Wednesday 1 August 2018

Mamma Mia! Here I go again....

"Oh gosh no, I'm not dreading turning 30 at all. I'm looking forward to it, if anything. I got myself in such a state about turning 20, I am not doing that with turning 30. No I'm not. No way. My twenties were amazing, as will my thirties be.'

Oh for the heady days of being aged twenty-nine years and one week old.

Now, of course, I'm twenty-nine years and two months old, and so am having an absolute meltdown about my next birthday.

No I'm exaggerating.

But as time goes on that little voice is starting to creep into my ear.

It's the same voice that tends to make an appearance around New Year's Eve. Did you do enough this year? Have you got good enough plans for next year? And are they actually achievable? 

Now what the sensible voice from age twenty-nine and one week said was this:

1) My twenties have been incredible. They have been everything I wanted and more. There were plenty of times I thought (and was told) that there was no way I could do all the jobs abroad that I wanted to do and end up in a good job at home at the end of it. The fact that I managed to do it- and that I ticked off every country and every job including one in Disney World- is nothing short of absolutely amazing. I am proud and grateful, and changed. I have learnt so, so much in my twenties and can't wait to see what fun and life lessons lie in wait for my thirties.

2) I am incredibly lucky to have made it to twenty-nine years and two months old. There are so many who aren't reaching this milestone with me, or who perhaps had but won't see their next decade, whatever that may have been. If nothing else, my twenties have taught me the difficult lesson of life's fragility, and I should be (and trust me, am) grateful for every single day that I wake up healthy and happy.

However. In the seven weeks that have passed since that sensible voice, several things have happened.

1) I've realised I'm turning thirty. 

I'm not kidding. Or pretending. Or playing grown ups.

I really am going to be thirty. That proper grown up age.

The age that my mum was when she moved her husband and three children into the comfy house that I grew up in. The decade that my mum was in when I finished my A levels and went to university. 

I recently started a new job, and as it's part time and involves working with lots of younger colleagues, I had naturally assumed that everyone would think I was also their age.

How funny. I thought. Nobody here would ever know I'd had a baby. They probably all think I'm seventeen or eighteen like the others. 

The very first person I met (who, I should mention, was seven years old) genuinely asked me Rebecca are you well into your thirties or just a bit? 

Since then I've been asked many, many similar questions, with one child outright asking me so were you born in 1989? (For those of you less confident in maths, yes I was, and yes, it's hilarious and scary in equal measures that a nine year old knew that by looking at my face.)

After one such comment, I came home and looked in the mirror and was shocked to find a twenty-nine year old looking back. How and when that happened I do not know.

2) I've realised that the real grown ups that I know are the same age as me. 

I always assume that the other mums at baby groups who have husbands and houses and baby bags and nice eyebrows and look like they've got their lives together aren't pretending at being grown ups like me, they are actual grown ups.

Then I'll get talking to them and they'll casually mention that they turned thirty earlier this year, or are looking forward to it next year. Or they'll add me on Instagram and be michellejohnson92 and I'll realise they're younger than me.

But that's because I really am their age. And I have a husband and a home and a baby bag (I'm foregoing the nice eyebrows at the moment but perhaps they will miraculously sort themselves out before the big day) and probably look, from the outside, a bit grown up too.

3)  I watched Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again.

This really was the turning point, to be honest.

If you haven't seen it yet I must warn you that it is very much about the passing of time so I'd take your tissues and allow ten minutes at the end for quiet sobbing.

According to the film release dates, I'm almost exactly the same age as Sophie- the main character.

She was twenty when the first film came out, and so would be thirty now (in the film they implied she's only twenty five but, whatever, Amanda Seyfried who plays her has aged ten years which is sort of my point) and when she first appeared on the screen I felt a huge rush of realisation about just how much you change in your twenties. 

Not only did she look ten years older (and a lot better, which I think is the general rule no matter what mainstream media will have you believe), it struck me that the excitable, squealy ball of energy from the first film had been replaced with a strong, considered and able woman in the second, and I couldn't help feeling (and hoping) that watching myself back in 2008 and then now would have the same effect.

