Before that, my main job had been taking care of her. I still told people that I was a writer while I worked on sitcom scripts and made silly videos for TikTok, but my tax-returns for the previous 4 fiscal years suggested otherwise.

At the time I was ashamed, I felt guilty that although most mums around me were sacrificing their time with their kids to earn money for their family, my little unit had decided that we would endeavour to live frugally in order to make it possible for me to be a stay at home parent while hedonistically following my dreams of becoming a comedy writer.

I was going to make a joke here apologising to my fellow feminists and saying sorry but I was just too lazy to ‘have it all’ - but looking back, I think I did have it all and not working in the traditional sense of the word is what that looked like for me and for my family at the time.

It’s taken me far too long to realise that ‘having it all’ is actually more about the importance of ‘having all the options’ and to ‘have it all’ in the way in which this phrase has previously been thrown about is pretty impossible. I’m almost certain that other women around me looked at the choices I’d made and felt guilty about theirs too, which brings me neatly to my first point about returning to work after a grief-based absence:

1. You Will Feel Guilty

Very sorry to tell you this but parental guilt doesn’t stop just because your child dies. In fact, I’d argue that it makes it even worse. When I found out I’d got this new job I was happy for a moment and then immediately felt a pang of guilt. If Ellie was still here, would I have even applied for it? Then my thought process switched to the realisation that if things had been different, Ellie would have been in school by now and I could have still walked this path. And wouldn’t that be nice. For her to see her Mummy go out and work in an office like a proper grown-up with a rainbow lanyard and everything? Maybe she would be really proud of me. I know this is a ridiculous train of thought given that I’ve just said that I have zero regrets about choosing not to work while Ellie was little but grief guilt just like parental guilt is very rarely rational. Once I started to get more settled at work, a different kind of guilt started to roll in. How could I be wandering around, smiling and acting normal, even secretly enjoying being at work, given everything that has happened? I don’t know the answer to that question, but having talked to others that have found themselves in this situation, I know I’m not the only one. Guilt like grief, it seems, will be with me forever. And just like grief, the challenge is learning to live with it constantly jostling up against you, without it always knocking you down.

Since being back at work, I’ve come to let myself (mostly) accept the guilt. Because if that’s the price of feeling more normal for a few hours, then that seems like a reasonable trade-off.

2. You Will Know When You’re Ready To Return To Work

Luke, my other half, returned to work after 6 months. Even though his employer allowed for a full-years’ absence, he had an inkling that it was time for him to return to work and to get some semblance of routine back in his life. He probably would have gone back sooner if it wasn’t for him worrying about leaving me at home. I have to admit, I found this challenging. Before when he’d be out at work, I’d be at home with Ellie or working on my own projects, watching the clock until it was time to pick her up from pre-school on her nursery days. And now, I was alone, the empty hush of the house, like underwater pressure crushing from all angles.

Some people I know who have lost children went back to work after a few months and I know others that may never go back to doing what they were doing before. Just like choosing how much you work when you have a child is a choice that everyone feels different about, deciding when (if ever) to go back to work after losing a child is something that’s very much down to the individual.

I know that for some, going back to work is not an option and something they must do in order to keep a roof over their head and food on the table. I hate that this is the case and I appreciate how lucky I am1 to be able to choose whether or not to work. If you’re not part of an organisation with a good compassionate leave policy when the absolute worst happens, Statutory bereavement parental pay from the government in the UK is just £184.03 per week for 2 weeks. I find it ludicrous to think that after just 2 weeks of losing a child, a parent is expected to return to work if they have no other choice.2

I wasn’t ready to return to work after 6 months but at around 10 months, I started to feel like I needed some of what Luke was getting from his work: distraction, social interaction, a sense of belonging and most importantly, that feeling of being needed again. It took me a while to find a job that was right for me and that would let me continue with other things that had helped me heal, like the bereavement support group I volunteer at and writing here, on this Substack.3

3. You Will Lack Confidence

Even before Ellie died, I had this feeling that maybe I wasn’t good enough. I thought that I would be un-hireable in a conventional setting and, compared to other applicants, my CV would seem ridiculous. A wannabe comedy writer, who hadn’t even had much time to do that, who for the last four years had been too busy living the life of Riley, spending her days with her little best friend and finding it easier to talk to her and her pre-schooler mates than to be out in the real world with the proper grown-ups. I didn’t experience weekends like other people did and my main life skills consisted of the ability to tell which episode of Bing it was from the thumbnail on iPlayer, how to do a surprisingly neat French plait on a wiggling head of hair, and how to spot that someone needs the toilet from the subtlest of cues.

As I’m sure many other mums before me have felt, Motherhood was quite adept at eroding my already fragile sense of self-worth. But then came this most unfortunate change of circumstances, and the prospect of a job became synonymous with a sort of escape and yet it still felt out of reach - this time for different reasons. I soon came to crave that old kind of simple insecurity.

There was so much that was so complicated about my situation. I worried about what I should write in my application. A career advisor provided in conjunction with my therapy sessions suggested that maybe it wasn’t necessary to tell people right away about what had happened but I knew this wouldn’t work for me. Not being open and honest about my situation seemed foolish, it’s a huge part of who I am now and why should I deny it? Because I don’t want people to feel awkward? This might sound cruel but I’m ok with people feeling awkward for a minute, I’d take that over the constant ache of grief that sticks to my bones, any day.

BUT — On the other hand, immediately introducing yourself and admitting you’re still recovering from the most harrowing ordeal of your life is extremely exposing. Or worse, what if it’s construed as some sort of attempt to get someone to hire you out of pity? And what about if I ever got to interview stage? How would I stop myself from crying if they asked, ‘what my last role was’? And if I ever even got a job, what would I do when people in the office casually asked me if I had any children?

Some of these ‘what if’ scenarios didn't happen and some did, but none were anywhere near as difficult as the scenarios I’d played out in my head. And that is the nasty paradigm of no confidence, you feel vulnerable so you hide away a bit and the more you hide away, the harder it becomes to peep out and so you take another step back, then another and before you know it, your back is pressed up against the wall, with darkness surrounding you, while you feel worthless and alone.

So if there’s one bit of advice I can offer to anyone going through a similar situation, it’s to try. You might fail. I did. A few times. But no one really knows those failures but me. My mistake was to let those little obstacles make me question whether I should take another step back into the cave. Now that I’m working again, I see that things have not changed so much since I was last in a formal work setting and I have plenty to offer and plenty that I can learn. Because just like a lack of confidence can be easily eroded, it only takes a little nudge in the other direction for confidence to snowball. As long as you give it that first little push.

4. You Will Know Whether to Take the Job

Before I got my current role, I applied and interviewed for a few other jobs. All of which I didn’t get. I can’t pretend that my confidence didn’t take a hit, but the fact that I was getting responses and interviews, was enough to keep me level-headed about it. Plus, deep down I knew, that the things I’d got rejected for were never really right for me in the first place. Whether it was because I’d made a joke that didn’t quite land4 or if I’d applied for things that I knew I could do but didn’t feel excited about doing, or perhaps because the job advertised was actually nothing like the reality, for one reason or another things just didn’t click.

Until this one came along. And it was instant. From the moment I met my soon to be boss and the rest of the interview panel, I knew that I belonged. And maybe it’s because I didn’t get out much at the time but I have honestly never had such a nice time in an interview. I could tell immediately that the people were good and cared and I was able to talk about all my (non-Bing) related skills with pride, to the point that I even convinced myself I could do the job. They laughed at my jokes and made their own, which of course I laughed at.5 I spoke about Ellie and I didn’t cry. And they didn’t stop me to say they were sorry or that I was brave, they just let me talk. To some, that might sound weird but I really valued how they acknowledged it as a part of my life but didn’t try to make sure they were responding correctly and just let it be. They could see me alongside my grief and not completely trapped inside it.

They offered me the job the same day and I accepted immediately, without hesitation. This felt like where I was supposed to be.

5. You Will Be Exhausted

This will sound quite pathetic but I worked only three days in my first week of work and most of that time was spent not really working. Instead, I was in introductory meetings or completing mandatory training or getting to grips with where the teabags were kept. But let me tell you, that first Saturday morning after, I had an epic lie-in.

Do not underestimate, after a year of reclusion, how much being in the big wide world can take it out of you.

Meeting new people, trying to make a good impression and doing your best to remember names and faces and where the ladies loos are, can really take it out of you.

I remember after my husband returned to work, his reintroduction back as an existing employee was much more gradual but even after one half day back in the office he was completely knackered. So I don’t think it’s just me being a wimp, even though that is my natural state. I’m pleased to report though, that it is a different type of exhaustion than I’ve been used to lately - not the kind you get in early grief, where just existing feels like it burns 10,000 calories a day and where all you want to do is sleep to escape your living nightmare.

Speaking of which: one drawback to being distracted by work in the day is that all the normal processing of the heaviness that grief brings is concentrated to the moment that you step out of the world of work and back into the life you’ve been trying to avoid between the hours 9 to 5. I can’t really offer much in the way of wisdom in relation to this point, I’m still trying to figure how I get around this but I suspect the answer is, you don’t. Just like the swishy-swashy-grass, the snowstorm and the deep dark wood of bear hunt fame that we’ve all read hundreds of times, you can’t go over it, you can’t go under it, you just have to go through it.

AU-BER-GINE, AU-BER-JAN, LIFE GOES ON, ON, PASTA, BASTARD LIFE GOES ON

If you haven’t already noticed, I’m one of those very annoying people who can’t help but change the words to songs. A bit like Weird Al Yankovic but with slightly better dress sense and more frizz-prone hair.

