Dear God, Once, just bloody once, could you let me park perfectly in this tiny space even though there are people watching me? Alternatively, if you could knock the chimney off that house over there to diver their attention? I mean, come ON!!!!

The stairs shudder under the pounding of small feet. Anger slips under the door in the form of a piece of crumpled paper. It’s ‘I-hate-you-Mummy’ time … again!

The sound of a woodpecker hard at work is always a beautiful and welcome sound, but not inside my head please?

I need a microwave big enough to sleep in. I could doze for an hour and come out looking like I’d slept a full 8.

The menopause manual doesn’t mention looking and feeling like a candle melting around the middle.

A shadow etched into a beautiful morning, a homeless presence cocooned in a sleeping bag on the seafront bench; no hope of future wings; no hope of future.

Scrambled thoughts poach tranquillity and order from dawn’s eggshell yellow skies

‘I am not going to go running up and down stairs putting lions into microwaves’ is a sentence I never thought I’d say.

Watching the sun play peekaboo with Earth … Sunny face, Cloudy face, Sunny face …