I liked Giles Coren. The first time I ‘met’ him, he looked quite dishevelled and was hand cupping a strong mug of coffee, which was clearly his medicine for the after effects of spending the previous evening in the company of Simon Finch.
It was quite by chance (and the need for a quick and early commute into the big smoke) that we ended up in a rented flat in what was Hampstead’s wannabe sister, Belsize Park.
Having posted my first blog for a while, I was wondering what the subject of today’s post would be. As has happened so often in the past, the decision was made by a story that's recently been splattered across the front of newspapers:
Britain’s oldest Poppy Seller found dead in gorge
Where have I been? Well, I have good news!
After quite a few long months of trying to finally return to full time work, I achieved it! I’m booted and suited into a role that makes full use of my skills and experience AND I’m finally bringing a salary that’s allowing me to have a few more ‘me-treats’ than I felt comfortable with when working part time.
This morning was the last time that I will go swimming at our local pool. I didn’t realise it would be but, as I made my first return since the outdoor pool closed, circumstances revealed that it would be my final dip in the ‘public baths’ that have seen me through a couple of decades of kiddies swimming lessons and ‘clear my head out’ breast stroking thoughts.
This morning, up to this point, there had been only one thing on my mind.