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Written by Birds Eye View
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Friday, 30 July 2010 |
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We all know that two things in life are certain; death and taxes. There's actually a third unavoidable certainty and it's called ‘LIES’. We're all lied to on a regular basis, whether it's flimsy fibs or gargantuan whoppers. |
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Written by Birds Eye View
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Friday, 16 July 2010 |
This is a bit of a sensitive question, but is your 'crack' in the small, medium or large category? We only know if we've got a huge problem or not if someone else broaches the same, awkward subject. For shy women, the wait can take as long as an NHS appointment, but for the twin-set tigers (open-minded and open mouthed), it only takes a bottle of plonk and some loose-lipped lingo to declare 'open season' on all cracks: you show me yours, I'll show you mine.
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Written by Birds Eye View
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Thursday, 27 May 2010 |
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The sun is a blistering ball of fire in the sky as I type this column from my garden; the birds are enjoying a pool party in the birdbath and I've just smothered my dog's belly in Factor 40, because he takes his tanning as seriously as I do melanomas. Apart from the very faint hum of neighbours' voices, a unique sense of peace has enveloped me, and I'm soaking it up like dry skin sucks up a good moisturiser.
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Written by Birds Eye View
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Thursday, 29 April 2010 |
For the last year, I've been on a mission to discover how our bodies work at every level. I think most of us know more about our cars or our mobiles than we do about our own bits’n’bobs. Along the way, I've covered a lot of baffling medical and nutritional ground, and encountered some eye opening facts and a mass of contradictory research. My bias has been towards the female body, because I happen to own one, and it's developed some nasty glitches in the past eighteen months.
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Written by Birds Eye View
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Friday, 26 March 2010 |
My husband's rarely shocked by anything I do, except when I recently hid behind the bedroom door in the dark, knowing he was dead tired and about to hit the sack. When I leapt out and made him scream like a girl, he thought I was an immature cow, whereas I thought I was hysterically funny.
Oh come on, I'd proved that there was nothing wrong with his middle-aged heart, despite the stress he tells me it's under every day. My proof lay in the fact that I could still hear it thumping like a boy-racer's woofer an hour after I'd returned to the sofa and my glass of Merlot.
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