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Thank you for booking time with me. Until we speak you might like to take a read of some of my recent articles….
Last week Lucy Reed wrote a , eloquent and thought-provoking blog entitled Wellbeing Fatigue. The rant (her word) should be read in full here , but the nub of it was that she was sick of wellbeing tips. She stated ‘the problems that were frying our resilience and longevity are structural not internal to us as individuals – take away the ‘look how busy I am b***s**t’ and there is still a major problem. We’re all talk and no action because ultimately, we as individuals are almost powerless.’ Then: ‘this is a circle that can’t be squared. There aren’t enough judges or slots in the
Mr Carson* was my second-year chemistry teacher. My sister remembers him for his dandruff ridden comb-over and predilection for taking the eighteen year old male sixth formers to the Abbey pub at lunchtimes. I remember him as the man who unfairly ruined my Effort Card. Every term we were sent home from school with a two-columned card on which every teacher had given us two letters. The possibilities were E for Excellent, S for Satisfactory and U for Unsatisfactory. One column was for Achievement, reflecting the marks attained in homework and the second was for Effort. As we prepared to
I have a pair of full length caramel leather boots that are mocking me. They are flopped over in my porch next to the shoe cabinet they don’t fit in. Of course, I don’t see them often because the front door is only used now for Tesco and DPD deliveries. Because my husband’s study is a flight of stairs nearer the door than my office he tends to beat me to the paltry excitement of taking in boxes. But still, I know they are there because they call to me. Remember when you bought me? Remember when you first wore
HOLIDAY [ Hol-li-day] any day of exemption from work EXEMPT [ig–zempt] to free from an obligation or liability to which others are subject; release: – Dictionary.com I live just at the edge of my town, my road running off a lane that starts with a school and church and peters out to fields with horses and rabbits. Every now and again my Mum will be in the car with me on that lane and will tell me (again) the story of when she went on ‘holiday’ along that lane. The Baptist church she belonged to, which was all of two miles away, hired
This week I heard a retired Judge speak to a non-legal audience about the challenges of doing High Court cases. * The audience was treated to just fifty minutes of well-told stories about children forced to deal in drugs for the County Lines gangs, children trafficked from the Philippines, vulnerable women from India enticed into surrogacy arrangements they later regretted. When questions were invited, the very first one was, “Are Judges given therapy to deal with all of this?” That’s a question I am asked often, but the speaker’s answer was different to my stock reply of “No, but they should