But my hair is OK – With Real Toads


Whose idea was it

– please enlighten me –

back in the eighties

to instal changing rooms in clothes shops

with no privacy?

Mirrors were no friend of mine at home

let alone when in the company of svelte girls.

Harsh-lit under lighting

guaranteed to magnify my cellulite

and glint on the mouthful of metal

glued to my teeth by a dentist with no pity for

teenage sensitivity.

I was encircled by girls –

with perfect hair

with perfect bodies

with perfect teeth

with perfect make up.

Whose idea was it, I ask you?

It was the school changing rooms all over again

and the dash through the communal showers

as fast as I could without slipping over on those

god-awful brown and yellow tiles.


I still hate shopping for clothes –

thighs too robust to fit in jeans

knees too chunky for on-the-knee skirts

biceps too muscly for long sleeved shirts.


I like my hair though.

It’s too wild and woolly for fashion these days.

But about that one thing, I don’t care.


Over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Magaly is hosting and asks us to write about one of three bees – the Queen Bee, the bee that works the hardest or the bee that doesn’t fit in. Of course I chose the latter. I don’t feel that I’ve ever fitted in anywhere really (although the writing and art community seems to be suiting me rather well these days!). That not fitting in thing was certainly a theme of my growing up…

Please head on over to The Garden, have a good read and if you feel inspired, join in!

Under Pressure – Daily Prompt


You could tell, just by looking at them that they were all of the same bloodline.Same open expression, same physique, same tilt of the head when listening with undivided attention. You could be forgiven for thinking that they weren’t quite human, really. Someone, somewhere, had possessed incredibly strong genes.

So, time passed and everyone knew what to expect of the Meyers. You’d met one, you’d met them all, so it was said. It almost became folklore, that saying.

But then, then The Tragedy happened. And then, then their individuality was revealed in all its, well, unique glory, despite the circumstances.

Mother was a rock. She was the one they all turned to, the one they leaned on, the one that remained calm in the face of unspeakable horror.

Father broke. He wouldn’t, or couldn’t stop telling everyone how horrible everything was, how they would never recover, how he couldn’t see a way back from the edge. In short, he just wouldn’t shut up.

Granny remained in her rocking chair, demanding tea and toast and a drop of sherry in the evening as if nothing had changed. To be fair, she was as deaf as a post and impervious, so for her, nothing had changed really.

The Children, normally squabbling over the slightest perceived wrong, united, held fast to and supported one another as if sensing that they were stronger together. As a unit, they kept away from Father, not wanting his instability to puncture their carefully crafted strength.

And Sister? Oh she was the sly, crafty one in all of this. Like Janus, she had two faces, the dutiful daughter to all intents and purposes when she was being watched. At nightfall, under cover of streets as mute and dark as the dead, she would slip out and take her chances with anyone that would give her the glad eye, young or old, man or woman. This was freedom and she feasted on it.

The Meyers? Each as individual as the flakes of snow settling on this iron earth. Don’t underestimate them. Especially Father. I don’t think he’s as cracked as he likes you to think.

Survival of the fittest, right?

Here’s my entry into the latest WordPress Daily Prompt – today’s word is Diverse. Please do check in here to read other entries – why not take part?

The image above is of an art installation in the Memory Void (one of the empty spaces in the Libeskind Buiding at the Berlin Jewish Museum). The installation was created by Menashe Kadishman and is called ‘Shalechet’ (Fallen Leaves). The steel faces (more than 10,000) are a memorial to the Shoah (Holocaust) and completely cover the ground. Visitors are asked to walk on the faces creating an eerie clanking sound.