And that's when I started to feel overwhelmed by the whole thing.

Then the film only went on and on and on about time passing and things changing (just to be clear I absolutely loved the film, it just made me an emotional wreck) and by the end of it I had reverted more or less to the sentimental mess I was about turning 20.

Since then I've thought a lot about how I've changed in my twenties, and about what they've held for me, and I had a moment today sitting with two friends that I met when I was sixteen, and the five children that we have between us, just unable to believe that we have known each other that long. That we have lived so much of our lives together.

Where does the time go?

The other day I brought this up with my ninety-three year old Grandad.

If I feel like time is flashing by and I can't believe my age, how on earth must he feel?

You just can't explain it duck. I don't have the answers I'm afraid. I don't know where that time's gone. I can't believe it, really. 

Me neither.

And for as long as I can remember I've been told to enjoy every moment. To make the most of it, because it won't always be like this. It won't be this fun in secondary school. At college. At university. In the real world. Once you have kids. Once your babies are older. 

And I'm not complaining about that advice. I actually think that advice has made me good at it- good at enjoying every second and not taking anything for granted.

But on the other hand, at milestones like this- that make me overthink the passing of time and want to slow it down- that advice can be overwhelming, because there is nothing I can do. Time passes. And no amount of gratitude or wisdom can change that. If it could be done, I have every faith that my Grandad would have discovered how at some point in the past ninety-three and a half years.

When I was obsessed with turning twenty, I listened to the song Stop This Train by John Mayer on repeat for the entire year- a song about exactly this moment.

And I would replay the same lines in my mind over and over:

Had a talk with my old man
Said help me understand
He said turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate 

Don't stop this train. 
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
Don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
Honestly. We'll never stop this train. 

But of course, it's never about the age anyway. It's not about the number. 18, 40, 92, New Year's Eve. It's not about how many years have passed since the day you were born, it's about the reminder that time is passing. That things won't always be like they are right now, and that some things that have happened will never happen again.

That it's moving all the time and there's nothing we can do about it.

So as far as I can see the answer seems to be to embrace it.

Continue to enjoy every moment- to find joy in the little things, to make the most of every day. And by make the most of every day I don't mean jump out of planes or go scuba diving (not every day, anyway). I mean- read and write. Savour that first sip of coffee. Enjoy the way Dale wakes up with more enthusiasm than your average Labrador. Take note of the way Squirt looks carefully at which piece of food she's going to pick up in her little pincers and chooses it with relish. Laugh at my cousins or grandparents or the kids I work with until my sides hurt.

Appreciate everything my twenties brought me, and appreciate the person that it's made me.

And look forward to all of the adventures and life lessons to come.

Without, for a minute, wanting to change the place I'm in.

(Except perhaps in the cinema watching Mamma Mia 2. I don't think I can put myself through that again.)

Tuesday 1 May 2018

Brighter than the Sun

It has been ten months and five days since I got married.

Somehow I have let that time go by without writing about the wedding. I wrote a post about the night before the night before my wedding, promising that it would be the only post I'd ever write about it. I was wary of being boring, of parading my wedding in front of everyone's faces as though they should care.

Since then, though, a couple of things have happened. Firstly- I had a truly lovely reaction to the one post I did write about the upcoming wedding, and a few readers did comment that they hoped I would write at least one post about the day. Secondly- I realised that I love reading about, hearing about, and seeing pictures of other people's weddings.

So here's your warning: this post is for a very specific type of person; one who enjoys hearing about other people's weddings. If that sounds boring to you, this post is not for you. Please return to scrolling and tagging (and let me know if you have any ideas about what I can write that will interest you! Always open to suggestions.)

Finally, I realised that since becoming a mum I have lost my ability to remember things. (I had a total freak out a few weeks ago about a family member's name. It just didn't look right on the card and I was terrified I'd send it and they'd wonder why on earth I'd got their name wrong. Mortifying.) So I thought that if it turns out I'm the only person who likes reading about weddings then at least I'll enjoy reading it back in the future, and hopefully it'll help me preserve some of the finer details that may eventually escape me.

