England, June 2021

It’s our first short train ride in a year, across the viaduct to the next village, for my eighty-six-year-old mother and me. Both eager to get out, almost back to normality, we set off gaily chatting on a cloudy day with the greatest optimism, for it is a journey that my mother now seldom makes alone.

She takes a seat, muscling into the narrow shelter with her walking aid and watches while I navigate the digitized panel and cashless touch screen collection of two simple tickets. Times have changed! My elderly mother has no idea how to…

Menopause & Men- a Lifestyle Too Hot to Handle…

It’s a melting August day, the hottest time of the year!

This is an apt occasion for relaxing in your garden amongst the sunset orange Black-Eyed Susan's (that’s not your neighbours- I hope!), while sipping a refreshing icy drink from a long, pink straw. A time for laying beneath the obscure of a vast Spanish sombrero or beach umbrella-(not the same umbrella- experienced by the Englishman for use in the rain). …

Nature knows the times and seasons better than modern man.

I'm a Canal Boat Lifestyle Storyteller and I've been thinking about nature versus modern life. Modern man-and wo-man, (this comes as no surprise to me), are said to owe their heredity to a Neanderthal state of archaic human. Modern man takes shelter in his centrally heated home and only awakens to Spring, when the warming sun first beams in the window and melts the chocolate Easter eggs glued to his children’s sticky hands. (Oh no, I have to take a break now to find some chocolate- back in a minute!)

(Caramel with a hint of sea-salt- gives me the sugar…

'It turned out that Amundsen was not only a much better planner than Scott, but he understood that the pacing was the key to coming back alive.'

'The slow tortoise beat the faster hare because the hare was inconsistent in its pacing. Steady wins.' What a great article! I will definitely implement this in my writing. Thanks for sharing Neera.

I sometimes stay at my Mum’s house where during the wash cycle we get our underwear mixed up. I return home to encounter in my bag, a somewhat enormous pair of white knickers, much bigger than my usual size 8–10. My husband winces at the sight of me in my mother’s attire, as I giggle and pull them up, well past my waist!

Then, to my amusement, one day I found myself in my mum’s shoes. I stayed at my daughter’s house, where upon my return, I discovered in my small suitcase, an equally and quite opposite, scant pair of…