And so yes, this pasta should be made while singing the above updated lyrics to the oft-overlooked Beatles masterpiece “Ob-La-Di-Ob-La-Da”. 6

I’m sharing this particular recipe because it’s quick, easy, relatively healthy and delicious. Just what you need when you’ve come in from work but you can’t be arsed to cook.

You can make this dish even more virtuous by making it vegan just by foregoing the parmesan.7

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS

1 Aubergine

1 onion

2 garlic cloves

300g Cherry tomatoes

2 tsp dried oregano

Sun-dried tomato paste (optional)

6 tbsp Olive oil

Handful of basil

200g spaghetti/linguine

Parmesan (optional)

METHOD

1. Turn on the oven to 200°C and take out a roasting tin/tray.

2. Cut the onion in half and then slice. Add to the roasting tin.

3. Slice the aubergine into rounds about the thickness of a girthy coin8 and layer over the onion in the tin.

4. Crush the garlic cloves with the heel of your hand, chop finely and sprinkle over the aubergine.

5. Add the cherry tomatoes whole.

6. Sprinkle the oregano then drizzle the olive oil over everything.

7. Season liberally with salt and pepper.

8. Add to the oven for about 25 minutes or until the aubergine is beginning to crisp and the tomatoes are nicely roasted.

9. About 10 minutes from this point, put a pan of boiling, well-salted water onto boil.

10. Cook the pasta for seven minutes, reserving some pasta water (about half a cup), the drain.

11. Remove the tin from the oven, then squish the tomatoes with the back of a spoon or a fork.

12. Add 2 teaspoons of sundried tomato paste, grated parmesan (if using), torn basil and a little bit of the reserved pasta water to the tin to loosen, and mix well.

13. Add the spaghetti and mix again.

14. Serve with a final sprinkle of parmesan, if you fancy it.9

COMEDY PAIRING

In a similar vein to the above recipe, sometimes when you’re tired and feeling a little bit vulnerable, you need something nice to watch, something that makes you feel good about the world.

So my comedy recommendation this time is Joe Pera Talks With You. Disclaimer: this is not a studio sitcom lol-fest and may take you a minute to adjust to its sensibilities. Joe is extremely likeable and it’s a pleasure to follow him round as he teaches you about the minutia of his very average life. It’s sombre and melancholy but it’s also warm and uplifting. Joe sums it up in this trailer and if you do decide to give it a go, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do:

If only they could have signed that flippin’ declaration a day or two sooner. Cheers, you big monarch-less bastards.

GREGORY AND HIS CALENDAR CAN DO ONE

Over the course of this year, I have spent an awful lot of time thinking about time: Why do we put so much emphasis on a calendar and dates that are human constructs?

Christmas, Halloween and that fickle little eggy we call Easter is when some of us are duty-bound to get together because the Catholic and/or Protestant Church said so. Eid, Hannukah, Diwali are the same. WAIT. That sounds more controversial than I meant it to. What I actually mean is, in these cases also, it’s religion that largely dictates how we organise our year in family celebrations.

Perhaps I should become a Jehovah’s Witness? I do enjoy peeping into people’s front windows…

AVOIDANCE AND OTHER COPING MECHANISMS

There is no denying that this past year has been complete agony but in the midst it all, I have found it oddly liberating not to be tied to the calendar, seeking to do things that are the absolute antithesis of what we would be doing if our lovely little life had kept trundling along as it was supposed to.

Of course, in reality, this doesn’t really work. No matter how hard we try to avert our gaze away from the calendar and its relentless march forward, there is a pressure that builds around important dates punctuated only by the thunderstorms of emotions that engulf these days, dispersing to provide momentary relief before the humidity brought about by the next looming date begins to gather again.

A YEAR IN GRIEF AND THE LAST OF THE FIRSTS

Gratefully, after almost a year, Luke and I have gotten very good at learning what things help us get by.

Our biggest escape has been literally escaping. Out of the country, to somewhere new, without cherished memories, or worse, bleak reminders. We went to Thailand at Christmas, Poland in March, Morocco in May and as you read this, we’ll hopefully be somewhere in South India tethered to an ungodly amount of Imodium.

From the moment we met, Luke and I have loved to travel to far-away places on a shoestring. While other couples’ first holiday destination might have been a nice hotel by a beach, with a pool and a swim up bar, we went to Sofia in Bulgaria, stayed in a (very nice) hostel and did a walking tour to learn more about its recent Soviet past. No regrets. We’ve camped across continents, slept on overnight buses and trains and we’ve done numerous homestays. Yes, I suppose you could say that we’re very well travel—

A COUPLE OF TRAVEL WANKERS

It’s ok, it’s what we were all thinking and I’m proud of you for feeling able to voice it.

It seemed inevitable that the best way to reconnect as a couple was to try and step back into our old life, as depressing as that sounds - back in time, before we became a three, before mortgages and nursery fees, using up the money we were saving for a future that we were no longer entitled to.

Being in Thailand allowed us to get lost in the days, keeping ourselves busy without being tied to the calendar. It helped us not to dwell on my birthday which happened while away and which we both gladly ignored. Neither were we counting down the days until Christmas like Ellie would have been with every open door of the advent calendar. Instead, we tried to lose ourselves in the sights, the smells and in the heat of a place so far removed from what we knew a normal December to be like, a place where realistically we wouldn’t have taken Ellie until she was much older.

That’s not to say we didn’t think about Ellie. It’s impossible to fathom even an hour of my life where I don’t think of her and I don’t want that either. In Thailand, we began a tradition that we’ve kept up since where we talk about the things that she would have like - and more importantly hated - about the places we visit.

The Good

Thailand - rice for every meal, bright colours, palm trees

Poland - a pink ice cream shop that played ABBA, the colourful buildings in Gdansk

Morocco - deserts, lots of cats, bright colours, shops everywhere

India - TBC

The Bad

Thailand - spicy food, the noisy motorbikes/cars

Poland - too much walking, not enough rice or pasta

Morocco - spicy food, the noisy motorbikes/cars

India - T.B.C (but probably as above)

We also try to do something that makes us think of her and we have also bought her little souvenirs that we think she would like to put in our home or in her room so she knows she’s never forgotten. I know by doing this we are setting ourselves to become terrible hoarders but unfortunately, I think when you lose a child, that ship has well and truly sailed. I know her things are not her but they are all we have left and so feel the need to keep them, as if giving them away would be giving away each memory that is attached to them.

We flew home from Thailand on Christmas Day, which in hindsight was a mistake but I do love a bargain and perhaps not unsurprisingly, those were some cheap, cheap flights.

I wrote the very first Courgettes of Grief post in a notebook during that flight. I haven’t looked back at it since as I’m still waiting for the right time to share it2 but being away gave me the space to think about coming back to writing, a thing that I love, to help me process losing the one I loved most.

SEAHAM AND RICE

I’m sorry that I don’t have a proper picture of this dish. It’s not a recipe that I’ve been able to return to yet. Maybe once this last “first of the firsts” is over with I will but until then, I hope you’ll understand. Instead, please enjoy this stock image of a bowl of sticky rice which Ellie would have also gladly eaten, any time of day.

Ellie was a bougie baby. I had been an adult for 2 whole years and was in my second year of University before I even tried an avocado3 and this girl was eating approximately one a week from about aged six months.

I’ve spoken lots on this Substack about the things that Ellie liked to eat but I wanted to save this recipe for this post. Not to mark that awful day but to celebrate her and her incredibly distinct and fully-formed character, who had the uncanny ability to endear herself immediately to all she came into contact with.

And so here is her very favourite tea, the one that when she would ask, ‘what’s for tea?’, and I would say ‘guess’ she would get excited because she knew what was coming. It was and is the very bougiest of meals, a sushi bowl of rice, avocado, edamame beans4 and seaham.

Seaham is of course, salmon - the ham of the sea, which is what Ellie had very astutely called salmon from an early age. She would eat this all year round but it happens to be a very good recipe for the summer months, especially if you cool and refrigerate the rice for a bit before you serve it.

In colder months, I’d keep the rice warm and swap out the smoked salmon for roasted salmon, which I’d remove from the oven, before carefully peeling off the fish skin, sprinkling it with salt before returning to a very hot oven to crisp up. If crispy fish skin sounds like an abomination, let me tell you that I once thought the same but trust me, it’s a game-changer. Even Ellie and her unadventurous palate agreed.

But don’t get too excited, even though this dish was Ellie’s favourite, it is a very simple meal of rice and fish where you can swap out fish with the protein of your choice and likewise, the veg you like best too. The rice, I’m afraid, is non-negotiable.

Without a doubt, the standout of this recipe is the sauce/drizzle, which of course Ellie never, ever had. So even though she was without a doubt my bougie little bean, when it came to flavours, she was also a bit basic too.5

Serves 2 (and a half)

INGREDIENTS

Half a mug of sushi or jasmine rice

100g smoked salmon

Avocado

Edamame Beans6

Tenderstem broccoli

For the sauce/drizzle

30ml soy sauce

20ml or 4 tsp toasted sesame oil

30ml tbsp white vinegar

30ml olive oil

2 tsp sugar

Optional extras:

Sweet chilli sauce

Sushi ginger

Pickled radish

Sesame seeds

1. Wash the rice.

2. Add to a pan along with a full mug of cold water, let sit for a few minutes.

3. Bring the pan of rice and water to the boil, then reduce to a simmer, add the lid and leave for 10-15 mins.

4. Turn off the heat, and let the rice sit with the lid on still for at least 10 minutes.

5. In a separate pan, add the tenderstem broccoli and a half to three quarters of a mug of edamame beans and cover with water.7

6. Bring the water to a boil and cook for 3-5 minutes.

7. Meanwhile, slice the avocado in half and scoop out the flesh, then slice and/or dice.

8. Using a sharp knife, cut the seaham into thin strips and then across in the opposite direction so it’s in lots of little pieces.