Dale and I got married on Monday 26th June 2017. (I'm hoping he'll read this and perhaps use it as a reference for our anniversary. He's asked me at least three times if I have any idea why he's got the date booked off work this year.)

The Venue


We were set on having a small, laidback, fun wedding that people didn't need to stress about and that really had very little feeling of formal about it.


I'm not the greatest with formal occasions, I'm not in any way fancy, I don't love a high heel and don't get me started on those teeny posh portions of food.

(Plus Dale hates a fascinator. He honestly feels passionately about very little, and I can only recall seeing him truly angry twice in our five years together. But mention a fascinator and smoke starts pumping out of his ears and his eyes roll back in his head. Seriously.)

When I explained to people that we were looking for a highly relaxed, easy going day without anything too fancy quite a few mentioned that we should have a look at West Street Vineyard in Coggeshall.

What.A.Find.

We saw it, we loved it, and I wish I could say we booked it here because that would flow beautifully. We didn't. It all seemed a bit too easy and we wondered whether we just loved it because it was the first one we'd seen. (Something I did when we were first looking at flats together and naming our baby. Fortunately Dale was there to rein me in. I more or less wailed 'Oh look, her name's Alex!' as the umbilical cord was cut. An Alex she is not.)

So we viewed a more posh place just to put our minds at ease. (And by we, I mean me and my friend Dumbo went and reported back to Dale.)

It was lovely, truly. And I do totally understand people having grand weddings in fancy pants places. We were shown around by the most immaculate human being I have ever met. Her name was Juliet. She spoke in hushed tones as she showed us the honeymoon suite, and in a suitably romantic voice the rest of the way around. Pressed skirt suit. Blonde hair in a perfect knot at the nape of her neck. Perfectly applied lipstick that didn't budge as she sipped her tea. I was ready to book it just so that I could say that she planned my wedding. I know it would have been perfect if she had.

But there was no flexibility.

There were three packages. You chose one. Juliet put it on for you.

Whereas the dream at West Street was that they're not a wedding venue. They're a vineyard. And they happen to hold weddings. There are no packages, no pre-set plans.

Whatever you want.

My little dream.






The Morning of the Big Day 

On the morning of the wedding I woke up at 7am, feeling like I'd had seventeen coffees and a couple of gins, and cleaned the entire flat. No idea why. It wasn't on any of the itineraries that I'd printed and stuck up in every room. It's what I do when I'm jittery, I suppose.


My mum had stayed the night before and my friends arrived at 10am. (They threw confetti over me and shouted congratulations as I opened the door. Sounds like a little thing but it was so magical.) Much to my delight the sun was out with its fascinator already sparkling on its bright little head, so we all walked over to Bill's where we sat outside for breakfast (that's my favourite restaurant, not one of the characters in my life), and they gave us a courtesy bottle of prosecco to say congratulations. (Again, a little thing. But those little sprinkles of magic really do make a difference.)






 The Look 

I had my makeup done by Carla from TeamGlam. She had done my makeup when I was a bridesmaid for Minnie Mouse and I knew I could have absolute faith that if I woke up looking tired/having a bad skin day/had chicken pox she would make me look the absolute best I possibly could. She's nothing short of a miracle worker and she's just so nice. (At one point she was on her hands and knees under my dress doing my shoes up. I'm fairly sure that's not in her job description. She's just amazing. I vaguely recall her painting my mum's nails as well. I may have made that bit up.)





My hairdresser Jade at Rush in Chelmsford did my hair and my mum's (she did a super job as always), and my nails were done by Nail Envy Radlett (who also always does a super job and never charges me enough.)

We had Emma from In A Flash photography take our beautiful photos. Emma also kept a couple of participants in our wedding who shall not be named in check and for that I shall forever be grateful. She was a real voice for me (I'm a people pleaser and would have let all sorts happen but she was wonderful and made sure everything went my way)- what a star.

