Photograph: Alan Betson

I finished the edits on the book I’ve been working on. Which is to say, the deadline arrived and two men with big nets and steel-capped boots pulle(...)

Photograph: Thinkstock

I didn’t use my real name when I filled in the very short online form. I decided instead to hide behind my middle name, Maria. It was one of th(...)

Photograph: Thinkstock

We went west for 48 hours, drove out of Dublin under a blue sky dotted with bulbous clouds and graced with a big yellow sun. “Oh,” we said. “Sunshi(...)

Tinder: swipe right for yes

‘It’s a dick-fest,” she said lightly as she dyed my eyelashes with a kit she had bought in the pharmacy. “Your first encounter, your introduction, is (...)

Photograph: Thinkstock

I was in a bookshop the other day, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of words I will never read and great areas of thought I’m not destined t(...)

A tap on the shoulder. Photograph: Thinkstock

We walked alongside the Thames, from Westminster Bridge down along the South Bank as far as the National Theatre. The evening was balmy, the day, I(...)

Photograph: Thinkstock

It’s summer, apparently. You can tell by looking at people’s footwear on public transport. They may be sheathed in rainwear or cushioned by bulky k(...)

It appears that  Judy Finnigan  graces nearly as many covers as Kate Middleton’s blow-dry. Photograph: Richard Martin-Roberts/Getty Images

I’m sick of sex. I’m sick of sex and flesh and other people’s surgically repositioned navels staring at me from the magazine rack in the local stor(...)

My grandmother used to say that when a bird flew into the house, death soon followed

‘All the neighbourhood kids loved him. He was calmer than a breeze. He would take his pocket money from my father and give it to me. Everyone loved hi(...)

Photograph: Thinkstock

‘Been anywhere nice?” “Eh . . . no.” “Greece? The Med? You wouldn’t know what to be doing with yourself these days. Dubai? Would you be bot(...)