Epic rage


Yesterday I almost killed my own child.

I woke up foggy headed after a lovely evening out with Rosie. We went to a friend’s wedding at a stately home in Hampstead. It was pitched perfectly. An intimate gathering, a short ceremony, some live piano accompaniment and a special reading, which turned out to be the Owl and the Pussycat – the perfect combination of whimsy and romance. Continue reading


Return to Plato’s cave

Wayang kulit (Indonesian shadow puppetry) Source: http://www.yale.edu/seas/WesWayang.jpg

It’s possible I never left it. This place that Plato has Socrates describe so cogently in his Republic.

This place with prisoners shackled to a cave wall from childhood, with no choice but to look straight ahead. To them, the shadows thrown by objects on the wall opposite are the only reality they know. Their world is one of blurred forms that leap, tower and shrink without warning.

And even if one prisoner was somehow freed and finally able to turn around, says Socrates: the flash of the fire would make it impossible for him to see the objects of which he had earlier seen the shadows. Continue reading

Day 365


It’s been one year since I started this blog. Despair compelled me to write that first post. Ben was on the couch – as he is right now – except today the detritus at its foot is a mug of hot chocolate. And a bowl of chocolate digestives. The digestives are the one thing that hasn’t changed. Continue reading

High-strung highway


This is the view from my kitchen window. Over the past 24 months I’ve spent hours caked in anxiety, peering out this window, counting the buses going by, hoping for Ben to materialise, willing him to be on his feet and not lurching, limping or covered in blood. These days, I do this less and less. Ben’s recovery is something I have grown to believe in. Until now. Continue reading



1. Ben and I create a treasure hunt for Rosie. She finds it more exciting than the organic chocolate egg at the end. Verdict: ‘I don’t really like it.’
2. Ben’s friend and rehab mentor relapses on Friday. Ben is anxious. So am I. I can’t help thinking this spells doom for Ben. Then Ben says he wants to make the 2.5 hour journey to help his friend but the guy doesn’t think it’s safe. Impressive logic for someone blitzed on vodka and valium.
3. Ben spends every spare hour on the phone talking to this guy, trying to make sure he is ok.
4. I grow bitter, thinking of all the times I was depressed and Ben found somewhere else to be. Then I tell him what I’m thinking. We revert to silent unease and accusatory sighs.
5. Meanwhile, BT hijacks my phone number and I lose both my number and my internet connection. I am not even a BT customer.
6. My providers claim there was nothing they could have done about my unauthorised disconnection, but waste no time in selling me a new package. They can’t activate my service for another 3 weeks.
7. Ben and I resume a fragile alliance come morning.
8. I compose this post on my 4x5cm phone.