by Liz Champion | May 16, 2020 | Memoir
Dad is turning 70 during lockdown. We cancel the surprise family holiday to Craster. Here’s what you could have won, I write in his card, including a picture of the beautiful Northumberland coast. Then I go online and order a badge saying ‘70 effing hell’; a T-shirt...
by Liz Champion | May 9, 2020 | Memoir
My shorts have shrunk. I stand in front of the mirror, trying to fasten the denim cut-offs that fitted perfectly last summer. I stretch and pull the material and somehow manage to force the button and hole together. For a second, I feel victorious but then realise...
by Liz Champion | May 2, 2020 | Memoir
There is not an ounce of flour to be found anywhere. ‘The shelves are empty,’ Mum phones to tell me. ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’ ‘I think I have some,’ I say, not wanting to get her hopes up. This is the third time she’s mentioned flour — or the lack of it — this week....
by Liz Champion | Apr 25, 2020 | Memoir
‘Do you think you’re in news overload?’ Chris asks me on Thursday night as we sit down to watch the evening news. ‘We have to be informed,’ I tell him. ‘It’s important.’ ‘But you’ve got it on all the time. It’s not healthy.’ He has a point. After watching the news...
by Liz Champion | Oct 18, 2019 | Memoir
‘I WANT an airport experience,’ I tell Chris, three weeks before our summer holiday. ‘I want to browse the shops and have breakfast. We need to be ready.’ ‘I’m always ready,’ he says. ‘It’s you that never is.’ ‘I will be.’ I’m amazed at how confident I sound. ‘You say...
by Liz Champion | Oct 11, 2019 | Memoir
‘THERE’S a cicada down my top.’ I say the words calmly, trying not to make a scene in front of the other passengers. But then it starts vibrating. ‘Get it out!’ I pull at my top, trying but failing to scoop it out. The cicada vibrates even more, its noisy...
