Picture the scene: It’s bedtime and I’m sat on the edge of my bed in my silk pyjamas*. I take off my watch and place it on the charger so it’s ready for tomorrow. I turn on my bedside lamp, pick up my phone and turn off all the lights in my living room and hallway. I then have a choice; take a 10-15 minute detour through social media (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram), or pick up the cable lying on the bedside table, plug my phone in to charge overnight and go to sleep.

Sound familiar? Which do you choose?

Most nights I opt for the ‘quick check’ on social media, and most nights it becomes 20 mins, or 30 mins, until I eventually put the phone down and restlessly try and fall asleep.

Then in the morning I don’t feel fully rested and groggily reverse the process, putting off getting up for just another few minutes, then a few minutes more.


This past Monday I changed that. I’ve moved my phone charger to the other side of the bedroom.

So now when I go to bed I plug in my phone, then get into bed, switch off the bedside lamp and pick up my Kindle to read for a while. The difference is noticeable. When my eyes get tired, I put the Kindle down, and pretty soon I’m fast asleep.

No big surprise I know, reading helps calm my mind, switching off the ‘ohhh I must remember to…’ and ‘ohhh DID I remember to..’ and the usual gamut of ‘what ifs…’ that I still struggle to escape.

In the morning I’m forced to get up to silence the alarm, so I’m much less tempted to hit snooze, and less inclined to end and start my day with a myriad of disturbing thoughts (currently ALL Trump), kitten pictures, and all the other interesting things that social media flings our way that have me taking the bait and click click clicking into rabbit-holes.

So far so good, I’m not sure I feel particularly more rested when the alarm goes off but my mornings feel calmer and as a result my days have felt a little less stressed as well. In time, once it’s bedded in, I’ll add some gentle exercise to my routine as well, and zen my way through the day.

* I don’t actually wear silk pyjamas, but it’s that or picturing me naked, trust me, the pyjamas are the better option.

