The Voice of Fear Can Never Win

Dear Voice of Fear,

You're not winning. I just thought I'd point out that fundamental fact.

In this thing we've named 'the war on terror', I reckon, right now, the judges are probably sneaking a look at their watches and hoping no-one's pilfered their sandwich from the staff fridge.

Because it's obvious. No matter what happens, we will keep on living.

It's not that we don't care about the tragic effects of these cowardly endeavours, because we do. But it's the fact we care that makes us so strong. 

You're like a tick on the belly of a faithful dog. You're trying with all your might to suck out it's life force, but that dog will carry on fetching that ball, and chasing that pigeon, and farting gloriously in it's sleep.

How NOT to road trip with kids

Summer's coming. And that can only mean one thing: traipsing across the country to visit friends or family, attending weddings, making memories at the seaside, or risking your precious sanity at a theme park (all hail those who've battled Peppa Pig World and survived).

There was a time, not that long ago, when travelling to my parents' house meant three and a half hours of napping, snacking and intentionally avoiding any kind of strenuous mental exercise, save for the gratuitous 'what's your beach style?' quiz in whatever magazine I'd settled on from WHSmith. This was, of course, back in the days when I could book a ticket for one on Virgin Trains and request a table seat just for the hell of it, rather than because I needed the space for Paw Patrol colouring books and a hoard of Cadbury chocolate buttons.