The general parent category for most of the things I write about on here.
One of the more interesting Louisa-centric sub-categories is biodata (where I explore my personal history with graphs, maps and whatnot), and if you’re that way inclined, you can read about the wonderful felines and canines with whom I’ve shared my life too.
1. Every night I go to sleep with my fingers entangled in John’s hair. (When he shaves his head, I just rest my fingers on his head instead. It’s more tactile when he has hair.)
2. The horses are back again in the field around the corner. On our way back from walking to the shops the long way around, we stop to feed them small chunks of carrot and stroke their noses. Later, John, who doesn’t really like horses, says it’s one of his favourite moments of the day.
3. The lasagne is perfect.
1. Even though we don’t have to get up particularly early for work – and work from home, it’s still a pleasure to have an alarm-less morning at the weekend.
2. I nibble off the piece of bacon extruding from the bread and it’s delicious – perfectly salty, perfectly crisp, bacon at its best.
3. Despite being together nearly all day every day, sometimes we don’t actually see each other that much – working together or working in the same room but not together, or as has been the case recently, being in the same but being ill aren’t in any way “quality time”. Today – a day off work and the first day neither of us has felt particularly ill – is a “quality day”, even though we don’t do much. We sing silly songs with each other, we make dumb jokes, we provide sarcastic commentary to the media we’re watching, we awww at cats, we tell stories and we kick ideas around. Even now, when I’m in bed hurriedly writing this, John interrupts to ask about the use of “had had” in the book he’s reading and we have a discussion about that, “it it”, “in in” “that that” and my favourite, “not not”.
1. The olive oil has turned gelatinous on the cold window sill.
2. The thrill of seeing the Twitter textbox count rise from -55 to 0 with rewording and careful cropping.
3. John decides it’s time to leave the house for the first time in 2010 and even though I’m starting to feel ill, I decide to join him for some fresh air. We walk the short way to the shops – to the chemist, to the grocers – to pick up supplies. John decides to do a running-slide down the slope near our house on the way back. Our neighbour in the house at the end of the slope watches and laughs from her kitchen window as he rides the ice around the corner. By the time we get home, my floating head pain has dissipated.
1. We have a phone conference instead of our weekly in-person meeting. Restricted to just our voices, we’re more stilted and business like than usual but the phone service makes us smile with a comedy “phezoo” noise whenever anyone leaves. In our text-based chat later, Caius announces a sub-set meeting is over, saying “Participants dispersed in a hail of alien gunfire”.
2. My first wisdom tooth has finally made it into the open. The gum around it feels spongy and soft. I can’t resist tonguing it because it reminds me of losing teeth when I was a child.
3. I talk to a Romanian guy living in Sweden about life in the UK (and how it’s a balmy -6°C compared to his -25°C) while killing mutated turtles in a mythical land.
1. I lean on my fists in thought. The skin on my metacarpus is dry and smells faintly of chlorine. It reminds me of a year ago, when I swam three times a week – the shocking cold of the nearly empty pool, pushing myself to go forever faster, floating in my own world as the reward for my hard work, then the light, energised feeling of the walk home. I *must* start going again.
2. When life gives you lemons… I can’t face a journey along the icy slush to buy nice bread for lunch so just get a loaf of cheap sliced white from the nearby convenience shop instead. It’s too bland to eat on its own but perfect for toasties. Cheese, beans and tabasco – sizzling pockets of joy.
3. In the colourless, muffled world of snow, my other senses are enhanced to compensate. Standing at the bus stop opposite Kebabish is hell. I’m nearly drooling by the time the 670 arrives.
4. Returning from dinner with Katherine, I find there are pretty ice patterns on the inside of the porch windows. The first time I’ve ever seen that happen.
5. Boron cuddles close for warmth. With the duvet around him, he’s like the Cheshire Cat – just a head – but just two giant eyes instead of a smile. In the low light, they’re two black orbs surrounded by the thinnest lemon ring, with white flickering into momentary view as he looks around.
© 2025 Louisa Parry