bookmark_borderWeekend Reading

  • Google Home vs Alexa
    A year ago, my boyfriend got an Amazon Echo. I remember first using the product, dazzled at its ability to process requests from across the room. Alexa, play us some music. As the year progressed, the wow factor faded quickly.
    Going to be an interesting space to watch… er… listen to.
  • How to #StayOutraged Without Losing Your Mind
    Since the election, a lot of people not previously involved in activism have jumped in with both feet. The ACLU and Planned Parenthood have been inundated with donations, mostly from first-time givers.
    US focused but still valid in the current climate
  • Hackers downloaded US government climate data and stored it on European servers as Trump was being inaugurated
    As Donald Trump was sworn into office as the new president of the US on Jan. 20, a group of around 60 programmers and scientists were gathered in the Department of Information Studies building at the University of California-Los Angeles, harvesting government data.
  • The scam that fooled Sherlock’s creator
    Why did Arthur Conan Doyle fall for two schoolgirls’ outrageous hoax? Although Frances claimed she had once seen a fairy.
    Somewhere in the back of my brain I knew some of this but didn’t know the Conan Doyle connection
  • In the Face of Constant Censorship, Bulgakov Kept Writing
    Before his death at a Siberian transit camp in 1938, Osip Mandelstam famously uttered, “Only in Russia is poetry respected—it gets people killed.” Today, Mikhail Bulgakov is one of the most iconic Russian authors.
    To all artists, never ever stop.
  • One Man’s Daring Escape from Mao’s Darkest Prison
    In 1958, as part of China’s Anti-Rightist Campaign, 550,000 Chinese citizens were convicted of crimes against the state. One of them was Xu Hongci, a medical student arrested for speaking out against the Soviet Union, who was sentenced to a camp called White Grass Ridge.
    I challenge you to NOT read this in one go.
  • Ian Rankin: There’s Nothing Crime Fiction Can’t Do
    Ian Rankin does crime novels exceptionally well. His fictional Detective Inspector John Rebus has as high a profile across the UK as Rankin does, thanks to 21 novels, numerous short stories, and a television adaptation.
    To date, they have never cast the right actor to play Rebus. Sorry John Hannah but no!
  • Why Trump’s Staff Is Lying
    One of the most striking features of the early Trump administration has been its political uses of lying. The big weekend story was the obviously false claim of Donald Trump’s press secretary, Sean Spicer, that Trump pulled in the largest inauguration crowds in American history.
    I’m running out of words for this administration already, and this look at their behaviours is even more troubling.
  • Watch: David Thomson on ‘Psycho’ and the Playful Cruelty of Hitchcock
    There have been two consistent complaints lodged against the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. One is their mostly-white, mostly-old, and mostly-male voting bloc, which they took strides to diversify in 2016.
    Hitchcock is one of my favourite directors, no doubt he was a flawed person though.
  • Space junk could take out a European satellite this week
    A European Space Agency satellite risks colliding with a piece of space debris about 15 centimeters (a half-foot) long this week, forcing ESA’s flight control to plan a rare evasive maneuver.
    If you’ve read Seveneves this story will have a familiar ring to it (and if you haven’t, give it a look, lemme know how it finishes though!)
  • Meet the leader of a billionaires’ club determined to stop Trump from destroying the world
    The glassy waters barely disturbed the Sanssouci Star, a 174-foot yacht on which William Doll was hanging out one evening last August, anchored at a distance from the voluble quayside bars and restaurants of Stavanger.
    Is this group any better or worse? I’m getting really confused.
  • Now heading for Oscar glory, “La La Land” was almost never made
    La La Land, a musical love story about an aspiring young actress and a jazz musician trying to make it in Hollywood, is this year’s critical darling. The film just tied a record for the most Oscar nominations at the 2017 Academy Awards.
    Part of me is glad Whiplash was made first, a nice ‘step’ towards this movie for sure.
  • Get Up and Move. It May Make You Happier.
    When people get up and move, even a little, they tend to be happier than when they are still, according to an interesting new study that used cellphone data to track activities and moods. In general, the researchers found, people who move are more content than people who sit.
    File under: Well Duh. Also file under: Wait until you’ve finished here before ya get up though!
  • Oscar Nominations: 12 Biggest Snubs and Surprises
    The biggest curveball from Tuesday morning’s Oscars announcement arguably wasn’t the nominees — it was how the Academy decided to unveil them.
    Yup it’s Academy Award of Merit time again!
  • The Hollywood List Everyone Wants to Be On
    Franklin Leonard’s anonymous survey has launched careers, recognized four of the past eight Best Picture winners, and pushed movie studios to think beyond sequels and action flicks.
    Yup it’s Academy Award of Merit time again (again)
  • New Zealand rodeo turns to men dressed as sheep
    Kakahi Rodeo, which takes place on New Zealand’s North Island, abandoned its children’s sheep-chasing event in 2016 after it fell foul of animal welfare rules set by the country’s Ministry of Primary Industries, the Waikato Times reports.
    I am making no comment about people from Aberdeen. Nope. Not a word.

bookmark_borderTime to move

Recently a friend posted something on Facebook, one of those text based images that shows a well known phrase with a witty rejoinder. This one was about lemons.

I have been renting for the past several years, ever since my divorce. It’s a nice flat, spacious, in a good location, off-street parking, secure entrance blah blah blah. When I first took it on the rent was a little more than I’d planned but it was way better than the other tiny boxes I’d seen, the heart rules the head after all.

The flat was in need of some upkeep then and still is now. The fittings are all original from when the flats were built around 17 years ago and, as it’s always been a rental, it’s had plenty of wear and tear – a damp patch and two cracked cupboard doors in the kitchen, the gas hob fails safety tests as it doesn’t have an automatic shut off, the bathroom has a bare bulb and only got a new shower last year because the old one (finally)  gave up the ghost, the carpet needs replaced as it holds numerous permanent stains, and the walls need a fresh coat of paint – but the landlord has never seen fit to tackle any of these issues (and as I don’t own it, neither have I).

I had been pondering a move last year, grand plans of take some time to sort through my belongings, simplify and remove items I don’t need but as with all the best laid plans I never really got around to . So, with the renewal of my lease due at the end of March and another bump to my monthly rent imminent, I’ve decided I’m going to use this as an opportunity to move, to downsize, de-clutter etc etc.