9. Combine all the ingredients for the dressing and taste to see if you need to add more sugar, soy sauce or vinegar.

10. Drain the broccoli and edamame beans.

11. Serve the rice in bowls and add the beans, the broccoli, the avocado and seaham.

12. Using a spoon, drizzle over the dressing to taste.

13. Garnish with any extras such as sesame seeds, sushi ginger and a drizzle of sweet chilli sauce for a little bit of heat and enjoy.

COMEDY PAIRING

This is where I try to recoup lost respect from any US citizens who happen to be reading this Substack post, with a few superb examples of cross-Atlantic satirical comedy.

During the course of the last year, Luke and I have developed what is undoubtedly a very unhealthy obsession with US politics.

I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because we can no longer worry about the world ending, maybe it’s because the President is a sobering reminder that the only the good die young but most likely and most depressingly, it’s probably because I’ve always enjoyed reality TV and this season of the Real House Representatives of America’s Next Top Yokel is a doozy.

As history has proven time and again, dire times call for sensational satire, weaponised wit that speaks truth to power - and I have to admit, there are a few US shows that are (as our stateside mates might say) “really knocking it out of the park”.

Here are a few bits and bobs we like to watch:

• Jimmy Kimmel’s opening monologues on YouTube

• The Daily Show intros on YouTube

• Have I Got News For You US8 on YouTube

• Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, latest episodes on NOW TV or older ones on YouTube9

I know these recommendations might seem like strange choices given the recipe I’m sharing this time. The truth is, I thought long and hard about what I could recommend that was something that Ellie loved and that we loved to watch with her and that would make us all laugh. But just like her favourite tea, it’s just a bit too painful to share without her at the moment.

And that’s ok. Because if this last year has taught me anything it’s that when you’re in the pit of grief, it’s ok to avoid a bit, it’s ok to distract yourself, it’s ok to escape.

It’s even ok to slag off another country’s Independence Day if you need to, just do whatever you need to do to survive.

As long as you’re not planning on having to go through US immigration anytime soon.

“Well, the doctor’s still not sure what’s wrong with it or why it’s still so swollen and the medication they’ve prescribed is giving me terrible heartburn. How are things with you?”

“Oh you know, these damp days are playing havoc with my joints and my heating bills. And have you seen the price of mince? It’s enough to turn you vegan! If it wasn’t for my joints.”

No-one likes a Debbie Downer.

But it’s also true, especially in this (allegedly) United Kingdom that no-one likes a Billy Braggington either - who, when you’re feeling sorry for yourself, goes on and on about how life couldn’t get much better. So of course, if someone tells you how hard life is for them, the only respectful and British way to respond is to try and one-up them with how terrible things are with you too.

In short, to me this saying meant that people like to have a moan together. Makes sense.

Well, at least, it used to. Now I see the truth. Misery Loves Company because without it, life, in its hardest times, can be unbearably lonely.

THE GRIEF RETREAT

Last Autumn, Luke and I received the invitation to an event no-one ever wants to get. A retreat day to bring together grieving parents in the early stages of their loss, organised by SUDC UK, who have been a real lifeline in supporting us ever since Ellie’s death. We almost didn’t go but it was probably one of the three1 most important things we did in the aftermath of the complete devastation of sudden, unexplained death of our child.

We arrived, as is our usual anxious style, about half an hour early to a lovely, leafy (and most definitely haunted) old country house about an hour’s drive away.

As other parents started to file in, we chatted awkwardly about where we’d come from, how long the journey had taken, all avoiding the dirty great elephant in the room. What struck me straight away is how everyone seemed so normal, so put together, unbelievably upright.

I know, I know, how silly of me, I was doing the same thing that I have complained about: assuming that because someone is able to function like a normal human being for a hour or two means that they are not completely broken.

When we sat down in a circle - like addicts knowing that even if they wanted to they’d never be able to get a hit of what they craved more than anything ever again - the group leader welcomed us all.

It was all too much. The elephant plodded forward, closer into view, its dusty foot on my chest. I instantly started to hyperventilate, knowing that we would soon be asked to talk about our children, and the way they had been taken from us. Of course, there was no obligation to share but as I tried to take breaths, I knew there was only one way to make it subside.

So I talked about Ellie. And then Luke joined in. And then the other parents told us about their children and over the course of the day, we cried and smiled together, we showed each other pictures of our children and we shared anecdotes about our support networks, when/if we were back at work and how that had gone, what we’d done or planned to do for important dates like Christmas, birthdays and that anniversary date where there’s nothing to celebrate. And we talked about other difficult hurdles you never dreamed you’d have to discuss, especially with people you’d only just met.

Then, we did what every group of millennials is legally bound to do when they make a connection, we set up a WhatsApp group.

We left the haunted mansion, exhausted but feeling lighter. It had felt freeing to talk openly with other Mums and Dads who really got it, without censoring the trauma and depression as we’re inclined to do with family and friends also grieving.

It seems perverse how much comfort you can take in knowing that someone else has gone through the same horrible thing as you. After all, you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy, and my anecdotal evidence would suggest that this sort of thing seems to happen exclusively to the loveliest people (present company excluded) which feels like it should make this an even more sadistic take away. And yet, I cannot tell you how much it meant to not feel like you’re the only people this happens to, when you’re battling daily with images online, on the telly, and in real life of happy families just living without even realising that your sad, empty timeline is running alongside their clumsy, cluttered, happy one.

Since the retreat, a couple who attended that day have become (and I hope they don’t think this is a creepy thing to say) our inevitable lifelong friends. We talk about each others child as if we know them and we meet up in order to let go of all the stuff that’s been hard or annoying us about having to live in the constant shadow of this horrible and inexplicable thing.

LIVE, LOAF, LOVE

For a few months now, I’ve been volunteering at a Bereavement Support Group for older people. Never ones to miss a chance to worry about me, when I told one of my sisters about it she asked, ‘are you sure that’s a good idea?’

It was. In fact, it’s been something I look forward to. I spend the days before thinking about what I think they will enjoy and get all the ingredients together. The day before, I’ll make cakes or biscuits and something like sausage rolls or flavoured focaccia for the people who prefer savoury stuff and then over tea and coffee, we talk about our grief and about our loved ones and about what’s growing in the garden and our favourite things to eat.

Of course, most people are grieving lost their partners but there’s still comfort in that deep understanding of what it means to be the ones left behind. And it’s run by the loveliest person, who’s devoted her life to making life a little bit brighter for the older people in the community who are lonely and look forward to things like this as much as I do. It lasts just a couple of hours but it fills me up as much as I like to fill everybody who comes with cake and treats and any leftovers they take home in little plastic bags or give to friends who struggle to get out of the house.

And so it is here, too, that misery loves company - but though it is misery that has brought us together, kindness, love and community keeps us coming back.

TEA.L.C LOAF

Don’t go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the recipe and enjoy this quick tea loaf.2

This was a particular favourite of the support group so I thought I would share it here. Shout out to my brother-in-law’s Mum for the recipe which I’ve tweaked very slightly. You might also notice that this recipe doesn’t include any butter or oil which is basically an invitation to slather it with the fatty spread of your choice, but for the health conscious, it also tastes great without it.

1 egg

2 teabags3

280g mixed dried fruit

280g brown or white sugar or a bit of both

280g self-raising flour

2 tsp mixed spice (optional)

1 tbsp marmalade (optional)

1. Boil the kettle and brew your teabags in half a pint of water for about 5 minutes before removing the teabags.

2. Once cooled, pour the tea over the mixed fruit in a mixing bowl, cover and leave overnight on the kitchen counter.

3. The next day, pre heat the oven to 170 degrees celsius. By now, the fruit will have soaked up most of the liquid.

4. In a mixing bowl add the self-raising flour, mixed spice (if using) and the sugar.

5. Add the fruit plus leftover liquid along with a lightly beaten egg and mix until combined.

6. Line a standard loaf tin with greaseproof paper4 and fill with the cake mixture.

7. Bake in the oven for around an hour or until you can a skewer poked in the centre of the loaf comes out clean.

8. Place the tin on a cooling rack and leave the cake to cool in the tin.

9. If you want to give your loaf a little bit of a shine and sweet orange tang, brush marmalade in a thin layer on top of the loaf just after it’s come out of the oven.

10. Once completely cooled, remove from the loaf tin.

11. Slice and serve with a cup of tea for breakfast, lunch or tea. If you can bear to leave it for a day before slicing, it will taste even better.

COMEDY PAIRING

If misery loves company, then of course mirth is an easy bedfellow. Sometimes, the two can be intertwined - ooo, kinky.

This is something that I was reminded of when I recently went away with my very funny and fabulous friend. We were in Morocco and we had just come back to Marrakech after a long road trip and I’m ashamed to say, really couldn’t be bothered to do very much at all. So we ordered a Moroccan McDonalds (10/10, no notes) and we sat down in front of the telly, searching for something funny to watch. We decided to opt for ‘Melania’ but after some buffering issues due to an almost certainly illegal streaming service in our riad5 we gave up.

