WHAT A GREAT DIFFERENCE A YEAR MAKES

It’s been almost a year since The Courier called me. Expecting to be asked for a recipe for parents and to do with kids during lockdown, I was thrilled to be asked to consider writing a column with the title “Cooped up with the kids”.

I love to write, however, apart from recipes, I’ve never written in any kind of professional capacity. My social media rants apparently don’t count.

The recipe book discussions I’ve had several times with the most amazing, patient cook book editor is something I keep avoiding. I just cannot convince myself anyone needs my input on how to make buns.

If avoidance and selfdoubt were categories on a game show I’d be crowned as mastermind and presented with a cut glass bowl for pride of place on the mantelpiece.

But producing words on something other than cake? On a weekly basis? With a deadline attached and real people reading it? This would be new and take a little more effort than the weekly shopping list. This would take some planning and organisation even. I sprinkle swears in every sentence like it’s parsley. That would need to stop.

I’m laughing as I type, Weekend is exceptionally patient and gently chivvies me along with an encouraging nudge when I’m running late. Which is more often than not (including this week).

What would I write about? How could I possibly produce something “readable” every single week, especially during a lockdown where daytime TV schedules dominate the day? Who on earth would want to read my blethers?

I’ve never been one to realise when to stop talking. I am literally the dictionary definition of “add water instant best friend” and let’s not get started on the habitual oversharing.

Amazingly almost a year later, I am still allowed to submit 700 words for you to read each week.

People have been kind enough to write saying how much they’ve enjoyed it. Others tell me they look forward to my column each week.

What a compliment indeed – I’m chuffed to bits, thank you. One lovely lady asked me where I get all my ideas from.

I politely replied “Here and there” while my inside voice was screeching “These things actually happen, this is my life and all its associated nonsense laid bare”.

I’m a “what you see is what you get” kinda gal. School reports included phrases such as “doesn’t suffer fools gladly”.

A foster carer report produced for my parents, during the arduous adoption process, informed them that “Mary-jane is a bright and intuitive child but will never be a lady”.

I was a baby when placed with them – what had I done at the heady age of six months old to achieve such status? Either way, she wasn’t wrong.

I have thoroughly enjoyed this past year and admit it brings me great joy to hear that folks like it.

Even our delightful Auntie Rose has swapped to the Saturday magazine, although I’m fairly certain it’s more to do with the puzzles than my face staring at her.

I do feel however, I may have missed my calling and could probably bring to the table something I am certain I would excel at.

Every weekend I listen to Graham Norton on the radio. I love his casual manner, making his guests feel at ease all the while knowing he’s researched prior to the interview.

However, it’s “Graham’s Guide” where Graham and his friend Maria give out advice for people who have submitted problems that has me howling some weekends.

A modern-day problem page over the air if you will. And it is hysterical. Utterly brilliant. I could totally do this!

Dear Susan. Do not accept badly made cups of tea. Do not surround yourself with people who make them. They don’t care about you.

Dear Barry. It’s not that you’re not a people person, you’re not a stupid people person. Cut them out of your life.

Buckling down to getting the column written, and on time.