Even a precursory look around my flat suggests it is much needed. I have many things, but few possessions. I have expanded to fill the space I am in. I have bought on whim, rather than considered desire (and yes I have Marie Kondo’s book). A de-cluttering I will go!

Of course this will be a fight between my emotional attachment to some items and the need to ‘get rid’. I also need to balance my desire to have some level of homeliness remain for, as much as I admire the minimalist design ethics that can be found in Japan and Scandinavia, I have come to realise that I need some level of warmth to a room, some level of delight.

As an example I bought a decorative plate a few years ago. It wasn’t something I need but, having walked past it in a local shop window for some time, I found myself drawn to it time and again, so I bought it. I will keep it because I enjoy looking at it, it definitely brings me delight, despite having no function. I’m all for minimising my possessions but I don’t believe that means having little to nothing, instead I’m taking my interpretation to be to only have things that are either functional and needed, or things that I occasionally pause to look at and which make me smile. My ornamental silver owl will stay, the candle bridge that sits in a windowsill will go.

I’m aware I’m only really considering these things in sharp relief, that outside pressures have pushed me to bring my belongings and the way they exist in my living space into focus. It is easy to attest these things to fate, or karma, or some larger spiritual hand that is guiding me through life. From my initial thoughts last year that maybe it was time to move on to receiving the renewal letter, it’s easy to see how this could all be predestined in some way or another.

And perhaps it is in a way, perhaps the events that happen around us, the events that influence us are partly driven by some larger plan. Or perhaps all we really need to do is look at what is given to us and decide how to make what WE want out of whatever is thrown at us, decide to make the best of things we cannot control, decide to sod lemonade and drink tequila instead.

After all, life is like a box of chocolates and you can eat as many or as few as you want.

bookmark_borderThe Teddy Bear

As they round the corner the pier reaches out in to the early evening gloom before them, colourful lights glow and flash, calling them forward; a magical wonderland of pulsing stars, glistening in the dusk. As they get closer the noise starts to build, the cheery organ music from the older stalls tinkles along over an electronic bass thump as the fairground evolves, new exciting rides sitting alongside tradition, wooden horses merrily going round and round whilst spaceships swoop and spin overhead. Laughter and screams, shrieks and shouts punctuate the thinning air.

They wander past the outer stalls, smiling as they are beckoned in for a quick game, an easy game of skill. Come on Sir, you look like you have a good aim, you can’t lose! Hoops, balls and targets, stalls lined with lavishly cheap looking prizes for the successful.

At the next stall there are yellow ducks bobbing on the slowly circling current, a weary teenager looks at them as they pass, his eyes full of all the hope someone who wishes they were anywhere but here can muster. She glances back then turns, tugging his sleeve. He glances at her and his heart melts all over again as her excitement bounces them forward. The stall teenager looks up as they approach and intones the price and rules of the game for the thousandth time.

They pay and both pick up their weapons, first one to get a duck is the winner! They laugh.

She was so excited, babbling about her own childhood memories, this first test of skill and achievement still vivid in her mind, brought to life for him through her smile, her wide eyes scanning the ducks as they drift past, choosing her victim carefully.

He lunges forward but misses his first few attempts, the ducks bobbing on what is suddenly a faster current than before. He doesn’t care; he can hear her beside him, laughing in her wonderful cadence, cursing as she too misses then, at last, a triumphant exclamation!

Turns out the ducks aren’t all yellow and she’s managed to snare a red one, a top prize awaits and she immediately points at the large teddy bear. Soon it’s in her arms; she holds it close like a child, a tender poignancy in her eyes as they softly close. It’s never far away, even on days like today.

Maybe the fairground was a bad choice, he thinks.

Her eyes open and she holds the teddy bear out in both hands, giving it to him. One prize she can give. The melancholy is etched on both their faces now as their hands touch and he pulls her in close, enveloping her and the teddy bear in a hug.

“It’s ok” he whispers.

“I know” she says, and turns her head to kiss his neck.