We couldn’t get much to work except YouTube and that led us rediscover that long lost pastime of watching silly videos with your friends.

It’s a good reminder that when you’re in need of a little pick-me-up instead of opting for a feature (!) length documentary about the First Lady and second most self-involved person on earth, a funny YouTube video that lasts about a minute will do it.

We exchanged funny videos like excited kids swapping sparklies for our Panini sticker albums and let some of the videos loop until we laughed so hard, it made us phlegm-y.

She was delighted to share this absolute gem which made me laugh in a way I thought I had forgotten how to:

And I don’t know why but I also find this video really very funny.

So, next time you’re with friends or siblings or anyone who could do with a laugh, I would encourage you to do the same: ask someone about their favourite viral videos (preferably when you’re together) and spend an hour or two laughing at all the ridiculous things on the internet that until then, you might never have even known existed.

Also, please feel free to litter the comments with your own favourite vids - as you may have gathered by now, I could always do with a laugh.

BONUS REC

I’m also going to cheat this month and give you another non-comedy recommendation. I think I’ve bored most people that I’ve talked to recently telling them to read this book, but it really is quite good and just what I needed to read at a time when it would be very easy to feel completely hopeless and like the world is an unfriendly and unforgiving place.

Humankind: A Hopeful History by the historian and author, Rutger Bregman is the antidote to the pessimistic world-view peddled throughout the majority of mainstream media, where examination of historical instances and scientific studies it is proven time and time again that people (in general) are good and want to do the right thing for their fellow earth-dwellers.

The thing is, after losing a child, I actually already know this.6 But it’s still nice know that someone else knows it and use numerous occasions throughout history to prove it too.

If you have the time, I also recommend Bregman’s more recent book “Moral Ambition: How to Find Your Purpose” which isn’t as much as a self-help book as it sounds. Instead, this book provides numerous hopeful examples of all the brilliant people out there working to make the world a better place. Of course, it’s hard not to read a book like this and think about what changes in life we can make to help, which is weirdly appealing for someone who used to not care whether the world ended tomorrow.

Both books emphasise the ripple effect of doing something good, even something small for a fellow stranger like offering them your table when it’s busy in a restaurant and you’re planning on leaving soon anyway, letting them cut in front of you in a queue if they’re in a rush or even simply opening a door for someone.7

Because just like all the funny videos that we can still laugh at even years after they’ve been put up on YouTube, maybe those little good deeds go viral too, causing a positive chain reaction that just keeps on going and going.

It was the beginning of July, Ellie only had a couple of weeks left of nursery and ahead of us there was the summer holidays and then she would start primary school. I was starting to feel nervous. Her life and mine had been intertwined from the moment she arrived. What would I do once term started to pick at the tight-knit-weave that would eventually turn us into separate garments? I started to panic, thinking that I needed to make sure that I would be left with something wearable, at best a pair of denim jeans cut short like the kind Tobias Funke* from Arrested Development is partial to or at worst a bolero cardigan that someone like Jane MacDonald might wear to take the chill off during an evening’s stroll of the cruise deck.

So I set up my substack and I started to write a post. And, after what I’m sure I convinced myself was a hilarious introduction, I wrote this as my second paragragh:

LIFE IS A MONORAIL

I don’t really relate to Ronan anymore, life is less of a rollercoaster and more like a monorail. No sorry. That came out wrong. I actually love a good monorail. In fact, that jelly bean one that gets you into Alton Towers (last time I visited around 15 years ago) was always a highlight of the day. Oh and Chester Zoo have a cracking one too. The point is, life is great. When anyone else says that, it’s a key indicator of the opposite but maybe I was too hasty when I said I don’t relate to Ronan anymore because I am “lovin’ each day”. It’s just I think I’ve lost a bit of purpose** and after having a child, [I’m left] wondering what lies in store, while life continues to race by. Said child is about to start school and then what? She’ll be on sat in the front seat of the big dipper trying not to vom (as she’s prone to) and I’ll be the one by the photo booth, holding her bag and trying very hard not to worry.

Ashamed and broken, I deleted it about a week after Ellie died.

The sassy sleuths among you may be wondering how in the heck I was able to share the above if I deleted it, so please let me introduce you to a feature I’ve only just realised exists on this platform: Substack’s saved edits feature. As you can see from the screenshot*** below, here, the words of my past blissfully unaware and irritatingly carefree self live on.

But why am I telling you this? Especially when, re-reading this try-hard passage back makes my bumble**** twitch. Well, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how perhaps I had willed all this to happen with my stupid, silly words and self-deprecating humour implying that this life was somehow not quite enough when even then I knew it was Everything.

WE HAD NOT MUCH

In 2013, I moved in with Luke’s London house-share a week after we started dating (WYKYK AIR?) and while he was working absurd hours for peanuts as a camera trainee for TV and low-budget films, I got a job working in Monsoon, selling mother-of-the-bride-dresses and overpriced kaftans to peri/menopausal women accompanied by a tedious soundtrack that one might describe as ambient flip-flop melancholy. It was not a friendly environment, the customers were mean, my colleagues were (mostly) mean and I took it far too seriously. But it (kind of) paid the bills - apart from that chunk of my wage that I was required to spend buying back Monsoon clothes as uniform at a 50 or 70 percent discount. This meant that I spent my late 20s to early 30s dressed like I shopped in Waitrose on purpose and might be Facebook friends with an old ski instructor. But what I will say for Monsoon clothes is that they do wash well and have lasted the test of time. Over a decade later, I still wear lots of my old “uniform” which, thankfully, I’ve finally aged into.

Suffice to say, Luke and I lived lean during that time, but we were happy. One of my fondest memories of that time was of us in January, huddled under a duvet (oi oi) eating leftover Christmas choccies (oh) and watching old episodes of Fortean TV presented by Father Lionel Fanthorpe (huh?) with a fan heater gently grilling one side of our faces while the other side tingled with cold.

During this time, Luke had a little card by an artist called Rob Ryan that he’d found somewhere. It hung on our noticeboard as a little reminder to be thankful for every part of our journey. The words on it read:

‘We had nothing. We had not much. We had enough. We had everything.’

Later, I would buy Luke a decorative plate with these same words as an anniversary gift. We’d put it on a shelf in our house at a point when I thought we’d reached the ‘everything’ part already. But then Ellie came along. And oh, THIS, this was it.

The plate is still on a shelf in our home but I struggle to look at it now. I feel like scrawling in Sharpie an extra line beneath that reads ‘and then we lost it.’

SHAME ABOUT THE SHAME

Shame and its equally dank sibling, Guilt have been constant hecklers since the moment Ellie died. And it has come in many forms. Here are some of the things I’ve felt shame about:

• In the days after, I was so convinced that I was responsible for what had happened that I tried to convince our Bereavement Support Nurse that an unwashed blueberry from our garden was the culprit. It wasn’t. But I still worry that it was.

• I have felt guilt about getting older and for having another birthday. I’ve had so many that I’ve become bored with them while Ellie used to ask every other day how long it was until her next one because to her it was still such a novelty.

• I’ve felt ashamed of joking and laughing with friends, of the pictures where I’m smiling as if everything’s alright.

• I feel shame when I sense that people think that we are over it, as if her young age means that she wasn’t yet embedded in our life enough for us to not ache for her presence every single day.

• I have felt shame about the life we are leading now we are childless, travelling and being able to go out to the pub at a moment’s notice, that sometimes I even have a nice time.

• I’ve felt guilty at the thought of having another child, that she might think we’re trying to replace her.

• I feel shame that I am not able to be a mum like other mums are.

• I have felt shame about every lovely interaction I’ve had with a child since, as if they should all belong to her and I am giving them away too freely. That I shouldn’t do the things I used to do with her that made her laugh to make other children smile, because they are ours.

• I felt ashamed because I’d cried every day for over 6 months without Ellie and the first day I didn’t, the guilt was crushing.

• I have felt guilty about the nights we’ve been away from our home, when I’ve not been able to go into her room to talk to her and blow her kisses and catch the ones she sends back just like we used to do.

• I have felt guilty about sometimes for not wanting to do that because how sad it feels to be in her room with all her things. That each item in there has the potential to thrust a very specific memory forth and I can’t bear to look at them, because I don’t feel like crying again.

• I feel shame because it happened to us, that I failed her as a parent, that I couldn’t save her.

The list goes on and on and on and on and on.

The shame is insidious when you let it in so I try very hard not to. Instead, I try to think of it as how some people describe grief; love without anywhere to go. As a well-documented part of the grieving process, I have tried to reason that my guilt/shame around Ellie’s death also signals my love for her - because it repeatedly asks the question of whether I loved her enough. And the fact that it does so often and so cruelly is also the answer: she was loved absolutely.

I’m sharing this not to toot my own flute (or whatever that musical instrument-based saying is) but to hopefully give other people grieving a way to acknowledge this part of grief as something more positive but also to dampen the drumming of it upon the happy memories made - because they do still exist, perfect and untouchable in time.

ELLIE’S BURRITOS

Ellie blummin’ loved a burrito and I loved making them for her. She wasn’t a fan of spicy stuff so this is a much milder version of the one I would make for me and Luke - but you can always add a couple of teaspoons of chilli powder and/or chipotle paste to the mix if you want more heat - or add just add your own hot sauce and pickled jalapeños as extra toppings to your burritos to suit individual tastes. This recipe uses a slow cooker but you can also just fry bite-sized chopped chunks of chicken along with onions, peppers and then beans with the herbs/spices/stock cube first and then add a mug of water to simmer until most of the liquid has evaporated for a quicker meal.

