Bridgnorth is a town in Shropshire which I’ve long been aware of. It isn’t very far from where I live now or where I grew up, maybe 30 miles, and I think my Dad started or finished a boat race on the River Severn there when I was a kid. I was convinced I’d been there in adult life, until we went there recently and I clearly hadn’t.
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My husband had a big birthday in June. Although we were hopeful things would have a semblance of normality by the time it came around, it soon became clear it would be a lockdown birthday.
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Remember at the beginning of lockdown, when everyone apart from key workers (or heroes as we should call them) was either working from home or furloughed and considering how they would be spending all their extra time? Bold claims such as learning a new language, decorating their home, and getting in shape flooded my Twitter timeline – either from individuals full of naive enthusiasm, or experts suggesting ways to cope.
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Hey! How is everyone? Hopefully you’re in good health and staying safe, wherever you are in the world.
I’ve read a few insight posts into people’s life during lockdown, and I find them quite fascinating, so thought I’d do my own. It will act as a diary entry when all this is nothing but a distant memory!
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Hey! It’s been an age. Life has changed. Last time I posted I was talking about my husband being gluten intolerant. Since then pasta has become more rare than gold, toilet paper was being traded on the black market and pubs are closed. Finding restaurants with a good GF menu has become pointless, but we are glad that toilet habits have changed to conserve that much needed loo roll!
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It’s recently become apparent that my husband is gluten intolerant. He’s always been a bit “loose of bowel” shall we say (sorry if TMI!) but we thought that was just him. More recently we started noticing patterns of stomach troubles when we’d eaten something particularly wheat heavy (fajitas, pasta bakes) and I suggested it may be wheat related. A few other symptoms later and I started to read more into it. I became convinced he had coeliac disease.
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It’s been 3 years, 4 months and 8 days since my Dad died. I don’t count the days and weeks, but a quick mental calculation when I started planning this post was easy enough.
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I don’t make resolutions. They’re daft. But I do like to have something to aim for at the start of the year (yes, I’m aware how contradictory that sounds!)
Here’s the 2020 edition!
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As the New Year approaches rapidly I always think it’s interesting to look back at the 12 months that have passed. Not in a congratulatory or self-pitying way. Just as a round up and reminder. And of course to pick out my 2019 highlights.
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Any season that isn’t summer is not my bag. Summer is the absolute dogs danglies. Autumn is, in my opinion, the worst season. Spring means summer is coming, and winter at least has Christmas. Autumn? To me it just signifies the end of the good stuff (summer) and the beginning of the cold of winter. I don’t understand how people get excited about autumn.
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