The details of my dress shall forever remain a secret but the style inspiration came from my wonderful day on Say Yes to the Dress. Highly recommend applying to go on it if you're looking for your wedding dress. Absolutely brilliant. (And sure, watch my episode. I've watched it now, I'm not embarrassed. My Essex accent is ever so slightly stronger than I had realised but otherwise it's quite a good watch.)

On my feet I wore flat sandals from Accessorize. They were a little dream. I like to think that if I was Beyoncé I'd still have worn those shoes. No chance of falling up the aisle (or during the conga) and I managed to keep them on all night.




The Wedding Party

We had such a small wedding that every single guest was a member of the wedding party. We chose to have no top table, no best man, no adult bridesmaids, no evening guests. There were fifty five of us altogether. Dale's five year old niece was a bridesmaid, and his nephews, aged seven and two, were the ring bearers. My brother Mowgli was an usher, Chip did a reading with Dale's sister, and my Dad and Uncle did speeches. Our mums were our witnesses.


The Theme

Our theme was Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan. Having met in the UK pavilion at Epcot in Walt Disney World we wanted it to be British and Disney themed, so we decided to go for a mash up of the two stories. It was (of course) sophisticated, subtle Disney- I think sometimes when I say we had a Disney themed wedding people immediately picture a nightmare from Don't Tell The Bride. It wasn't. It was beautiful. 

We were lucky enough to have the most incredible florist, Adele Hudgell, who just could not do enough for us and somehow, despite my distinct lack of knowledge about flowers and truly poor attempts at describing what I wanted, she had exactly the same vision of elegant, understated Disney, and she did the most amazing job. 









(Apart from being an incredible florist, Adele is the actual and literal definition of loveliness. So much so, in fact, that when another friend was telling me about her wedding and said 'our florist is the nicest person I've ever met'- that's all she said, nothing about location, name, experience, nothing- I said 'no way have you got Adele?') 



We did a lot of themed stuff ourselves (sweetie bag favours, table plan display, themed items to go on tables) but were lucky enough to bag two wonderful cake makers to make more of my imagination become reality. Sarah Underwood (who is also my best pal) did our Peter Pan cake, and Debbie at Dinkylicious Cakes made our Alice one. They were both delicious (we had our official honeymoon before the wedding so the majority of our post-wedding honeymoon was spent eating cake) and looked amazing. 











The Big Moment 

Having spent the entire journey from Chelmsford to Coggeshall taking selfies with my Dad and just unable to believe that the bride smiling back was me, we drove up and down the road quite a few times because, according to the venue our guests were not behaving (I never got to the bottom of what that meant but I did see two pals running up the road toward the vineyard on our third round trip so my guess is that what they meant by that is they're not all here.)





I had my getting out of the car photos and was ushered inside the restaurant and upstairs to confirm that I was definitely up for being Mrs Stark and that I really was 28 (took quite a lot of joy from the fact that the registrar just couldn't believe I was so old).


I feel quite choked up thinking about the next bit. Which is ridiculous because at the time I wasn't choked up at all.

My Dad and I practised walking around the room a bit (still convinced I was going to fall over) then the venue manager came in and told me it was time to go. 



I should say here that there were so many maybes about this day. In my determination not to get caught up in the details that couldn't be controlled I had barely even dared to imagine everything going as it should. 

I had really, really wanted our friend Gloria to sing as I walked down the aisle. She is easily the most talented singer I've ever met in real life and the thought of having someone as incredible as that at my wedding just seemed too good to be true. 

But Dale asked. She said yes. 

Then we had such a nightmare getting the correct equipment, getting the equipment insured...oh I can't even remember what else it was about now. I'm sure at some point they needed proof that my mum's dog was born in 2008 otherwise Gloria wasn't going to be allowed to sing. 

We didn't know whether the ring bearers (Dale's nephews) would walk down the aisle or whether it would end up just being his niece. We didn't know whether we would be able to get married outside or if the weather would prevent us. We hadn't known until very last minute whether my dress would still fit me. We didn't know that my strict instructions for how to lay everything out would be clear enough, or even possible. 

