Grief is a funny thing. As in peculiar rather than ha ha, obviously. Seventeen years ago my brother died. I remember, a few years after, googling the five stages of grief.
Find Wine!
‘Just checking you’re ok…not seen you on social media for a bit?’ went the first message from a friend. ‘Are you away on hols?’
A few years ago I bought a jumpsuit. We were off to New York for a long weekend and clearly thought a jumpsuit would elevate me from knackered mother to potential extra in Gossip Girl in one outfit.
I had lunch with Rob Lowe last week. OK, ‘had lunch with’ might be pushing it. I was in a restaurant and he was on the next door table.
Apparently, there’s a new series on Netflix about tidying up with expert de-clutterer Marie Kondo. Now, I haven’t seen it (too busy watching the entire series of Fleabag back to back, way more fun than folding clothes).
So, how was it for you? Aside from doing my knee in (again) whilst trying to act out The Nutcracker in a family game of charades on Christmas Eve, mine was great.
Ah, Christmas. So much stuff to organise – food, presents, plans – and so little time to do it. Now, I can’t help you with the last minute mince pie requests or the sudden call for a star costume (for real, made one out of a wine box earlier this week in ten minutes flat) but I can help you with wine.
I have a terrible poker face. That whole ‘can’t tell what they’re thinking’ thing? Whatever it is, it’s usually written all over mine.