They set off again, quietly determined to have fun. The smell of hotdogs drifts over them and soon they are munching away as they wander. Later on they laugh in the hall of mirrors, scream on the ghost train and on the giant swing she closes her eyes as they spin higher and higher, a single tear rolling down her face, chilled in the evening air.

Candy-floss next and with sticky faces they head for home. Leaving the heaving sounds to the night behind them. They walk home in silence, holding the teddy between them, one paw each, swinging it back and forth.

He can remember it all to this day, the excited buzz of the crowds, marvelling at the strongman as he bent an iron bar as thick as his arm, gasping as the latest greatest ride rocketed people around the sky in spinning circles, up and down, higher and higher until their delighted screams became one, and the lights merged with the stars above them.

They didn’t go back to the fairground again. Life moved on or rather it moved on around them. They remained where they ended up, stuck, lost, unwilling to change, scared to let go of their grief.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he realises he is crying, silent tears drop to the floor as he clutches the rediscovered teddy bear in his arms. He had made it through her clothes and belongings, through well-meaning friends and old photos. He didn’t realise the unspoken memory was waiting here all along.

She is gone and he will be soon. Gone from this house at least, the last vestiges of their belongings being boxed up, shipped up, thrown out, moved on. He found the teddy on a high shelf at the back of the cupboard in the bedroom, out of sight for so so many years and as soon as he reached for it the memories were quick to follow.

He knows he has to let go but he’s so tired of all of this. Tired of going through it, tired of putting on a brave face. It’s only stuff, they say, things that don’t have value, and anyway you’ll still have your memories, they say. He doesn’t want to tell them that the memories are fading, he can’t hold on to them long enough when they arrive, and they are nothing but blurred, grainy, over exposed photos that fade further day by day.

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, holds the teddy out at arms length for one last look, then drops it in the box marked Trash. It falls back and looks up at him. He turns away, everything is past now.

Later that day he sits and waits for them to pick him up. They arrive on time in their fancy big car, all emblems and corporate imagery. They’ve sent two of them as if to remind him of his change of status. His place in the world is different now; he is no longer the key-holder and feels small and weak as one of them lifts his suitcase, the other his arm to help him out to the car. They fuss over his seatbelt and throw his suitcase in the back. He doesn’t complain, just stares out the window at the home he’s leaving, the life once lived.

As the car pulls away his eye catches the pile of bin bags and boxes lying on the pavement, ready to be collected. The final parts of his life. A sorry pile. Next to it is a box marked Trash. He can see the ragged ears of the teddy, its face tilted to the sky, glazed eyes raised to the heavens.