Then in this moment, as I rounded the corner, I felt like time stopped for a moment. 


The sun was shining and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. In front of me were all our guests, and in front of them, was Gloria. Singing. She had this flower crown on her head and this gorgeous jumpsuit and she was singing the song I had picked out to walk down the aisle to the moment I had realised I would marry Dale one day. I was wearing my dress, and Dale was here looking all handsome in his suit, and his sister's three children were walking in front of me and I just felt the most incredible happiness. 






I will never be able to believe how lucky we were to have all those uncontrollable things fall into place. It was probably the best moment of my life so far and definitely the best moment of the day. 

The Food 

To fit in with our British and Informal theme we skipped the starters and had sausage and mash for mains with sticky toffee pudding for dessert. 

It was mainly just convenient that my favourite meal is British and Informal. Just like me. 

At the ceremony we had provided party bags with sweets and crisps in (as well as Alice style giant playing cards with photo suggestions on them and little fans and bubbles- which were such a hit, highly recommend fans if you're getting married on a potentially hot day), and then later in the evening we had sweet potato fries and cake. So much super food. 

The Entertainment

As I mentioned above, Gloria sang during the ceremony. 

I walked down the aisle to I Choose You by Sara Bareilles, we signed the register to Brighter than the Sun and Falling For You by Colbie Caillat, and we walked back up the aisle together to Dreams Come True by Hall and Oates. All sung beautifully by Gloria. 

My brother and Dale's sister read a shorter, more wedding friendly version of Oh the Places You'll Go by Dr Seuss which is my absolute, number one favourite book ever, and just so fitting for every single adventure you'll ever go on. 

During the reception drinks we had Dave Lucas from Drop Dead Caricatures wandering round drawing people (he was spot on with all of them. Even managed to get the cheekiness in my Grandad's eyes) and giant garden games from gardengameshireuk.com dotted about for people to play. Again, thank you sunshine, I'd have been devastated if we couldn't have used those. They were such a hit as well- I'd highly recommend them. I felt that I was taking a bit of a chance on those but a couple of people wrote in our guest book that they were the highlight of the day. We also had a photo booth set up (just a basket of mainly Peter and Alice themed clothing items and a big frame) which resulted in so much fun and lots of fab photos. 








My entertainment highlight though was the secret singing waiters. I would love to tell you exactly what they did and how they did it but I won't talk about it at all because I'd hate to say anything that would mean you'd spot them if you were ever a guest at one of their events. All I'll say is that we hired Silver Service Singers, they were a big hit with every single guest from two year old Quinn to 92 year old Grandad Ed, and that it was worth booking them and keeping the secret just to see the look on my dad's face when he realised what was going on. Another life highlight there, I think. 

They then stayed to do the first hour of music. (First dance: Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon because that's what was playing when I first knew I'd marry Dale. Plus it's just a great song.) After that first hour we just put our own playlist on which was perfect. 







The party was downstairs in the basement of the vineyard which had been decorated with a light up dance floor, fairy lights in jars everywhere and big balloons dotted about; but the upstairs was still open with comfy chairs, and the balcony was strung with fairy lights too so a lot of our guests ended up sitting outside under blankets with big cups of tea, whilst others were downstairs dancing to Mr Brightside and other hits. 










I was planning on doing another section here called 'magical moments'- there are just so many throughout the day that you don't plan and desperately don't want to forget. Two year old Quinn interrupting the 'I do' moment to give his uncle a packet of biscuits. My friend Minnie Mouse jumping out of her skin when the singing waiter started singing right behind her. My friend Simba just being such a hit in his kilt and his huge smile that people are still mentioning it now. My brother's girlfriend singing Let It Go into the microphone. The speeches. The moment that Dale and I just stopped and watched, and saw Mary-who-used-to-be-my-manager-in-education laughing and cheering Simba-who-I-worked-with-at-The-Lion-King to beat Julia-from-work at giant snakes and ladders. It was just everything I had wanted. 


