So, I’ve just spotted this in one of the recycling crates on my street…
Surprise, surprise the recycling collection crew left it behind.
Given this is the second time random heads have shown up in the immediate vicinity of my house, I’m starting to wonder whether I’m safe to continue living in this postcode area. Don’t people read-up on their local recycling policy anymore?!
Oh Swindon, you never fail to keep me in awe.
**
**
On 11th November 2014, I went to the supermarket to buy toilet roll, which inspired me to start a blog. Ten years later, I’m still here.
Five years ago I wrote the very aptly named piece, Five Years Ago Today…. Aside from it being very surreal that five more years have gone by, a hell of a lot more has changed since then.
What MHAM is, and always will be, is an insight into my world, from the highs of getting my short stories published, to the foot injury lows and the ranty McRant face of Jus-Rol’s cinnamon swirls. It has also been the place to share all the wonderful holidays I’ve undertaken as a solo traveller and, more recently, with my wonderful “Boyfriend Ben”. I setup a social group for young people, moved to London, came back from London, built a career from a History degree in execution and country houses. I’ve volunteered for nine separate non profits, and met an amazing bloke who to this day continues to champion my corner, inspiring me to strive for the stars each and every day. It really has been a rollercoaster of emotional content.
Around the world there are so many instances of people being denied their freedom of expression and creativity, which is why I feel so privileged to have the family and professional career that supports me to keep doing what I love. It is the utter joy I get from recognition and compliments, the unexpected surprise when someone reaches out to say how much they enjoy my work. The odd competition win or shortlisting. It is those glints of gold that give me the euphoric buzz to keep hitting these keys.
In 2014, on that chilly dark night where nothing seemed possible, I discovered my voice. And you, the reader, are 75% of the reason why I’m still here. Thank you.
With little more to add, I will leave you with visual memories of the last ten years (and a couple from before) and a simple vow, that I will continue to write for ten more years and beyond, whatever form that takes.
May your hearts always be full and your coffee only slightly spilled.
AEB x
**
Hello, present-day Alice here. I found this post deep in my draft archives, 2021 deep. On one hand I have no idea why it never got posted, and on the other hand I have every idea.
While some things have changed since this was first drafted (notably the fact I was very much single in 2021), you’ll be pleased to know the cooking skills are still as horrific now as they were then. I did it then, and I have no doubt I’d do it all over again if given half the chance…and a courgette.
So, that in mind, enjoy. AEB
**
You know how when someone says they’re a fat person in a skinny person’s body, you nod along? Well, I am that person, the one who doesn’t understand how she’s not yet stuck in a doorway.
I honestly think the only reason I’m still a healthy weight is be because I’m a slave in the Matrix, and the aliens are milking me for battery juice. (It’s a normal thought process to have, right?)
Take this evening and my portion control when it comes to this mass-produced Quorn Spaghetti Bolognese:
(FYI, not a vegetarian, just trying to do my bit for the planet…and stop Paul McCartney coming after me.)
And yes, there are also frozen vegetables in there, but let’s not dwell on the lengths I go to to ‘stodge-out’ a meal.
The thing is, it was a perfectly normal* (*Alice’s version of normal) meal. But then I had this courgette. And the courgette was on the turn (it was a little bit squidgy), but it was something Mumma B had given to me, so I was determined to not let it go to waste. But the mince-stuff was already cooked and rapidly burning.
Basically, I panicked.
I hurry-sliced the courgette, coated it in black pepper, drowned it in olive oil and then threw it in the oven. I don’t know why, I just did. And even as I type this, I am very much aware this is an Alice-world problem.
Anyway, about ten minutes later (Married at First Sight was on and I may have got distracted), I retrieved the cooked-baked mush that was once a courgette and dolloped it onto my dinner plate. By now the pasta was stodgy and the mince mostly burnt on the bottom of the pan. To add to this, I didn’t quite feel satisfied that the first picture illustrated the large portion of food I had on my plate. So what did I do?
Yes, that’s right, I compared it to the size of a teabag.
This, this is what I do for content. Jeeze.
**
Could someone care to explain to me what the heck this is?
For more context, this was something I spotted during my wanderings around Swindon.
The most rational explanation is that someone had a load of mannequin heads as part of a hair cutting course, but it’s still very weird.
What can you say? Only in Swindon.
**
As a little nod to some of the many hundreds, thousands, millions of independent coffee shops in the world, I’m going to do the odd coffee shop shout out to celebrate all the wonderful things they do, in and around caffeine.
So it’s a big, fat shout out to Darkroom Espresso in Swindon (Wiltshire, UK). A trendy little spot just outside the town centre and one that has never judged me for sitting in the window with my laptop for two hours. (That alone is worth its weight in cappuccino gold.)
