I spend a great deal of my life trotting along behind my dog. On our travels I’ve noticed dog walkers come in many different shapes and sizes. When you own a large and loud German Shepherd, you lea…

I spend a great deal of my life trotting along behind my dog. On our travels I’ve noticed dog walkers come in many different shapes and sizes. When you own a large and loud German Shepherd, you learn quickly that training is a priority, although I’ll admit that teaching Dolly appropriate behaviour continues to be a work in progress. As we trundle our way through the wilds of Newbury, trying not to get into trouble as best we can, we share space with other dog walkers, who take a different approach to dog ownership.

I'm not sure I entirely got the hang of the timelines in this story, I kept waiting for the hammer to fall earlier than it did. It might have benefited from more of a balance between the before and after. But that's a minor niggle for a beautifully told story and insight into the world of ballet that I would never have appreciated otherwise. I enjoyed the strong characters that powered the narrative, and the way their individual stories intertwined, ebbed and flowed throughout. A powerful and immersive read.

When it came to exiting my comfort zone at breakneck speed, a long weekend in New York definitely hit the mark. I don’t know if we were lucky, or if I’m just out of practice, but from start to finish our travel was seamless. Take-off, landing and everything in between ran like clockwork. Ferries turned up on time, the subway was easy, and we had Sonya’s magical map-reading skills to keep us on the straight and narrow when we were walking (which was a lot).

Jury's out on this one. I had high hopes, and got caught up in the plot quickly, but the more I read the more I felt that the blurb wasn't an accurate reflection of the plot. I was expecting something different. There were unexpected twists and turns and I thought, here we go - we're off. But then it ran out of steam. The finale rather a damp squib.

I hate being ill. It’s boring and pointless. I’ve been stuck at home for five days now feeling horrible, heady and exhausted. At least if I was coughing my lungs up or coating tissues in greenies, I’d have something to show for being infected, but there’s nothing. Everything’s on the back burner. My ongoing quest to procure the perfect body through a brutal (and often humiliating) regime of weight training and yoga is now on pause.

I enjoyed this much more than I expected, as wasn't a fan of The Miniaturist. Then there was the key hole design on the front cover of my edition that I worried was a gimmick to make this book look more interesting than it would actually be! However I stand corrected, and got thoroughly caught up in the story. An intriguing premise with twists and turns, sensitively articulated relationships which keeps you guessing all the way through.

I can’t believe I haven’t written about my bl**dy heels yet. I’ve been complaining about them for months. They’re broken. Well, not broken, but as near as dammit. Torn, or strained. Something nasty and painful. It’s all tennis’s fault. Too much running. That’s what I get for playing hours of singles against men twenty years younger than me. Typically, for weeks I ‘firmed it’ (as the boys would say).

Unreadable. And no I'm not watching the film - even Sean Connery can't put lipstick on this gorilla.

I’m a mother of adult sons, it’s official. When James turned 18 on 24th September we turned a page and looked ahead to a new chapter. Last Sunday we dropped Will off at Lancaster Uni, he said he was ready, enough of the fun. Being Will of course, he hadn’t looked at Lancaster, but funnily enough, when we got there, it felt right.

We chose The Sun after a few pints in our local trying to decide where to stay after we dropped William off at Lancaster uni. The Sun was universally accepted to be the place to stay, not least because it had a brewery attached. A bit tired and emotional after the long drive up from Newbury and dropping Will off at his halls, The Sun was like walking into a warm hug.

A tale of two Achilles

Great Whites and small children aren't too disimilar...

I’m on gardening leave. Day One. Feels strange. I’m used living in small, bite-sized chunks, each activity carefully contained within the boundaries of a set start and finish time. Deviation from these gridlines heart-thumpingly stressful. Even being 30 seconds late to a Teams call and I’d be apologising profusely. And now, Day One of No Work and No Chunks of Time.

A bit discombublated to be fair

It's a war zone in my apiary

Another slice of genius from Mick Herron.

The premise of this book so unusual, and the first few chapters had me hooked, but then I felt it got bogged down in the story of the enigmatic fortune (or misfortune) teller, and skimmed past the individuals who's lives she'd touched. I'd have preferred more of a balance between the two. As it was I started to lose interest as the book progressed. Although in fairness it rallied, and I really loved the ending.

It’s time for the harvest. Which sounds wonderful, but is actually a hot, sticky and often painful experience during which the bees and I get very cross with one another. However. There is honey.

It’s a war zone in my apiary. There are battles going on that make Jon Snow and Bolton Ramsay look like toddlers lobbing Lego at each other. We’re talking evisceration, decapitation, disembowelment – it’s a gore-fest out there. Wasps circle malevolently at the base of each of my three hives, waiting for a chance to charge the entrances and infiltrate those inner, honey-filled sanctums.

I’m binge watching Severance, the Apple TV show where the characters have chosen to ‘sever’ their consciousness and split into work selves (innies) and home selves (outies), essentially creating two s...

Note to Self. Always remember to zip up your bee suit before opening a hive. The hot weather has turned our hives into hordes of raging six-legged, winged savages bent on violence. You can hear them before you see them, buzzing clouds flying in and out, while entry to the hive is guarded by an angry clump of defenders. As dusk falls, the ranks of sentries expands to form a humming, fluttering doorway of wings and stripes, keeping robbers out, and the temperature level.