But I imagine you've finished your cup of tea by now and probably need to crack on so I'll keep the rest of those magical extras to myself. 

But honestly, the best thing about that day- besides the obvious (that I married the best human on the planet)- was having all those people that I love so much all together, at once, smiling for a whole day. 









Sunday 21 January 2018

Cool to Be Kind

The other day I accidentally watched a video online (I'd been watching the Michael McIntyre Brits Abroad clip for probably the fifth time this week and it automatically moved on before I could stop it) about online bullying. Psychologists and charity workers on there were saying that a lot of the problem stems from the fact that it's not cool to be kind. 

And that thought genuinely made me feel sick. 

Hopefully anybody who knows me will know that I am a real advocate of kindness. In fact, last year at a work party somebody, out of the blue, told me that kindness is one of the key features of my personality, and that that is rare. Probably the nicest thing anybody has ever said to or about me, and a comment that I will hold onto and whip out for years to come, every time I'm overcome with self doubt, or embarrassment at something I said in 2009. Telling me that was a huge act of kindness in itself- one that I am eternally grateful for. 

But of course I'm not always kind. 

Quite a lot of the time I'm not, actually. I'm a human being, after all, and quite often can't see past the end of my own nose. But I am never intentionally cruel, and don't think I know many people at all who are. 

I shed a few tears watching this video- for the children suffering, for the parents dealing with devastated kids, for my baby who's no doubt one day going to have to deal with a world where kindness isn't cool but bullying via social media is, and of frustration that this is the world we live in. 

I'm not sure whether kindness was cool when I was at school, but I've never cared about being cool (thankfully, I'd be miserable if I did care) but I have spent a lot of my adult life grateful that I didn't have social media to deal with as a teenager. As if that time isn't difficult enough. 

I'm normally not particularly cynical- but the facts and figures on this video clip of This Morning were hard to argue with, and it terrified me. 

So I thought that I would pay extra attention to the kind things going on around me and share them with you, in an attempt to remind myself (and maybe you, if you need a reminder) that there is kindness around us all the time, and there is absolutely no reason that it should be uncool...

1) Train Adventures

Today I was brave enough to take Squirt on the train alone (and I breastfed her on there- it's not just public kindness I'm convinced should be the norm, oh no) and whilst I was waiting at the station I was immediately relieved to realise that a group of Irish women were waiting for the same train. Now I don't like to stereotype but in my experience of living in Ireland generally I find the Irish to be the kings of kindness. As a nation, they are just about the nicest people in the world. 

Sure enough, as soon as the train pulled in they gathered around me. 

"Would you prefer it if we went on before you, and helped you from there, or after you, and helped you that way? Or a bit of both?" 

Not helping me wasn't even an option. 

On the way home it was snowing. It hadn't been snowing when I left so I was absolutely freezing in my soft coat and inappropriate shoes, and Squirt was snug in her snowsuit, three blankets, foot warmer and rain cover, and so naturally was absolutely furious that she wasn't out in the fun with me. Going anywhere with a screaming baby is never fun, but as I climbed aboard the packed train with her cries immediately filling the carriage I was ready for some classic British tutting. 

Instead what I got was reassuring smiles, and I cannot tell you how appreciated they were. 

2) Other People's Stories

On Friday night my dad and brother came over for dinner. 

What an excellent opportunity to fulfil my new year resolutions, I thought. I can cook for them from scratch (resolution 1: learn to cook), and I'll have to be organised to have it all sorted on time for them to get here after work and immediately eat before the First Aid course we were doing at seven (resolution 2: be more organised). 

(Actually, in the interest of being kind, may I take this moment to promote Daisy First Aid. Jennie came to our flat and ran the relaxed but hugely informative and enjoyable course. And she's so lovely. I was listening but I did also spend a lot of time thinking about how pretty her hair was. Anyway.) 

