Where do I even begin in describing the various vitality that all the talent I've encountered this week exuded and induced?...
It's that time of year again. And while I still remain skeptical about the whole resolution thing, I can't help but make the odd one...
This post is my personal love letter to my very special new home. Finally, I'm where I belong.
This week pushed me to the edges of my ability to cope. Luckily I took someone's hand and ended up seeing another story.
Why there are only a few words, and why 'talk about lock jaw' have been some of them.
Competing with, and comparing yourself to a phantom takes your focus away from what's right in front of you.
If we lived perpetually in the conditional, we would never have anything new to say. It's the current that keeps us thinking.
The New Yorker in the bath, writing gloves, Greg Proops and all the things that do and will have one particular thing in common.
Taking a little time to catch up, see what's happening and, more often than not, simply just laugh, doesn't half make you feel all loved and lovely.
Safer, simpler cycling in British cities needs supporting...or specifically, backing.
An illustrated tale of two cities, a Flying Dog Galaxy, some red leather boots and a Flaming Zombie!
Manchester Christmas markets never fail to get me all tingly about the festive season. I think the mulled wine helps too. And just because I don't live there any more doesn't mean I was prepared to miss out this year.