If you’re in the area, check them out.
**
Following official PR, I am now able to share with you details of two writing competitions I won, and their associated launch events. And, eek! They were both an absolute blast!
At the Bournemouth Writing Festival, I won in the fiction category for my piece of flash fiction, “How the Dressmaker of Bournemouth Feeds her Family”.
Boy, did Bournemouth pack a punch! As well as receiving free tickets to attend some interesting talks held by the festival, there was also a Sunday evening showcase and awards presentation.
There was a weird knotty feeling in the pit my stomach watching people read copies of the book, and it was only later that evening, when boyfriend Ben pretty much forced me to sit down and listen to him read my story, that I noted what I’d written was actually pretty good.
After the showcase, we made a toast to my success with a glass of prosecco and a McDonald’s in the hotel room. It was wonderful.
It was a truly delightful weekend (and that was before I got a mention in this glowing 5 star review!)
A lovely sunny weekend, spent on the English south coast.
The launch of Swindon Writers III came with a packed-out library venue, much to everyone’s surprise. Boyfriend Ben was unfortunately not feeling well on the night but I sent him a message to reassure him that I had more than enough attendees to keep me company.
Words were said by the editors and extracts read from the publication. To know my short story, “Bee Kind”, had been selected to sit alongside them in the book meant a lot.
Two book launches, two reasons to celebrate and a very happy author in between. As I say to people, prizes and publication aren’t the sole reason why we do what we do, but it damn well helps.
**
**
**
Alas, “the emergency Bentos” at the back of my cupboard has expired. This is indeed this is a very sad time for all…so who wants to watch me struggle to dispose of it?
**
Not wanting to toot my own horn, but, I’m going to toot my own horn.
The looks staff gave me coming along with my trolley, approaching the self-service tills with thinly disguised smugness usually reserved only for the scan as you shop crowd.
I see your tiny space for basket shops and I raise you this:
(Although not going to lie, I was annoyed I couldn’t get the ice cream fully onto the scales.)
All the years of playing Tetris have clearly not been lost on me. And if you want the best words of guidance for getting staff to walk on by, wearing a face covering and buying a pack of cold relief medication will go a long way.
**
**
I appreciate it’s a bit belated, considering the article was penned on 29th January, but honestly this article is quite possibly the best thing you’ll read all year.
Brought to you by local newspaper the Swindon Advertiser, “Swindon bin bag travels 15 minutes from home” follows the story of a lost recycling bag which, you guessed it, was blown away in recent storms, ending up a location that is 15 minutes away by foot.
“I expected to see an address on it for my street…but was shocked to see the Church’s name on it as that is a fair distance for it to be blown in the wind…I placed it on the railings where I found it and decided the decent thing to do was post its location so someone could inform the church where to find it.” Emma Viggers, Swindon resident
The best bit comes at the end. After an article detailing the recycling bag’s journey, we get this as a journalistic afterthought:
Meanwhile, a structure at the Abbey Stadium was also damaged.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Link to original article (and credit to Edward Burnett for originally reporting): Storm Isha: Swindon bin bag travels 15 minutes from home | Swindon Advertiser
**
You know, it struck me the other day that I have this uncanny ability for calamity, like the time I tripped on a paving slab and did my noggin’ in.
Putting that to one side, an update to say things are going going better with my foot (you know, the one I tipped a mug of boiling water over). This was how it was looking before, after the skin had been taken off at a minor injuries unit and a couple of days into a course of antibiotics:
I’m intentionally leaving out photos of my swollen foot at the point boyfriend Ben dragged me into an urgent care unit.A week later after the first bandage, my foot was looking more like this:
Battling infection was a low point, alongside the accompanied pain, and balancing antibiotics with my primal need to constantly eat. (‘Take one tablet four times a day, at least one hour before food and two hours after food.” Hmm…this is going to be a truly rubbish week!’)
Comedy point was when I tried to keep my foot dry in the shower by sticking a plastic bag over my foot, held in place by a hair band. Not only did it fail within seconds, giving me a soaking bandage, I also nearly slipped in the shower.
I also realised afterwards the bag was from a Chinese takeaway I’d had the week before. I’m nothing if not true to brand.
In all the ups and downs, I consider myself incredibly lucky to have had a supportive family network around me, one which have both taken care and refused to let me out of their sight where herbal tea is concerned. It is thanks to them that I’m well on my way to feeling more myself, even if it has been a slower process than I had initially expected.
It won’t stop me drinking my beloved cups of tea (and coffee), though.
**
**
My Housemate's a Mermaid 