Where life's contradictions get comfortable

I hate it when Arthur comes calling. I really do wish he would do one, just disappear already. Now I know what you think, but this really isn’t me being horrible. I just really wish he would f-off; my God, does he piss me off. He shows his face like he has every right to be here, and in case you are wondering, no, he does not. I don’t see the need or reason for that face to be looking back at me, and for some reason, they all love him. They must do because they knock about wi

Let’s be honest - midlife can feel like a bit of a cosmic joke sometimes. One minute you’re cruising along, and the next, you’re Googling “why do my knees sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies?” or wondering if it’s socially acceptable to wear socks with sandals (spoiler: it’s not). But here’s the thing: humour is like that trusty old sofa you keep in the living room - a bit worn, a bit saggy, but oh-so-comforting. It cushions the blows of midlife challenges and makes the whole

Something was always slightly wrong, but perhaps perfection is overrated anyway. We got up in the morning like any other. I came downstairs, Bo put the kettle on, and we sat at the table to drink our morning tea. Ran the water in the sink to wash the pots, I have this terrible habit of leaving them until the next morning; by the time we have finished dinner and I have done a million other things, I just can’t be bothered. So I don’t. I washed the pots, went upstairs to get dr