I don’t often get really cross about things, but yesterday morning at 9.30am I was furious.

I was on my way out for a run* and before I left the house I put out our Christmas tree for collection, along with the recycling. I did it just in time as a couple of minutes later one of the men from the special Christmas tree truck came into our square. He was clearly on the prowl, looking out for trees.

Christmas trees

Our house is one of the most visible in the square. It’s called a square, but it’s more like a long cul-de-sac really. As you turn the corner into it our house is at the far end, so it and the tree can be seen very easily. I could see two or three other trees just from where I stood at the door to our house as well. View Post

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Last week I had a bit of a recycling frenzy. All my boxes were already out on the pavement, and the lorry was due any minute, but suddenly it felt like a Very Good Idea Indeed to see how much paper I could get rid of. I even fell down the stairs a little bit in my excitement, but no one saw that, so we’ll brush over it and move on.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve used my new-found writing career as an excuse to buy and hoard magazines, believing I will spend hours reading and gaining inspiration. Of course it doesn’t happen, because most of the magazines out there are utter shite, full of make-up ads and air-brushed models that make me feel like I should be fasting or sticking my fingers down my throat, so instead I line my study with shelves full of useful boxes of unread magazines, just in case.

“Blimey, this one likes her reading doesn’t she?” I heard one of the recycling collectors say to his mate as they heaved box after box of my old glossy magazines into their van.

Not anymore. Now my shelves are clear, and I can eat guilt free.

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