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It’s here. Valentine’s Day. The day most of us love to hate and hate to love. I’ll admit it, I’ve been a hater for pretty much forever. Red hearts, plush toys, overpriced flowers, the naffness of it all and the pressure to show someone you care when that should not come ...

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Sleep. That thing that happens to you in the night, sometimes mornings and weekend afternoons. You go to bed, close your eyes and wake up 8 hours later with no clue what just happened. You’re no early bird but sometimes on weekends you’re up by 8am, which is positively ...

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Lady Gaga has a potbelly. Seriously, she does. As in her belly could fit into a pot. Like this one in my son’s play kitchen. You can fit a lot of visceral adiposity into that pot, as well as the brains of the people who think Lady Gaga, whose waist circumference mirrors that of a […]

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It was the end of a long day. My eyes felt like puddles of burning flesh and my head heavy, like a container of voodoo dolls being pierced every other second by a vindictive despot. Tolerance was nearing below basement levels by the time I got on the tube. Cue in your public transport classics: ...

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My feeding chair is bright and yellow with cute white chickens with red beaks. It was more expensive than the Ikea one you considered buying, remember Mother? You had high hopes for this high chair _ visions of slightly messy but wholesome meal times, filled with giggles and the occasional ...

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When I first moved over to London and in with Mensah I came with a suitcase and a couple of boxes. Most of it were clothes and none of it were decorative objects, paintings or framed photographs. I was travelling “light”, as light as a Portuguese woman travels, I guess. So when we ...

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My little boy has been sick for days and refusing most foods so in a last ditch move of desperation I decided to get some raisin brioches. Yes, I know, sugar and mono and di-glycerides of fatty acids and other wonderful chemical concoctions, but bear with bad mummy here. It was either gonna be ...

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There is a baby bottle standing on the kitchen counter. It keeps being moved around, lid loosely over teat, like it needs to be washed but no one can really be bothered to do it. OK, I’ll own up. I keep moving it. It’s actually clean but I’m not putting it away. As far as […]

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Ahhh, the nursery pick up and the bus ride home. Much like a 45 minute journey through purgatory with the contours of a warfare scenario or a mini UN session at play. You negotiate, you make silent complicit alliances with short glances and knowing half smiles, you pass judgement, you pretend ...

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