Serves 4 (with leftovers)

INGREDIENTS

8 Tortillas

6-8 boneless, skinless chicken thighs (can also use pork shoulder steaks)

Onion

Red pepper

1 tbsp paprika

1 tbsp oregano

1 tsp garlic granules

1 tsp cumin

2 tsp chilli powder or chipotle paste (optional)

Chicken stock cube

Tin of black beans

1 mug of long grain white rice

SUGGESTED TOPPINGS

• Sour cream / plain yoghurt

• Cheese

• Iceberg lettuce, sliced thinly

• Jalapeños

• Hot sauce

• Mashed avocado with a squeeze of lime, handful of chopped coriander and pinch of salt

1. Chuck your sliced onions and peppers on the base of your slow cooker.

2. Then add the chicken thighs.

3. Add all the herbs and spices (paprika, oregano, cumin, garlic granules, the optional chilli powder/chipotle paste) and crumble in the chicken stock cube.

4. Add a four of tablespoons of water.

5. Turn onto high for 4 hours and stir occasionally.

6. After four hours, add a drained tin of black beans and leave for another hour.

7. Meanwhile, cook your rice: Add one mug of rice to a pan, then fill that same mug up with water twice and add to the rice. Put the pan onto boil, as soon as it does, turn it down to a simmer and add a lid. Cook for 15 minutes and then turn it off the heat. The residual steam will keep cooking the rice and keep it warm until your burrito filling is ready.

8. Taste the chicken and bean mixture - add salt if you think it needs it.

9. Warm your tortillas in the microwave and assemble with your favourite toppings.

COMEDY PAIRING

In other confessional/shame-based news, I was one of the many unsuccessful writers who applied to work on Saturday Night Live UK. I submitted my application about a month before Ellie’s death. When I received my rejection 5 months later, a wave of shame hit me.

But it was not the usual shame that comes from your everyday, run of the mill writer’s rejection, the kind of which I am very well accustomed to, that made me question whether I’d embarrassed myself by even applying.

It was instead, a shame that made me question why on earth I applied in the first place.

Because if by some ludicrous chance, I had been welcomed into Lorne Michael’s wrinkled and white-fluffy-haired bosom, this would have taken me away from Ellie. But what gut-punched most was thinking about what it had actually taken. All that time I spent coming up with silly ideas, writing and recording them, took me away from her in what were, unbeknownst to us both, our last few weeks together. It was a hard shame to shush.

All this is my very circuitous way of saying that it’s taken me far too long to get round to watching SNL UK - and not necessarily because of the reasons a less haggard (yet somehow more cynical) earlier version of me would have avoided it.

As a comedy-writer-y-performer-person-thingy-ma-bob, when you get a rejection it’s easy to look around you, see how well everyone else is doing and feel dispirited. There’s that well-known saying that ‘comparison is the thief of joy’. It stops you from seeing and being able to enjoy the things you do achieve and it can also ruin things you used to love. But do you know what else does a pretty good job of stealing your joy, shame and intense grief.

So yeah, that’s why it’s taken me a while to get around to watching SNL UK.

But now that I have, I am a fan. Just like the best of the sketches in its American counterpart, there are some great characters, it’s a little bit weird, quite camp and a very fun watch. And in that same tradition of SNL, it’s not always as quick as the type of sketches British audiences might be used to. Some sketches take a little more time to get going and last longer than your average UK skit. Some are even more like short films, which is surprising considering how many of the cast come found success on TikTok/Instagram where short attention spans and the flick of a finger are your worst enemy.

As the very first episode hinted at, as a peoples, us British aren’t always great at getting behind stuff. We’d always prefer to slag something off than give it a chance. So think of SNL UK as like the London 2012 Olympics all over again. Everyone was so convinced it was going to be shit and then the Queen jumped out of a helicopter and open-mouth kissed Mr Bean while a joyous rendition of the Beatles classic “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” performed by Victoria Beckham and Dane Bowers played in the background. Or something like that. It was a long time ago, okay?

So far, I’ve watched the first three episodes of SNL UK - and would like to add a small caveat that I did come across a couple of triggering bits. But as a caveat to that small caveat, I would also like to add that as it’s quite rare for me to watch anything these days that doesn’t have some sort of trigger so I’d say the average person watching will be able to enjoy it wholly and without torment.

And I'm not going to hold it against them because I’m sure the writers and cast weren’t thinking, ‘but what about the grieving parents watching this whose child liked playing the board game, Operation?’ or ‘maybe we shouldn’t call the child in this sketch Eleanor in case someone watching has lost a child with the same name.’

So if you can stand to swap out your monthly avocado budget/mortgage repayments in exchange for a NOW TV subscription, you’ll be rewarded with something quite glorious. Plus you’ll have the added bonus of being able to binge all three series of The White Lotus, followed by a palate-cleansing digestif of the notoriously soothing comedy series, Succession.

If, however, you don’t want to fork out for yet another streaming subscription, you can easily find lots of the SNL sketches online. And, if I may put on my comedy campaigner’s hat (which of course, is a Fez) watching them for free online still brings the broadcaster revenue in one way or another while also showing the money men (AHEM and women-thank-you - but let’s face it, it’s mostly men) that success from sketch comedy is still viable which might encourage them and other broadcasters to make more.

In the spirit of the above, I’ll leave you with this excellent sketch from the first episode:

Of course, I had many Mother’s Days like this before Ellie was born and never thought anything of it. But this year it’s all I can think about. I have a little pile of cards that I’m simultaneously desperate to peek at but also can’t bear to even open the drawer they’re in that looks at me every time I walk past it. Sometimes even just thinking about its contents makes my insides feel like they’re being dragged down while my exterior tries to stay upright.

So when I get an email like this, I take notice:

“Oh, thanks, yes please, CEX*”

Isn’t that so thoughtful?

“Actually, sorry, where were you at Christmas, CEX?? And Tesco. And Argos. And well, pretty much every company that’s in the business of selling stuff???”

What exactly is the difference in emotional terms of these two times of the year that cause pain to so many? Where one is a day that revolves around someone who you may have lost, who you may have never had, who may not be someone you particularly want to celebrate, who you desperately want to be or in my case, who you used to be - and a day like Christmas, where everything revolves around the idea of family and its importance? Both are about belonging and when you find yourself outside of the “norm” your isolation is brought so much more into focus, in contrast to the blurred bustle of celebrations just beyond your field of vision.

Why can’t I opt out of that? I don’t mean forever but just for now, while the memories of better days don’t soothe as much as they sting.

Ah, yes, forgot, it’s all about making money isn’t it?

*Although, CEX (especially if pronounced the way I’m led to believe) is not exactly what I think of when I envision a Mother’s Day morning - a tray with a cup of tea, a vase filled with daffodils and “ooh what’s this? Season 2 of Scrubs on DVD and a refurbished (rated ‘good’) iPhone? Oh darling, you shouldn’t have!”

Being Selfish

In my first year of grief, certain dates and the time leading up to them have cast long shadows over much of the year. The Mother’s Day murk started its encroach in early Feb with the Easter doom looming just behind it, waiting to take its place like the thick, heavy, fog of Victorian London - as opposed to the fun fog you see on Stars in Their Eyes.

And it’s not just dates. There are places that are hard to go back to because, like the VHS tapes of yore, I’m terrified of taping over those prime-time memories of Ellie with episodes from this plot-less, much less funny show that’s missing its star.

Opting out is selfish, it has meant not buying Ellie’s adored cousins birthday presents, leaving our families to fly to the other side of the world at Christmas time, saying ‘no’ to things that you would have ordinarily always said ‘yes’ to.

But it is also what has helped us survive.

And when you do all those things and there are still people around you, that’s when you can start to feel lucky again.

Opting In

It sounds quite dramatic but in these hazy days, it’s been so important to find something to feel good about and so I’ve found myself clinging to certain celebrations that I paid little attention to before.

Valentine’s Day

A day I’ve derided and scoffed at from the moment I had to pretend that it was TOTALLY FINE that I didn’t get any Valentine’s Day cards whatsoever. Not even one of those weird ones parents sometimes give to their kids. Then, when me and Luke first got together, we started the Valentine’s Day tradition of getting a KFC and watching a film. It was our little way of fighting ‘the man’ by not giving into the consumerism of it all and instead giving our money to another man who has the blood of billions of chickens on his hands.

I suppose it is quite romantic, after all.

This year, we got our KFC** and we ate it while we watched a film we’ve seen before, that we knew would be safe: So I Married an Axe Murderer.

That day meant a lot to me. I felt loved and in love, knowing that I wouldn’t have been able to get there, with all that has happened, without the person sitting beside me. And also knowing that without this person, Ellie could have never been, and for that I am so grateful.

**I’ve just realised that this is the second article in a row I’ve posted talking about KFC. And it’s even referenced in the film we watched (when the Dad talks about how the Colonel puts a special chemical in it “to make you crave it fortnightly”). I promise I’m not sponsored by them. I only wish I was.

International Women’s Day

Err just wondering… why don’t we make a bigger deal of this day? Surely this represents a much better premise than Mother’s Day to celebrate the women around us? Surely its title is more inclusive and holds less potential to provoke pain or highlight lacking? Surely everyone knows at least one woman they like enough to celebrate? Apart from maybe Margaret Thatcher.

Whether mothers or not, I have learnt quickly that there are some remarkable women in my life. Women who shown such love and kindness but who are also strong and full of wit, intelligent in all sorts of ways, whose sometimes unexpected presence has been a gift in such a difficult time.

