It has been somewhat of a running joke amongst my partner’s family, who I have been spending Christmas with for the past few years: who is going to “ruin” Christmas this time?
A couple of weeks ago, I escaped the city for a long weekend away in the beautiful hillside of Strathglass, just outside Inverness. It was the first weekend of minus temperatures (or at least it was the first time I felt them this year). When I awoke on the first morning, white frost had covered the grass around the cabin I was staying in. The little pond outside had frozen over.
It has, for a while, been somewhat of a running joke between me and friends: who do I really side with: Germany, my place of birth and where I grew up, or Scotland, where I have lived for over a decade, my home?
Black Friday. For bargain hunters it is a much looked-forward-to event, while its critics often see the day as the epitome of the negative effects of consumerism (back when people were getting into physical fights over a new television set, it is quite easy to see where such a take comes from).
I can already hear some people say it: here she goes again. And yes, this isn’t the first time I will be writing some of the below.
When my friends asked what I wanted for my birthday this year, I knew straight away: I wanted their time.
It’s something I grumble over a lot: for someone whose job it is to think about words every day, I don’t always seem to do as well when it comes to my everyday talking and what words come out of my mouth. More often than I like, I find myself going over what I say with the power of hindsight and wishing I could change things.
Apart from life itself (and the fact she loves me so much still, despite me pushing her buttons for so many of my younger years) it is probably the greatest gift my mum gave me: her language.
Every time I talk about my links to a tiny Highland village I found myself in again this weekend for my birthday, it turns into somewhat of a spiel (people never actually ask for it, and I give it every time anyway, but I love a good story and, dear reader, I do think this is a good one).
It all started with one of many new year's resolutions I decided to embrace. I can’t say exactly when, but at some point towards the end of last year, I decided I wanted to read 25 books in 2023. It felt like a good number. It would be just over double the amount I had read in 2022, a year where I had no set goal in mind. An average of around two books a month. Challenging, yes, but also realistic.
