MEscovery

It's the week before the school holidays start. What better way to get in the festive spirit than to run yourself ragged organising 5 million childrens' Christmas party outfits, whistling up disposable party lunches (of course with dietary restrictions), festively decorating scooters/bikes and packing for your holidays with elf-like efficiency. After doing a Chinese laundry's worth of washing/ironing and of course all the while keeping up the jolly ho ho ho spirit. I have finished work for this year! Oh yeah! Of the office type variety. Now the real work starts. There is nothing like the stress of packing for three children and the prospect of dragging them through an airport along with a suitcase each. Oh joy. Watch out for the crazy gang of kids bumping Trunkies into people's ankles and the woman about to have a nervous breakdown shouting at them to hurry up! There will be bribes and t(h)reats and chanting of "think of the wine". Ah but once we arriv

I remember listening to a radio segment (is that what they are called?) once where the presenter was talking about going offline for a week. No Facebook, no Twitter, no emails, no texts. At the time (admittedly it was a couple of years ago, which in technology/social media years makes it ca. the ice age) I was a bit confused by this concept. The thought that NOT checking in was a challenge. Oh how ignorant I was, young and foolish. It's not that I'm addicted. I just happen to get repetitive strain injury in my hand from using my iPhone too much. No biggie. Happens to all of us doesn't it? Oh wait... Pardon? You say something? Sorry, I was just checking something. Important stuff of course. Isn't it all? The thing is, it's not. It's just a habit. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Zite, Feedly. And repeat. Because in the last two minutes something earth shatteringly brilliant might have been broadcast on one of the aforementioned. Or not, but then at least I know

I don't know if it's very vain to think that anything I write on here will be "seen", but I struggle with the thought that whatever I write down here can be read by anyone. What's worse - someone you know reading what you write or someone you don't know reading what you write?  Whenever I write a tweet and I guess now a blog post too, I get a little wave of panic wash over me that someone might actually read it. Ridiculous. Why bother writing something if it's not to be read? It would be so much easier to write a generic blog, something about fashion (if I knew something about that) or rant about parenting children (something I do know about) but I think there are plenty of those about already. Besides, I happen to like reading something true and real best. And if I'm going to do this, I might as well do it for real, my thoughts and perspective on whatever it is I actually care about (one of these days I'll find what that is, stick

As a child I had a go at so many sports: tennis, judo, athletics, badminton, horse riding. I've done them all. And probably many more which I have already erased from my memory. I've gone to hours and hours of music lessons, piano lessons and music history lessons. And yet, after all these years I'd struggle to be decent at any of these things. One of my childhood assessments pretty much came out with this conclusion: I can get quite good at things with ease, but don't have the stamina to finish things or become great at them. It's a recurring theme in my life, this "not finishing things". I gave up university for love (that was my excuse anyway, maybe the option of moving abroad was easier and more convenient than admitting that I didn't like being at university). I used to get told off for always leaving a tiny bit of food on my plate (unless it's cake of course, I'm not daft). I have yet to pick up my professional accountancy education