Coming just ahead of Mother’s Day on 8th March, IWD has given me something meaningful and more positive to turn my gaze towards.

But What About International Men’s Day??

You know, I knew some of you were going to say that. The shitting internet strikes again. But actually, in this context, I agree.

I think men often get characterised by their inability to talk about the deep stuff but that has not been my experience in all of this. In fact, I found that it’s often the people who project the most “masculine” energy that have proven to be the most sensitive and understanding. Luke knows some good male eggs (not a euphemism) and so do I.

And so, on the 19th November, when I shave my beard and drink a beer, it’s them I’ll be thinking of.

But What About The People Who Are Non-Binary?

See you at the bar on the 14th July, first drink’s on me. Unless it’s a cocktail, I’m not made of money.

A Recipe for Everyone***

In light of all of the above, I wanted to share one of my favourite recipes with you. It’s probably Luke’s favourite tea too. It’s simple, quick to make and extremely tasty. It also has the benefit of using up a leftover broccoli stalk which might otherwise end up in the compost bin (but really shouldn’t because it adds such a sweet and crunchy deliciousness to this dish).

***(Except Vegetarians and Vegans, people who don’t eat pork because of their faith. And people who don’t like spicy stuff and/or are allergic to any of the ingredients)

SHOW SOME LOVE SPAGHETTI

For good days and bad days, whether you want to be thankful for what you’ve got or sad about what you don’t, this is a dish to help you and those around you to keep going.

Serves 2

INGREDIENTS

1 tbsp Olive oil

200g Spaghetti or other lengthy pasta

1-2 garlic cloves

100g chorizo ring**** (see below for a vegan sub)

1 broccoli stalk

Couple of big handfuls of Kale (chonkiest stalks removed)

1 onion

Half a lemon

1 tsp Crispy chilli oil (I use Lee Kum Kee Chiu Chow Chilli Oil )

Handful of grated parmesan

****Sorry for dismissing the people who don’t eat chorizo, in case you’re still here, I’ve heard that the Squeaky Bean vegan chorizo style sausage is pretty good so might be a good substitute - although can’t confirm because I haven’t personally tried it.

METHOD

1. Chop the chorizo and broccoli stalk into similarly sized chonks.

2. Add a tablespoon of olive oil to a medium-hot frying pan and add the broccoli and sauté for 5 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, bring a pan of salted water to the boil and cook the spaghetti in boiling water for 7 mins or until al dente.

4. While the pasta is cooking, add the chorizo to the frying pan and sauté with the broccoli cubes for a few minutes.

5. Then add the Kale, followed by the crushed garlic and fry for a couple of mins.

6. Add the crispy chilli oil to the frying pan and stir into the mix, frying for a minute or so.

7. Add a handful of grated parmesan, then some of the pasta water to loosen. You can add more if it looks like it needs it.

8. Add the spaghetti to the frying pan and turn off the heat.

9. Mix together well and then squeeze over the juice of half a lemon.

10. Serve, eat, then make a note to thank me later.

COMEDY PAIRING

The above recipe was inspired by of my comedy recommendations for this post, which is the Off Menu Podcast hosted by Ed Gamble and James Acaster. A version of this dish is described in the Mae Martin episode, where James talks through his recipe:

“Slice up chorizo, fry that up, slice up just broccoli, broccoli stalks, chilli and garlic, lob all that in with it, once the chorizo's done well enough then chuck a bunch of capers in there with that as well. You've got some pasta on the go that whole time, get a cup of the pasta water, chuck that in with what you're cooking, strain the pasta out, chuck the pasta in there as well, chuck loads of parmesan, grated parmesan in there, mix it all together, black pepper … it's so good!”

Off Menu is a good listen for anyone who thinks about food way too much (me) and enjoys listening to funny people talk about their absolute favourites (also me). Episodes that stand out in my mind as being particularly entertaining feature Fatiha El-Ghorri, Diane Morgan, Alison Spittle and Steve Coogan. I cannot tell you how much I concur with Fatiha’s opinion of Mars Bar Ice Creams and Steve Coogan’s method of cooking baked beans.

Another podcast that I’m currently enjoying very much is Amy Poehler’s Good Hang. I listened to this before Ellie died but found it quite hard to return to because a lot of the conversations centre on the importance of family. But after a recommendation from my sister-in-law, I returned to it and listened to the episode with Aubrey Plaza where she talks about her grief after losing her husband to suicide. True, it’s a different kind of loss and no doubt one that has its own special version of hell for those who go through it, but the way she explains her grief was still very relatable.

Even without her astute observations on living a life after death, Aubrey Plaza is a very funny and (despite her desperate attempts to make you think otherwise) a hugely likeable presence. It’s a little treat to sit in on her conversation with Amy Poehler whose warmth, generosity and willingness to laugh along with her guests make her an excellent host. Another Good Hang I heartily recommend is between Amy and Judge Judy (a.k.a the right honourable Judge Judith Sheindlin) for no other reason than I’m a big fan.

So much so that after this episode, I’m seriously considering getting this:

Credit: Blue Heron Tattoo

She’s the UK’s #2 Money Saving expert just behind the frugal girl’s crumpet, Mr Martin Lewis. Anne’s what you might call a scrimp-fluencer - if you were an idiot. Really she’s the anti-influencer, whatever she deems too dear, she’ll influence you not to buy it and whatever’s cheap (whether or not she needs it) she’ll snap it up if the price is right.

Anne’s videos have gone viral a couple of times, perhaps most worryingly for this video where she unwittingly incurred the wrath of the independent florist community in the comment section*:

@annecrowtherWas not expecting that #mileycyrusflowers #reactionvideo

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Most of you reading this might know this already as you probably found your way here from the pictures I shared on instagram and TikTok recently letting people know why I haven’t posted anything for 6 months on there.

If you haven’t seen that post - spoiler alert - it’s because my 4-year-old daughter died.

*Needless to say, I was careful to avoid speaking face-to-face with any florists in the run up to the funeral. This is also a precautionary note to advise all to upset your local florist at your own peril, they clearly have some talented people cursing anyone who crosses their path.

Because of the nature of the post I shared, it has gained a lot of attention, which I’m both grateful for and overwhelmed by. I’m well aware that sharing this information so publicly may have made some feel uncomfortable, to be honest with you, it makes me feel slightly uncomfortable too. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I should have done it differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it at all. And yet, there’s no denying that I wanted as many people as possible to see that post; to see Ellie’s sweet little face, to know about her, and to reach out to other people missing their loved ones and squeeze their hand.

I have been so uplifted by the love and kindness that I have been shown by people I have never even met. Anne Crowther, as well as being blessed with a keen eye for a reduced sticker is also blessed with a really loyal and lovely following. There are certain names who have religiously liked, commented and shared my posts over the years and so every time they’d pop in my notifications, it felt a bit like a friend cheering me on. They are a brilliant bunch and getting messages of support and love from them has been amazing. There are also complete strangers who have happened upon the post and have been so caring and thoughtful in their comments that many have brought me to tears. Most people know just the right thing to say and even if they don’t, you can feel the meaning behind their words of condolence. And then…

And then there are the dickheads.

I don’t know why I was so surprised, it’s the shitting internet for goodness sake.

To be fair, this seems like it might just be the case in life in general. There are some people who know what to say, there are some people who don’t so say nothing (fine) and then there are the select few who leave comments or say things to you that honestly take your breath away. Here are just a few:

1. “How did your child die?”

If I want to talk to you about it, oh-ho-ho don’t you worry, you’ll know about it. It’s a curious thing that there have been so many ways in which Ellie’s death has been a distorted and colourless mirroring of her birth.** Like most mums, I found talking about her birth to be therapeutic and (in the right circumstances) I have found talking about her death to be too. But when a complete stranger asks me how my child died, whether or not I tell them - spoiler alert, I won’t - it immediately transports me back to that awful day.

The one very notable exception to this rule is when a fellow grieving parent asks this because in this case you know that they are searching not for reasoning but for a connection. So far when they’ve asked I’ve always told them.

In stark contrast to this, the ‘how did they die’ question when asked by a stranger, internet or otherwise, has another undesirable effect where the grieving brain registers the implication of fault, whether or not it’s there.

I know that some people who haven’t suffered the loss of a child, suffer instead with crippling anxiety that something terrible might happen to their child one day. I know this because I used to be one of those people. And that’s how I know why you want to know what happened: In case it might help you and your family avoid the same fate that mine didn’t. But I’m still not going to tell you how my child died.

I will tell you something else that might be more useful though: All the time I worried about something bad happening to Ellie, scratched away at my happiness.

I spent so much time imagining ‘what if the worst happened’, convinced it would.

And then it did.

Instead of wasting time obsessing over the “what ifs”, I could have spent it thoroughly engaged and immersed in every cuddle, every little chicken peck of the cheek, every giggle and even every cry, in every moment absolutely.

And it still would have happened.

**I’m about to go off on a tangent so I’ll stop just to say I’ll probably write more about this strange mirroring of life and death in the not so distant future. Lots of laughs in that one too, I’m sure.

2. “If it happened to me, I don’t think I could go on.”

This is a tough one because I get what people are trying to say here and before all this happened, I’m ashamed to say I would have probably at least thought something similar.

The truth is for the first few months, my family were terrified that either me and/or my husband would make a dash for that big fire exit in the sky.

