard of it. I shall jog your memory with one line from the chorus: ‘If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.’

I happen to know Rupert Holmes. When not writing the catchiest tunes of the last century, Rupert keeps himself busy writing novels (among many other things). A couple of years ago Rupert and I found ourselves as guests of the Literary Festival From Hell.

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We have been holding rehearsals for my David Bowie tribute memorial nostalgia lovefest thing. I don’t really know what to call it, but it is going to be wonderful.

It didn’t start off quite so wonderfully. A musician/music director was recommended to me who showed up and said he wanted a bigger venue and lots of money. I very politely phoned him the next day and said I was ‘going in a different direction’. I do love a handy euphemism.

And then, like a miracle, I was sent an email from a musician, Mr Divine, who is in the middle of putting together a dedicated David Bowie show himself, and asked if I’d be interested in him performing.

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Roaches were not enough to satisfy Twin A on the pet front, and Twin A has not, as I had hoped, forgotten about the bearded dragon. He burst into my office bouncing with excitement that a huge reptile expo was coming to town. Not our town, exactly, but a few towns away, and there were going to be tons of perfect bearded dragons from which to choose, and they, unlike the ones found at our local pet store, would, almost certainly, not be carrying the dreaded metabolic bone disorder.

Sometimes in life, as a mother, there are things you have to say yes to, even though every fibre of your body is screaming ‘nooooo!’. This was one of those occasions. There was no getting out of it, and so Twin A, and three of his closest friends (each of whom is both as sweet and as non-mainstream as he is) piled into the car, chattering excitedly about what I came to call Lizardpalooza.

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After a handful of happy weeks, the chameleon started to look sickly. We took him to a vet specialising in reptiles, who said perhaps he needed some iron, and prescribed liquid iron. Twin A went to his father’s for the weekend and left me in charge of the sickly chameleon, who started looking worse and worse.

I bought a UV lamp to flood the poorly chameleon with more sunlight, and lovingly syringed the liquid iron into his mouth. I picked up crickets, dusted them with nutritional powder, and fed him. I will tell you that over the course of two days, I bonded with the chameleon. I grew very attached, even though research pointed to a metabolic bone disorder, one that he must have already had when we bought him, one that we discovered too late. (more…)

The Eldest Daughter came home from University asking if I had read the email she sent about a miraculous piercing that prevents migraines.

It’s called a Daith piercing, and goes through the cartilage of the ear, at an acupressure point. A quick visit to Dr Google found many, many people who reported it had stopped their migraines completely. I have had migraines for over 30 years.

I have tried cutting out all the things you are supposed to cut out, having early nights, avoiding alcohol, but nothing helps. When the eldest daughter mentioned the piercing, I had just had an attack that was particularly bad, ending up in the Emergency Room for drips of saline and painkillers. (more…)

Someone said there were certain things all adult women need in order to be happy. These things appear to be (in no particular order): casseroles, fresh flowers, white wine, terrariums, mason jars, clear complexions, an ottoman, a lemonade pitcher and a man.

I have been thinking hard about this somewhat obscure list. Some of the things I most certainly agree with. A delicious, aromatic casserole, for example, simmering on the stove on a cold winter’s day, always makes me happy. An ottoman makes me very happy too (I do love a tufted ottoman with a tray on top, stacked high with books and knick-knacks, ready for the tray to be whisked off at any given moment for a spot of extra seating). (more…)

If I hadn’t been a writer, I would almost certainly have been a domestic goddess. This might have taken any number of forms, including cooking and gardening, but my real passion is decorating.

I love nothing more than taking a blank canvas – a room that has just a sofa, a couple of chairs, a coffee table, and turning it into a home. I add a large sisal rug and pile soft, squishy cushions on the sofas. A tray will go on the coffee table, and piles of books around. Occasional tables, lamps, small collections of pretty things: It’s the turning a house into a home bit that I adore. (more…)