bookmark_borderWeekend Reading

  • When You Name Your Fictional War Criminal After a Real Man By Accident
    When the name of my novel’s antihero popped up in my inbox one afternoon, I didn’t even pause for thought. I had just spent six long years with the man. Why wouldn’t he be emailing me? Even as I read the first few lines, I had no doubt this was my character writing to me.
    I get emails from fictional characters all the time. Mostly from Nigerian Princes.
  • 10 Simple Ways to Help You Say No
    It’s important to say no so we can create more time to engage in what matters most. Even though we may feel bad or worried about saying no, it’s still important, because we need more time than we think.
    I’ve gotten better at saying no for the right reasons, it takes practice but it does make a difference.
  • Reminder: Blue Monday Isn’t Real
    Today is so-called ‘Blue Monday,’ allegedly the most miserable day of the year. Sure, it’s cold, we’re all poor from Christmas and a literal cartoon supervillain is being sworn into power later this week, but we don’t need made-up reasons to be grumpy alongside the real ones.
    A reminder that fake news isn’t a real thing, this shit has been going on for ages.
  • A Martin Luther King Jr. Must-Read – and Why It’s As Relevant Today
    In April 1963, following his arrest for a non-violent protest, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. drafted a letter from a cramped, solitary cell in the Birmingham Jail in Alabama.
    When Obama was elected I posted a picture of myself holding a sign saying “I too have a dream”. By the time you read this, that dream seems to have died.
  • Subversive Sounds : The Straight Men Who Made America’s First Gay Record
    When “Love Is a Drag” hit record-store shelves in 1962, it was decidedly not a sensation. Only a few shops carried the album, which featured jazz standards performed by an anonymous singer and band, and its label flopped shortly after the release.
    I do love a bit of subversion.
  • Men Can’t Be Feminists
    After Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s TED talk, “We should all be feminists,” I have noticed an increasing number of men laying claim to being feminists. Like them, I once called myself a feminist, but no more.
    I call myself a feminist but reading this, perhaps I need to change that stance. Ally is a strong word.
  • Obama’s Secret to Surviving the White House Years: Books
    Not since Lincoln has there been a president as fundamentally shaped — in his life, convictions and outlook on the world — by reading and writing as Barack Obama.
    West Wing fans; Red Mass episode: “Is it possible we would be willing to require any less of the person sitting in that chair? The low road? I don’t think it is.”
  • ‘It’s not just banter, it puts you on edge’: readers on harassment while running
    More than 60% of women feel anxious when out running on their own, according to a new survey. Readers share their experiences What do you do if you experience unwanted attention while out running on your own? Many women try to ignore it, while others confront their catcallers.
    As an ally I will call out this behaviour if I see it happening.
  • Private Manning and the Making of Wikileaks
    Midnight, May 22nd, 2010. Army intelligence analyst Private First Class Bradley E. Manning is sitting at a computer at Contingency Operating Station Hammer, east of Baghdad. He is online, chatting with Adrian Lamo, an ex-hacker and sometimes-journalist based in San Francisco.
    A look back at how events unfolded around Chelsea Manning .
  • Men explain things to me: examples from 2016
    I’m a woman on the internet, so men explain things to me. They’re usually well-meaning. They want to help me out with an issue they have spotted, or give me the lowdown on something they think I should know.
    I’ll say it again. Ally. Read and learn from this utter bullshit (seriously, men, stop with this shit!)
  • Iceland knows how to stop teen substance abuse but the rest of the world isn’t listening
    It’s a little before three on a sunny Friday afternoon and Laugardalur Park, near central Reykjavik, looks practically deserted. There’s an occasional adult with a pushchair, but the park’s surrounded by apartment blocks and houses, and school’s out – so where are all the kids?
    I’m still torn, Canada or Iceland? Last bastions of forward thinking and decency?
  • To Obama With Love, and Hate, and Desperation
    On a recent October morning in the White House mailroom, on the ground floor of the Executive Office Building just beside a loading dock, 10 interns sat at two long tables, each trying to get through 300 letters. Grab a bundle, sit down and read. It was pretty straightforward.
    It’s hard not to try and imagine Trump doing anything like this. But maybe he will/does.
  • Geopolitical forecast: 2017 will bring a triangle of instability and an uprising of Luddites
    A half century ago, Thomas Kuhn invented the term “paradigm shift.” It described a wholesale change in an arm of science—in its very definition, the fundamental concepts underlying it, and the rules of the road in studying it. Evolution and relativity are examples.
    This is not a happy making read, but a worthwhile look forward.
  • The Trump Promise Tracker
    All politicians make campaign promises, though few made them with the abandon, spontaneity, and flamboyance of Donald Trump. During the campaign, he would casually guarantee vast and circumstantial shifts in policy, often saying he’d do them on day one.
    By the time you read this he’ll be President. A lot of what he said during the campaign had global implications, worth keeping an eye on this.
  • Nintendo Wants Players to Look at Each Other Again
    But will they want to? A father and son stand facing one another, hands at their sides, five feet apart. Each holds a small Nintendo controller in his palm. Right now, that controller is a firearm. Later it will be a samurai sword, a ping-pong paddle, or a cow’s udder.
    Yeah, new tech toys! Booo, using conflict (guns, swords) as the examples. Surely we can do better for our children?
  • Lunch with the FT: Bill Gates
    The Microsoft founder turned philanthropist talks with Gideon Rachman about China, foreign aid and the miracle of vaccination.
    The more I read about Bill Gates the more I like him.
  • How Louis C.K. tells a joke
    Evan Puschak looks at a single joke Louis C.K. tells about playing Monopoly with his daughters and takes it apart to see how Louis builds and delivers his material.
    Doesn’t matter if you aren’t a fan of Mr C.K, this is an insightful look at how comedy works.
  • Isaac Asimov: How to Never Run Out of Ideas Again
    If there’s one word to describe Isaac Asimov, it’s “prolific”. To match the number of novels, letters, essays and other scribblings Asimov produced in his lifetime, you would have to write a full-length novel every two weeks for 25 years.
    Ideas are like butterflies, sometimes they float by and you forget what you were going to ….
  • Music to Play When You Want to Get Focused
    There are a handful of albums that I listen to obsessively when I want to get focused on creative work. Below, you’ll find the ones that have gotten the most play, organized into calm, atmospheric music and high-energy, upbeat music.
    Playlists! Some of these are pretty good.
  • Why does the Smithsonian have objects from a fake presidency on “The West Wing?”
    As the fanfare leading up to the 2017 inauguration swirls around the Smithsonian and Washington, D.C., at large, I cannot help but think about watching events such as these portrayed on television and in movies.
    In four years time, a wig, tiny gloves, orange clown makeup will be added.
  • US safety investigators say Tesla’s Autopilot system wasn’t to blame for last year’s fatal crash
    US safety investigators have determined Tesla is not at fault in a fatal May 2016 incident that killed the driver of a Model S using the company’s Autopilot system. The incident in question occurred in Florida; the Model S slammed into a tractor trailer, killing the car’s driver.
    Big implications for the future of this technology. It IS gonna happen.
  • Listen with your eyes: one in five of us may ‘hear’ flashes of light
    A surprising number of people experience a form of sensory cross wiring in which light flashes and visual movements are ‘heard’, research finds.
    I’ve been known to say “I can hear blue!” when I’m over caffeinated but… maybe I actually can?