As Luke described it, we had lived such happy lives until that moment and if we carried on, the percentage of our lives spent in the agony of missing Her would keep growing until one day it might be overtaken - but if we didn’t then this miserable percentage would be minimal. Trust him to think of it in maths terms. Nerd.

But I knew exactly what he meant.

Neither of us were allowed to be on our own for very long at the beginning. I remember one day I decided to do the honourable thing for those around me and finally take a shower. About 8 minutes in, several family members were pounding at the door asking me to open up. Then again, this was when energy prices were peaking and the idea of the 4-minute shower was encouraged so maybe they were just concerned about my hot water usage. Maybe they weren’t on a fixed tariff.

All this is to say that, in a way, these people are right when they say that they don’t think they could go on. You don’t think you can go on and yet you do. Perhaps because everyone around you tells you that they need you to stick around. Perhaps because they tell you that your child would want you to too. Perhaps because you got through another minute, another hour, another day, so perhaps you’ll see if you can get through another one, and another, and another.

I suppose when someone says this, it’s another case of them clicking the broken hyperlink that’s meant to go to the ‘well done for not killing yourself’ page but instead redirects your brain to the 101 url of shame. You feel guilty for carrying on, ashamed that you’re able to and all you can really hope is that at some point the broken link gets fixed - and this improves your website’s overall SEO performance. Hmm, that analogy stopped working somewhere didn’t it?

3. “They are with God/It’s All in God’s Plan/Other heavily religious sentiments

I have had a lot of people talk about Ellie in relation to God and heaven and, in the most part, these have been gently and compassionately worded.

WAIT — here come the dickheads again!

Now, I don’t want to get too controversial with this so I’ll try my best to explain myself. ***

***Just wanted to take a moment to emphasise that I’m talking completely from my own perspective. I know there are many people grieving that find it helpful and extremely comforting to receive these kinds of sentiments or similar. If this is you, I’m glad and would encourage you to seek it out, absorb it in and find strength in it. But maybe skip the next section.

I am from a religious family. As a child I went to church every week, I have family members who still do and even a few that actually work in the church. I respect their beliefs and I even understand parts of why they choose to follow their faith. But even they know God is not someone whom I have a lot of time for right now. When people say that Ellie is with God/with the angels it’s not the comfort you think it is. Lord knows she was fantastic company but that just makes me mad. Isn’t he content with the likes of Judy Garland, Maya Angelou and Fred Dibnah to keep him entertained?? Similarly, sentiments like, “she’s in a better place” rouses more rage. How can she be? The best place for her was here, at home, with her mummy and daddy.

I’m also not so arrogant to think that what happened to me and my family is ‘all in God’s plan’. There a whole generation of people dying fighting in Ukraine, whole families dying in Gaza, people in developing countries losing otherwise healthy children because of lack of food, safe water and basic medical care and this has been going on for thousands of years. If this is all part of a plan, it seems like a never-ending, cruel and unnecessary one.

If this post seems angry and ungrateful, that’s probably because that’s just what I feel like sometimes. I’ve come to learn that it’s all part of the process.

Embracing the Anger

I’m a quiet person. Too much noise puts me on edge. I can just about manage the reassuring tick of a good clock so I was not prepared for the noisy anger that comes with this kind of grief. My jaw and ears ached from screaming into a pillow. I couldn’t control it. It was an animal instinct that made me understand those videos of the distress caused to cows when their calf is taken from them. The only other time I have felt so animalistic is when I gave birth.****

My body decided on the appropriate way to handle a coconut attached to a whole poussin making its way out of my fleshy vortex, and I just had to let it happen. On all fours, and to the surprise of my husband, the midwifery team and indeed myself, I mooed in a low hollow sound through the contractions. It was the same with my grief, except this time I lay flat on the floor, the fibres of the carpet tickling the inside of my mouth while my white fingernails dug into the ground until I no longer felt like I needed to hold on.

****There’s that weird distorted mirroring between the two events again.

I was not used to this kind of anger, the kind that pulsated through my whole body and made me want to damage private property. I didn’t know what to do with it. In one particular outburst after a family member started talking about something I had been trying hard not to think about, busying myself with a cryptic crossword in an attempt to get through the next few minutes, unwept. As their words punctured the bubble of avoidance I was cocooned in, I leapt from my seat and in a fit of rage threw my retractable pencil to the ground. I ran upstairs like a teenager in full-strop mode and threw myself to the ground, crying and screaming so hard into a pillow that my jaw locked and my ears rang. Thankfully, only the pencil lead broke.

Don’t worry. We laugh about it now.

SWEET NUTTY RAGE BUNS/MAPLE AND PECAN SWIRLS

As clichéd as it is, I know now that anger is an important part of the grieving process. And so this is a recipe for when you need to knead, punch and pummel something without earning yourself a criminal record. It also has the added benefit that when you’re done letting all your emotion out on this recipe, you’ll have a delicious sweet treat to soothe yourself with. Perfect with a brew.

This is a slightly tweaked version of the Pecan Rolls recipe from New York Cult Recipes by Marc Grossman. If you’re into cookery books, I really recommend it, it’s a great book and every recipe I’ve tried so far has turned out a treat.

Ingredients

Makes 10 buns

For the dough:

400g plain flour

1 tsp of dried yeast

30g white sugar

Pinch of salt

1 egg

Half a tsp vanilla extract

100ml milk

55ml water

50g butter

For the topping:

2 tbsp Maple or Maple flavoured syrup (if you’re not made of money)

150g Pecans

150g light brown sugar

60g butter

For the filling:

100g butter

3 tsp cinnamon

Half tsp of vanilla extract

Method

1. Put the flour in a mixing bowl, make a well in the centre and add the yeast.

2. Put the sugar and salt outside of the well, being careful not to mix the salt with the yeast.

3. Measure out the milk and water and warm in the microwave until lukewarm (20-30 seconds on high) and add to your mixing bowl.

4. Melt the butter in the microwave (20-30 seconds on high) and add to the mix.

5. Add one lightly whisked egg and half a teaspoon of vanilla extract.

6. Combine with a wooden spoon until it starts to form into a shaggy dough and then knead/punch/crush/slam for 10-15 minutes until smooth and springy.

7. Place the dough into an oiled bowl and cover with cling film or one of those free shower caps you get when you stay in a nice hotel.

8. Let the dough rest at room temperature until it has doubled in size (about 1 hour and 30 minutes).

9. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 180 degrees celsius (Gas Mark 4) and put the pecans in a single layer on a baking tray lined with baking paper. Roast in the oven for 10 minutes.

10. Once they’re out of the oven and left to cool, lightly crush them by gathering them in the baking paper and squeezing them so you have a mixture of nut sizes (which is completely natural, so I’m told).

11. Grease a casserole dish with butter - I used a round one this time but I’ve also used a rectangular lasagne-type dish in the past too.

12. Mix the remaining topping ingredients (butter, brown sugar, maple syrup) in a pan until melted and smooth and then add the pecans.

13. Spread this mixture out on the bottom of your dish.

14. Once your dough is ready, flour your surface and roll out into a rectangular shape.

15. Soften your butter in a bowl and stir in cinnamon and vanilla extract - I used spreadable butter here so it didn't need much softening but if you’re using proper butter make sure it’s at least room temperature before you attempt to mix it.

16. Spread the butter mixture all over your rectangle of dough.

17. Roll the dough up along its longest edge like a Swiss roll and then cut it into 10 rolls.

18. Place the rolls on top of the pecan/maple base, then cover for your second prove which should take about an hour at room temperature or if you want to have them the next morning, you can put them in the fridge overnight ideally for about 8-12 hours but no longer than 16.

19. Heat your oven to 200 degrees celsius (Gas Mark 6) and bake the rolls for around 15 minutes until they are golden brown.

20. Once they’re done, you can turn the whole thing out onto a serving dish to show-off the nutty topping or keep as swirls and serve individually as below.

Comedy Pairings

I’m aware that there’s “not a lot of laughs” in this post. Sorry about that. Here are some things that might help remedy that.

It’s an old pick but if you haven’t read Bob Mortimer’s autobiography, I highly recommend. Even if you’re not familiar with Bob’s oeuvre, it’s a very funny book. I read this one manually but I’ve heard that the automatic (audiobook) version read by the author is a good shout - particularly if, while cooking/baking, you enjoy another level of distraction from the misery of grief. One particular part of the book that seems apt to highlight was how Bob talks about his Dad dying in a horrible accident when he was a child and how without realising it, he was self-medicating with sweet treats as a way of dealing with the shock and grief. This is definitely a habit that we’ve formed, hence this recipe which is quite decadent - but hey, it’s better than heroin*****.

*****That’s basically my three-word review for these buns. I know that’s a lot for them to live up to especially because I’ve never tried a heroin bun but honestly, they’re pretty more-ish and despite the ungodly price of butter and pecans, still the financially shrewd choice.

If you’re looking for something to watch while you scarf until you barf (eurgh, sorry) I highly recommend Kath & Kim. I know most comedy fans will be well aware of this show but it’s one of those shows that only gets better with a rewatch. If you’re not familiar with it, I’ve got two words to say to you, Net-Flix.

You won’t get that reference yet but that was actually pretty good.

Kath & Kim has a considerable cult following, and I think that's because it’s such a fun watch with highly eccentric yet somehow familiar characters. It’s infinitely quotable with writing that is both very silly and really quite clever all at the same time.

I also have sentimental reasons for this suggesting Kath & Kim, as I watched it for the first time with Luke towards the end of my pregnancy and we carried on watching it in those very first weeks with Ellie. Even though Ellie never (properly) watched it, I would still insist on doing the famous ‘Look at me, look at me, look at moiii’ bit with her which she found hilariously funny even without the full context.

