The Post I Nearly Didn't Write

Back with the best of intentions, mildly executed

Staring at a blank page feels very apt for the beginning of the year.

I’ve been staring at it for most of the week and was dangerously close to sacking it off all together because, well, what’s the point?

But the last thing I said on here was that I love, maybe even need to write. Cringe. And the only thing more cliche than starting a Substack is abandoning said Substack. So let’s give it a go.

Firstly, Happy New Year! I’m not bored of saying it yet. I think January gets a bad rep. I happen to love the quiet return to routine, the restaurant availability and the promise of good intentions. I said in my last post that I’d rather swap resolutions for continuations and do more of what felt good. So I’m not making any commitments to exercise because if the past 9 months have taught me anything it’s that I can exist very happily without it. As for dry January, you do you.

This year I’d like to be more creative. Make more stuff. Find that flow more often. Nothing crazy, just little things like cards, collages, decorations, food. Anything that keeps my hands busy and head quiet.

That said the past couple weeks have been distinctly uncreative. The only flow state I’ve found was using the fabric shaver I got Ed for Christmas. I’m sure he’d appreciate me giving my legs the same attention but time is a commodity, sacrifices have to be made. And bobbly jumpers are just embarrassing.

Speaking of time, I decided to gift myself some. To help ease myself into the new year I dipped my toe into the world of nannies and booked one for a few hours. Lovely idea in theory but might I advise that if you’re planning some time off you don’t forget to actually plan the time off. Whilst Nico napped I rushed between the post office, supermarket and washing machine. Meanwhile the nanny put her feet up with an episode of Derry Girls and the Thai Red Curry I’d spent all morning making for our dinner. It was delicious though she didn’t say so herself.

The next day I discovered where the nannies hang. Soft play. Well at least I assumed they were nannies based on their conversations about dating profiles and slovenly flat mates. It was my first time in this particular soft play establishment and I felt like the new girl at school again only without my older brother’s street cred to carry me. Michael Brisby meant nothing here.

I wondered whether they thought I was a nanny too. I quite liked the idea of that. I sustained eye contact in the ball pit and was about to strike up a conversation when Nico threw up. Being fresh out of wipes and not wanting to make a scene I did what any sensible person would and quietly mopped it up with my sock.

Talk about being creative. 2026, we’re off to a flying start!