I chose a recipe specifically because it was one that I could make during the day and heat up when they arrived so that everywhere could be tidy and ready for the course as soon as dinner was finished. I made a list of ingredients on my new handy magnetic post-it note board that lives on the fridge and felt like Mary Berry herself (who I assume is highly organised as well as being an excellent cook) as I peeled it from the top, popped it into my brand new pram organiser and glided into town, incredibly smug. I posted some birthday cards on my way (a week in advance, that's right) and as I headed home I had this beautiful vision of my family around the kitchen table, with a big bowl of salad in the middle and a hot, steaming dish of delicious loveliness beside it. 

I quickly realised that I don't own a big salad bowl. So that image made a swift exit. 

Then I realised that somehow, when I was making the list on my fancy life-changing-fridge-magnet, I had managed to leave off butternut squash. Which was the key ingredient. 

I couldn't go back, because by this point Squirt was screamingand when she gets into that state there really is no ignoring it. So I asked Dale to buy it on his way home from work. No problem. 

Dale got delayed at work by over an hour. Butternut squash is hard to cut, and took way longer than I had planned. We didn't have any saucepans big enough for the amount of pasta the recipe said I needed, and by the time Dale stuck his head round the door to see how I was getting on my hair was scraped back in a 'mum bun' smelling of burnt, I was covered in sweat, flour, and squash pips, the kitchen was covered in macaroni, and I was shouting some choice words at the utensil drawer because that one that drains pasta (pasta drainer? I mean is that actually what it's for?) was nowhere to be found and I f...lipping needed it. 

So I was not quite the glorious hostess I had been going for. 

But it's only January. 

I'll get there. 

Anyway, I saw two of my best friends yesterday and I told them this story, just absolutely gutted that I'm such a failure as a mum and a wife and a hostess when what I was trying to do was so simple. 

They didn't laugh, or overwhelm me with insincere 'oh nooo, you're doing a great job!' They just replied 'ummm....me too' and told their own stories. And that was so kind. 

One friend was sitting there in her always-immaculate living room with her perfect hair and her home made pesto ready to go with the sea bass that she was cooking. 

The other one is pregnant and glowing, with a bag of snacks and toys for her 1 year old beside her whilst she told us about her new business. 

And even they had stories about feeling incompetent and the ridiculous things they had done. They didn't have to tell them, and if they hadn't it would never even occurred to me that they ever do silly things like me. 

So kind, and so appreciated. 


3) Jiminy Cricket

My friend Jiminy Cricket is just about the kindest person in the whole world. 

She always thinks of extra lovely things to do- and seems to genuinely think nothing of it. 

But the thing I love most about her is not the flowers she sends, or the little surprises she organises, or even that she drives to me even though it's very much my turn to drive to her because she knows how disproportionately terrified I am of putting Squirt in the car. 

My favourite thing about Jiminy Cricket is that I can tell her anything. 

Absolutely anything at all. 

I truly believe that all human beings are judgemental and that's completely normal, but honestly Jiminy never reacts in a judgemental way to anything that I tell her, and I don't think I've ever heard her say a bad word about anybody else. 

She might be the extreme of kindness. 

But it makes her blooming wonderful to be around. 

Which is why I don't understand this whole kindness isn't cool thing. Surely everyone would rather spend their time with kind people? 

I always say that to be friends with Dale you have to be incredibly, super, wonderfully kind, because he just doesn't bother with people who aren't nice. (Unlike me. I have a pathological need to be liked. Even by not nice people. Which is ridiculous, I know, but probably quite common.) 


My parents are both incredibly kind, and based on pictures of them circa 1982 I actually think they were cool teenagers. Perhaps it was in fashion to be nice then?

In all honesty I like to think that being cruel has never been fashionable- especially for adults-I like to think that ultimately people are super and that evil hits the headlines for a reason- because it's worth reporting. Because it's not the norm. 

I am surrounded by endlessly kind people, and even now am feeling guilty that I haven't mentioned...everyone I know. 

All the same, please look out for the kindness around you, please be the kindness around you, and please feel free to pass your magical stories onto me. 

And any stories about cooking disasters that might make me feel better. 

And for goodness sake the official name of that pasta scooping thing. 

#SpreadtheJoy