So if that doesn’t convince you of its genius, I really don’t know what will.

We’d stopped watering everything after Ellie left us. Life had lost all meaning and I had no desire to help something go on living when I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to anymore. Standing there, it made me so angry at the mass of courgette flowers and fruit drooping from these plants. Why had they kept growing when she had not?

That was six months ago, in the very earliest and darkest days of my grief.

I would be a complete psychopath if I were to give the impression that there was anything about that time that I look back on with fondness. But I do have to admit, alongside those feelings of anger and injustice, there was something bleakly funny about this never-ending supply of courgettes that we handed out in droves to the many mourners that visited.

There were other moments of levity that would peak through like shafts of sunlight through moody, cluttered clouds. Like the time that my mum mistakenly referred to UHT milk as “UTI milk” causing her 5 grieving daughters to bond in their mockery of her and prompting a discussion about the viscosity, temperature and pH level of such a substance.

And then there was the soup. Luke, my husband, and I struggled to eat much at all in those early days. We were in total shock as Ellie had died suddenly and seemingly without cause. It was hard to swallow but everyone insisted that we - and especially Luke, who describes himself as a ‘slender gent’ even in peace time - kept eating. I mentioned in passing that Luke is partial to a bit of soup and maybe he would prefer to eat that versus the Complan* he’d been just about surviving on. Cue two separate food deliveries filled with soup in all its forms: fresh from a pot, tinned and the powdered cup-a-stuff too. I think at one point, a family member counted and there were over 100 servings of soup available. Then the heatwave struck. From then on, when anyone asked what people would like to eat for lunch or tea, it became a sort of race to be the first to suggest the inevitable. Everyone was clawing to find something to lighten the mood and this was low hanging soup.

That ‘joke’ did get old quite quickly though.

*If you’re not familiar with it, Complan is basically a high calorie nutritional supplement powder that you add milk to often recommended to older people who are struggling to put on weight. It’s the type of thing that those weirdos who tell you that would prefer to take a pill instead of eating are happy to chug. Sadly, I married one of those weirdos - but I happen to think there’s a reason its name is ‘Complain’ without the ‘i’. It’s not for me.

COOKING

As time passed, I began to use cooking and baking for people as a sort of therapy. I’ve always liked cooking but I found myself drawn to making things that would take time and usually need some rough treatment - things like bread and cinnamon buns or homemade pasta that I need to spend a while kneading and pummelling, then rolling out and shaping. It also had the added benefit that when people visited, it was something to talk about, something for them to try and something that would hopefully keep Luke off the Complan. As Ellie was our only child, I was struggling to find purpose and cooking for others, even though I wished desperately that I could still cook for her, gave me a bit of purpose back.

COMEDY

I know that comedy might seem like a strange thing to be drawn to in my situation. I felt and still feel guilty about it but all I can say from my own experience is that watching/listening to/reading funny things, actually helped. I didn’t always LOL at these things but it gave me a break from spiralling thoughts and provided a little bit of an escape.

And so, with each recipe I share, I’m going to provide a comedy pairing to accompany the meal like some sort of sad sommelier: ‘this sketch show hits you right on the nose and pairs wonderfully with depression.’

When you’re in the pit of grief, it’s really hard to just exist. You’re desperate for a distraction but so much of what you would normally use to distract yourself is filled with triggers, sometimes they’re related to the trauma you experienced in losing that person, and sometimes they’re just things that remind you of that wonderful, beautiful little human you miss more than anything. Because of this, me and Luke would revisit things that we thought would be ‘safe’. We mostly did ok but even when we tried to be careful, things would crop up that would catch us off-guard - so I apologise in advance if there are any triggers for you in my recommendations. As another note of caution, I would advise avoiding live TV at any cost. Even with streamers adverts are an absolute bloody minefield**. If you can afford to pay to remove ads (even just for a few months until you’re more mentally stable) then I would say it’s money well spent - as oppose to, say, being subjected to an infomercial showing you how to perform CPR which in turn brings on a full blown panic attack. As much as I’m a fan of the Beeb, particularly for its comedy output, iPlayer is a bastard for this. There’s no option to pay to turn-off ads and around Christmas time and it insisted on shoving Julia Donaldson adaptation of “The Scarecrow’s Wedding” in our faces. As a much read book in Ellie’s collection, the pain of not being able to watch it with her on Christmas Day as we’d done with all the previous years’ adaptations was too much to bear.

**Business Idea: An all in one ‘Opt-Out’ service for subjects/triggers that stops you from seeing adverts and TV shows across all platforms with any reference to them called the ‘Trauma Filter’. Prevents ill-feeling towards the brand or shows in question and makes adverts more targeted so a win-win from a capitalist point of view.

I HOPE

I hope that in writing this and sharing food and comedy that has helped me get through that it might help someone else going through something similar get through another mealtime, another 21 minutes (plus ads), another day.

It’s complete bollocks but everyone keeps saying that we have to keep going so I suppose we should try.

So without further ado, the very first recipe I’d like to share is of course, Zucchine del Dolore (or Courgettes of Grief). My comedy pairing for this recipe is listed below.

ZUCCHINE DEL DOLORE / COURGETTES OF GRIEF

For a long time, Luke and I swore never to eat another courgette again but then I remembered, not long before Ellie died, I made a version of this dish with the very first of our courgette harvest. She had given it two thumbs up which was her highest rating and when I asked if she’d like me to make it again, she nodded enthusiastically and said ‘mm-mm’. As with most things, when it came to cooking, she was my biggest critic so this felt like high praise indeed.

I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.

Ingredients

Serves 2

2 small-medium courgettes

1-2 cloves of garlic

1 lemon

2 tbsp Olive Oil

200g of Spaghetti

A handful of fresh basil

Salt/pepper to taste

50g of parmesan or grana padano

Method

1. Grate the Courgette using the side of a box grater with the big holes.

2. Meanwhile, put a pan of salted water onto to boil.

3. Put a frying pan on medium/high and add the olive oil.

4. Add the grated courgette and fry until brown and crispy, stirring occasionally.

5. While the courgette is frying off, finely chop or grate the garlic using the zesty side of the grater with the small holes.

6. Grate about 80% of the cheese.

7. When the water boils, add the spaghetti and cook for 7 minutes.

8. Add the garlic to the courgette and fry for a minute.

9. Halve the lemon and wrap the other half in foil and place in the fridge until you forget about it and then end up throwing in the compost bin a few weeks later.

10. Once the pasta is al dente, take a mug and carefully reserve about half a cup of starchy pasta water, then drain the spaghetti using a colander.

11. Sprinkle the cheese all over the crispy courgette, then add the pasta water and sir to make the sauce.

12. Season with salt and pepper.

13. Add the spaghetti and mix.

14. Squeeze over half a lemon, remove any wayward pips unless you’re in dire need of extra fibre - in which case is it too late to recommend a legume-based recipe instead??

15. Take off the heat and tear leaves of basil into the pan and stir through

16. Serve into pasta bowls then, depending on your tax bracket, sprinkle the fiscally responsible amount of cheese over the pasta and consume.

Notes: The version I made for Ellie substituted the parmesan with 100g of cream cheese, remembering to add a bit extra pasta water to help loosen the sauce. You can also easily make this recipe vegan by omitting the parmesan and adding 1 tbsp of olive oil in its place, perhaps with toasted breadcrumbs for the topping.

COMEDY PAIRING

Ok so in light of what I’ve been banging on about, this might seem a bit of a jarring choice because although it could technically be categorised as comedy, it is by no means easy-going. But I feel like I can’t talk about comedy and grief without talking about Rob Delaney’s magnificent book, “A Heart That Works.”

When I told my husband that I was listening to the audiobook, he asked me if that was a good idea. I answered defiantly that “yes, it was” and that I could listen to it while I was keeping myself occupied, cooking and doing little jobs around the house. A couple of chapters later he would find me, earphones in, crumpled in a wet heap next to the last bit of washing I ever did for Ellie.

Rob Delaney is a comedian and co-writer of the brilliant comedy-drama Catastrophe whose little boy, Henry, died as a result of a brain tumour. When Ellie died, there was an infuriating embargo put on us by many of the institutions that we reached out to for help, where they couldn’t provide therapy or support until we were at least 3 months down the line. It was agony. I needed hope and I needed to know that someone else felt the same things I was feeling and that’s what this book gave me. As a member of the worst club in the world, I am unfortunately able to verify that this book eloquently, beautifully and funnilily*** sums up what it feels like to lose a child.

If that’s too much for you at this point, listen, I get it. May I interest you instead in some character-based silliness? The Peter Serafinowicz Show is something that me and Luke both watched years ago and happened upon in a grief haze whilst we were browsing YouTube - which obviously would be illegal to watch so we promptly logged out and found it via a reputable streaming service which sadly, I forget the name of. I think people often unfairly judge sketch shows quite harshly, I don’t think they’re the easiest to consistently dazzle with but from my point of view at least, The Peter Serafinowicz Show has a really high hit rate. Particular favourites of mine include ‘The Butterfield Diet’, the parody of ‘Inside The Actors’ Studio’ and the ‘Michael-6 Robot Talk Show Host’ that offer a nostalgic/harrowing look back at what TV was like in the noughties that also makes you wonder why we put up with the likes of Kevin Spacey and Jeremy Kyle for so long.

***Yes I meant to spell it like that.