Yesterday I began the traditional New Year clear-out. You know, the one where you use stealth to remove the toys and games
Let's go back to 1971 momentarily. I am an average 4 year old British girl, lover of all things pink, dolly-fashion-guru
Now and then you hear a story that restores your faith in the internet, both as a global sharing tool that can be used as
It's 10 years since I experienced my first Christmas alone. I was apprehensive and judging by the unprecedented number of calls I received that day, so were other people. The reason I spent it on my own was due to a break-up and imminent move so it made sense. I had control over when, what and how I did everything. I loved it!
When I was five I asked for a Care Bear for Christmas. Not just any Care Bear, I wanted the one with the brooding rain cloud on its belly and slightly scornful face. The one with the mildly misanthropic stare. The one they called Grumpy Bear, but whom I felt was probably just misunderstood.
It's both a cliche and a major regret to me, but I most certainly took my mother for granted. Today, my two sons are off
I recently stumbled across something online that warmed the cockles of my heart, and sent me tumbling back to my childhood. You may have seen it already; it has been doing the rounds for years now, but has had a recent resurgence thanks to Twitter. I am referring to a perfectly copied Argos catalogue from 1985.
It is 11.11.11. (By the way, did you know that in America they write it 11.11.11 - weird huh?) An event which only comes
In a world full of shimmering gems of nostalgia - offering so much more than the boxy logic of Lego, why couldn't we have a celluloid interpretation of something more inspiring? Listen up, producers of America, I'm pitching...
Time has wings. The child you kiss goodnight tonight has no clue that she will soon be standing over the bed of her own daughter wondering how she got here. She will recall the days she spent making cakes and memories with you as she plans the same activity with her little ones.