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Dirty Hairy

I was described as ‘organic’ the other day. By a hairdresser. It didn’t really register at the time but I think I’ve realised what he meant. Call me shallow –

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Party pooped…

A few days ago, a friend and I talked about how much we were loving the holidays: everyone at home, no school runs, even relative lie-ins thanks to later-than-usual bedtimes for the children. The holidays are too short!

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Dancing Queen

There is a dance routine that I have perfected over the years. It is set to Queen’s ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ and is performed in the kitchen at times of extreme stress or emotion to my favourite audience: my three children.

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Along came a spider…

I measure all pain on the BC scale: before childbirth. Even using an epilator is a walk in the park nowadays. But there is a mother who has raised the bar when it comes to showing the love. This particular one has her babies, then lets them eat her.

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Cat Woman

Cats: never got them. Or rather, couldn’t quite connect with those referred to as ‘cat people’. Like you have to choose just one animal to love.

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