In French, you don’t really say “I miss you.” You say “tu me manques,” which is closer to “you are missing from me.”

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I know I’ve been writing about Tim more than usual. I will not for your sake curb my emotions, therefore I will not apologise for my truth. That is not #Wenchytude

When my Tim died I knew I would miss many things about him. Besides his windswept and interesting self, of course.

Who else would quote Shirley Valentine at great length with me, sing Sinatra, Rodriguez and be the only man I ever baked an apple pie for?

Tim and I did not always agree, but he listened. He never tried to convert me to his way of thinking. He tried to understand and would challenge us both. Hell, we could both be wrong. Imagine!

He kicked my ass when I needed it, he was moody, contemplative and sometimes downright depressive.

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Love your curves and all your edges. 

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

To be vulnerable is to be alive. I would not live my life any other way. Nor would I write anything but what is my truth. So here are my perfect imperfections.


My rhythm and blues.

We easily share our smiles, what amuses us and definitely our successes, so why should we shy away from sharing our sadness? It is surely the other side of the coin? It is not a fault, a negative and certainly not a weakness.

It is the truth. It is living out loud. It is being you, abundantly without restraint.

If you want to live out loud, you do not handpick the parts to share. You own it. Every high. Every low.

In a world of pretend, be you! You only have this oneself, this one life. Be brave – throw every colour you have at it. 


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To dream is to starve doubt, feed hope. 

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Sitting on a blanket in a field of sunflowers, typing on a retro style typewriter while eating sour dough bread with salted butter, brie cheese and fig preserve.

An ever so delicate breeze would pick up a strand of my hair. A delightful shade of purple would dance against the blue sky.

Stetched out on the blanket, I look up. I close my eyes while darkness rolls in with a gift of stars. A million flickering delights.

Are you shining just for me?

I wish you enough