I still love you. I’m sorry. I never stopped thinking about you. Take me back and I promise I’ll never leave again.
Hello. I still exist. I have not been blogging because I wrote a novel. Or, rather, I am writing a novel. It’s not finished.
I don’t have time to blog (she says as she blogs) due to the novel and my academic book and feministing and my small child and the foetus that I am growing in my uterus as a present for the small child’s second birthday.
So I’ve decided to post vintage writing here for a while. By vintage I mean previously used. My next few posts will smell musty, but you can get em cheap and they’ll be built to last. Ready?
Here’s a thing I wrote away back at the end of the first lockdown about me and the Frenchman nearly killing each other over childcare. It was commissioned by the lovely folks of the London Irish Centre as part of their Solas season. You can even listen to me recite it if you are someone who likes to read using their ears.
Okay, I’ll be back to fob you off with more recycled content soon. I’m so glad we’re back together now. Everything is going to be different this time.