The Bunker Girls

My imagination has served me well over this past year.  I imagine to escape, to push my sadness to happy. Rarely this year ...

Take a breath, take a deep breath, we are almost at eleven months and fast approaching the first anniversary of the day Keith died. My ang...

I feel sick. I feel sick at the end of every day now, my digestive system battered by stress, my body the victim of unwanted change. There a...

Tonight, 27th May: seven months since Keith died. This is the saddest night ever says five year old Florence. My seven year old: Before wh...

These past two months have been occasionally rapturous, but mostly horrific. The rapture has come from doing some work and buying a flat, th...

There is a sense in me that I should write something today. This is the time of year, is it not, to review that which the last twelve months...

Last night I dreamt I had cancer and merely weeks to live. The single feeling inside me was fear for my daughters, for their future, their w...