My breath fogs the air as I walk across the car park. I dare not look back, I must leave this behind. I take the car key from my pocket, a push of a button, hazard lights blink their location. I get in and start the engine, listening to it purr and tick as I apply buckle to clasp and turn the heating up. Sitting in the car, the world diluted by crystals, the cold distance is to be savoured before the wounds open and the truth starts to flow. Life starts its ebb.

It’s colder than I realised and without noticing I find I’m rubbing my hands together to warm them, enjoying the building friction of skin on skin. Flashback to hands grabbing my arms, pulling me closer, skin on skin. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them the windscreen has cleared.

I sit for a few seconds longer, my mind still racing through last night. I feel spaced out and emotional. I put the car in gear and start to drive. As I pull out of the car park it’s only my internal auto-pilot that turns me homewards.

The coast road is quiet, sunrise is only just creeping towards the horizon and I lose myself in the curves of the road, a billion tiny sparkles picked out by the morning frost, dazzling tarmac shouldered in rhinestone, headlights billboard the road signs. Mesmerising.

Suddenly a red eyed cat flashes at me as the kerb leaps into the road, I swerve and catch the car before it can skid. My heart races, I grip the steering wheel, knuckles as white as the hotel bed-sheet. I am suddenly focused and very alive.

The sunrise is in full flight now, a blushing pink sky reaches up to caress the last embers of the night. The road is dull by the time I reach my home town, the frost migrating from street to shrub.

As I reach my neighbourhood I turn the car into our street, the slide starts. I try to catch it but it’s too late, that moment has passed. The steering wheel spins in my hands, the brakes lock the wheels and nothing. I am lost to the momentum and seconds later a dull crunk echoes out as a wheel catches a drain then rocks the car against unforgiving concrete.


Out of the car, breath rising as I look down at the front wheel, askew, out of kilter, broken. I give it a kick for good measure.

My home is only a few minutes away so, leaving everything behind I start to walk. The sun dances low in the sky, hiding behind houses. The pavement is patched with line after criss-crossed line of spearing crystals, puddles on hold.

My hand moves to the gate, red wooden lines edged in silver ice. Pushing it open, I walk up the path, up to the front door and she’s there already. Sitting on the bottom step, red eyes lined with tears, face set. She watches me as I approach.

“Everything is broken now”, she says.