by Liz Champion | Oct 17, 2020 | Memoir
‘Do not get me anything with seventy written on it,’ Mum says. ‘I don’t want to be reminded.’ ‘It’s your birthday,’ I say. ‘I don’t want a fuss.’ ‘You do.’ ‘I don’t.’ I sigh. Whenever we mention anything about her forthcoming big birthday, the conversation always goes...
by Liz Champion | Sep 26, 2020 | Memoir
‘How’s the new house?’ my auntie asks when I meet her at the garden centre for a brew. ‘It’s still standing,’ I say, thinking about the long snagging list that is getting longer by the day. ‘That’s what you get with new builds,’ she tells me. ‘One of my friends...
by Liz Champion | Sep 12, 2020 | Memoir
For the first time in five months, three weeks and two days, there’s somewhere I need to be. It’s written in the diary. Thursday 27th August — dentist, 9.30am. I start looking forward to it on Monday, planning what I’ll wear and where I’ll park and what I’ll take with...
by Liz Champion | Aug 29, 2020 | Memoir
‘We need a day out.’ Mum phones to tell me. ‘We need to go out and eat something. All of us. We’ve not had a meal out since March.’ ‘Where do you want to go?’ ‘Somewhere outside. It has to be outside. I’m not doing the indoors anymore.’ I look out of the window. The...
by Liz Champion | Aug 15, 2020 | Memoir
‘We need to do something for your birthday,’ Chris says, the day before I turn forty-one. ‘This time last year, we were in Crete,’ I say. ‘I know.’ ‘We had that meal looking out to sea, and that amazing chocolate pudding.’ ‘The grill pit,’ Chris says. ‘I ended up...
by Liz Champion | Aug 1, 2020 | Memoir
It is nine o’clock on Saturday morning, sixteen weeks and six days since lockdown began, when I finally stop procrastinating and step onto the scales. I stand as tall as I can, willing myself thinner. It takes a few seconds for the scales to give their verdict. In...
