Blimey…
Turns out that even when you call your children a version of biblical fruit salad and marry a songwriter of extraordinarily miserable songs you are still able to write thought-provoking and beautifully articulate articles.
When I watched Sliding Doors all those years ago and lusted after her immaculately fresh and funky blonde crop, I did not envisage leaking silent tears to her collated descriptions of befuddled heads and hormonal months of hell.
Thanks, Gwyn. I feel like we’ve met.
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