THE SMALL THINGS

I sometimes dream of those sanguine, swaggery people, who bowl through life, laughing at the blows. I wonder what it would be like t...

In the world, there is a young jockey called Bryony Frost. Almost nobody outside of racing knows her name. In racing, pretty much e...

1. I finished the first draft of my new book. Sixty-six thousand words exist which once did not exist. I’ve gone so fast and hard...

1. The sun came out and gentled the snowscape. The mares were goofy and comical and delighted. I took their rugs off for the first t...

1. 5066 words today. This is why the Good Stuff is going to be very pithy indeed. I’ve used up all my words. I have no words left. You...

It was one of those bad snow days. The picturesque whiteness has been replaced with sloppy, slushy filth. As it was all starting to ...

No sooner had I started my brilliant challenge than I went into a furious grump of a mood and refused to write down any good things ...

I was so cross and singed today that I thought I would not be able to find three good things. But I dug about, and there they were. ...

I have a brilliant friend who runs a Facebook group. Last month, she asked the group to do a twenty-eight day Good Stuff Challeng...

I have decided that living in the menopause is like living in an area at high risk of tornadoes. For stretches of time, everything is ...

I woke rather grumpy and sluggish after a night of odd dreams. Four hairdressers were fighting over my custom. They were all gloriously...

This is a very, very long story. You might want to get a nice cup of tea. Last week, my poor old car catastrophically failed its...

Today, I had to do a lot of very, very ordinary things. I did all those horrid jobs that I had been putting off, like getting all th...

On Tuesday this week, the death was announced of Richard Woollacott. He was forty years old. The Racing world went into shock....

This week has been a tough week. I got bruised and wounded and suddenly missed my mother so much that I found myself one night in the...

This year, somehow, the poppy got complicated. I heard a few pious people rather ostentatiously saying they were not going to wear one...

I ring the Oldest and Dearest Friend. ‘This menopause,’ I say, as the dogs gambol in the meadow and drink from the burn, ‘how big do y...

Not that long ago, I wrote a book called Seventy-Seven Ways to Make Your Life Very Slightly Better. Nobody read it, not even my agent. I ...