Category: Notes and Confessions

  Welcome to the halfway point of my slightly haphazard happiness project. The blog version anyway. The official one is 100 days but oh, god, you really don’t want 100 consecutive days of me blathering away about 1. food or 2. young Thwack and his variable independence or 3. my intermittently frustrated wanderlust. I’ll probably…

It wasn’t specifically these flowers that made me happy. They were an aspect of it, but only that. I don’t have a photo of the overarching thing that did it. It was a number of concurrent factors: a lovely, bright, blue skied day; a funky little bare-bones bright red Nissan Micra borrowed for 24 hours…

  So I’m walking home with heavy grocery bags in each hand, a slack Thwack in his sack on my chest and a shoulder bag draped across him when I’m stopped by a little old lady who notes I am carrying quite a burden, did I need a hand? I was fine, but thanks. How…

  Is it okay to repeatedly use food and cooking as my noted moment of happiness? Admittedly, whatever I make tends to be intertwined with a lot of other factors so it’s not such a one-note wonder as it initially seems. The frittata and the mustard were so much more than just a frittata and a…

Yesterday, we were in the city centre, running errands. Whilst M. was off sorting out his things, I went to the market. I really like the fact that Leicester has a proper working outdoor covered market, the kind that isn’t for tourists (hell, Leicester isn’t really for tourists, except maybe fans of Richard III or…

    This is a bit of an odd one. We were out walking, heading from one errand to the next, sated from our minimalist picnic in the park (salade Nicoise in reused takeaway containers and plastic forks), and strolling down London Road into town when we passed by this blue plaque on a building…

  One of the things I’ve been testing recently has been my boundaries- both in the geographic and comfort level sense. Small steps, like putting Thwacky in his vibro chair while I cook for incrementally longer periods of time, or strapping him to my chest for an extended excursion to the grocery store on my…

  There are only so many times you can say your happy moment was, for example, oh, I walked into town or Thwacky sat for X minutes in his vibro chair before it becomes tedious and repetitive. But it is, actually. Repetitive. It’s not at all tedious. Just repetitive. My life these days is surprisingly self…

  The photo above is actually a slight cop out. I didn’t take any pictures yesterday (the day this post technically represents, as I’m still woefully behind). However, it does represent a happy thing- or at least something that was new and made me feel surprisingly competent and capable. I’m not exactly sure if happy…

  Technically, this photo isn’t strictly my moment of happiness, though it was a big part of it. This was in Fingerprints Cafe, just up our street on the intermittently groovy Queens Road. They have really good coffee- proper Illy brews- and dangerous cakes (hello, lemon-ginger!) and a pleasantly chilled out vibe. This month, however,…

  Now that Sir Thwackezoid has matured sufficiently in his meagre 8 weeks of life to sit patiently in his little vibrating chair by the French Doors in the kitchen, blurrily observing the impressionist happenings in the garden while I cook, I’ve been super busy cooking up a storm. A couple of days ago, after…

  I’m posting yesterday’s happy thing today because I was in bed by 9 last night, goofy with tiredness. Which is fine, actually, because it still makes me happy, even after a surprisingly good night’s sleep (thank you, Thwacky!). It’s not just sleep deprivation that made yesterday’s happy thing groovy. Guys, I’m slowly restocking my…