When I started this blog, nearly two years ago, one of my very first posts was titled ‘Breast is Best, but there’s no need to keep shouting about it.’
I stand corrected.
Sometimes, it’s absolutely crucial to shout about it.
Not when you’re talking about the UK – where mothers can make an informed choice, and where babies are likely to grow up healthy and safe whatever choice they make – but in developing countries, where the choice can literally mean the difference between life and death.
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You know how some writers shove a manuscript in the back of a drawer, convinced that it’s worthless drivel, then return to it years later and discover that it’s actually bloody brilliant and it secures them a six figure advance with a major publisher…
Well…
I’ve just had the opposite happen. I’ve spent the last ten or so years convinced that my student journalism days were golden, that I had spent my time at university effortlessly churning our several charming and original pieces of writing every week; from hilarious reviews to insightful interviews and ground-breaking news stories.
Sadly, when I recently unearthed a box full of old Student papers and peeled apart the curling, yellowing pages to read my first attempts at a writing career, it turned out that they were nearly all crap.
February already!
It’s not my favourite month, to be honest. It’s such a tease.
One day you can walk through the park without even a jacket, admiring the snowdrops and daffodils that are poking their heads through the earth, and lifting your face to feel the warmth of the sun. It can really feel like spring is within touching distance. The next day it’s back to hat, gloves and scarf, and you walk through that same park cursing the slap of wind and rain on your cheeks. As I type this morning, there are several inches of snow on the ground, and those poor daffodils must be wishing they could tuck back down into the soil. Continue reading
