I convinced myself that it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, that it was considered and would address a very real need I had cleverly uncovered.

But the universe knew better.

Years ago, when I set up my wedding planning company and went from a working life that was also the backbone of my social life - client dinners, beauty launches, awards dinners and a never-empty glass of sauvignon blanc in hand - to writing business plans and sourcing chair covers in our spare bedroom with only the cats (very handsome ones, it has to be said) for company, I knew that the extrovert in me needed to be around people.

I found a networking breakfast club within walking distance of home and, for a good couple of years, Wednesdays at 7am would find me tucking into a delicious cooked breakfast, sitting next to one of a small group of local business owners that included a surveyor, an architect, an IFA, a florist and a business coach. We laughed together - some of us more than others - and supported each other - and I filled my ‘Extrovert’ mug in a different, and very important, way.

I used my sales skills to hone the two minute introduction to Magic Dust, my wedding planning business, that I stood up and presented every week; I revelled in the rota that gave me a full 20 minutes every few months to do a deeper dive into the services I offered, and over the years I learned how bridges are built (literally how they’re built not how to mend relationships), what local planning officers are looking for, how to hand-tie a bouquet and the importance of financial planning, amongst many other things. Being around each and every one of the members of the LBBC (Leighton Buzzard Breakfast Club) gave me the regular contact with people that I craved as I built my business in that bedroom with the cats and a lovely view of the church!

Almost 20 years after I first designed a logo for Magic Dust, filmed the vlogs that I would likely cringe at now, and planned weddings close to home, in Italy and at St Paul’s Cathedral, I am once again at the start of the relatively lonely, but exciting, process of retraining and starting to build a new business.

I am surrounded by people - those on the same coaching course as me, those teaching me new skills, those I am now coaching, my lovely family - but the daily interaction with a team of people you’re lucky enough to call friends is what I miss.

As a bit of context, I’m always surprised when I hear people talk nostalgically about ‘enjoying’ lockdown. My husband being one of them! As someone who gets their energy and their creative spark from being around other people, it was not a fun time for me. Luckily I had a very perceptive boss at the time - also an extrovert - and she deftly introduced ‘Five O’Clock Friday’ when we were all hunkered down at home, the first time. This was the team video call without an agenda and it required nothing more than for each of us to turn up with a drink of our choice and just chat for as long as we wanted, or needed, to.

Some (okay, one person and it wasn’t me) would bring a tumbler of blue curaço and wear a different hat from their collection; I often cracked open a half bottle of champagne that had been dropped at a safe distance by the Majestic delivery driver who used to call to see if I needed a re-up, and everyone got something they needed from that time spent with team mates who were also friends. Sometimes those ‘meetings’ went on for hours and I am so glad they did.

So it was that last week I decided that my extrovert side - less a whole side as I’ve grown older and more a well-exercised muscle that needs a regular runaround - needed a part-time job for the sole purpose of finding a ‘team’ of people to work hard with, laugh with and boy, did I move fast to make this happen!

No sooner had I made this decision, narrowed down the places I’d be happy to work to a couple based on brand, location and, not going to lie, discount card potential, than I found myself applying online for a role that I believed had my name on it. I’d rejigged my CV - didn’t want them thinking I was trying to ‘Trojan horse’ my way onto the Board - penned a quick cover letter and pressed send. I mentioned to my lovely husband that I’d done this and he raised an eyebrow in a way that said, “Okaaaaay…” and that should have been a sign but I was unperturbed.

Very quickly I heard back from said household name that shall remain nameless, was asked to jump through a few recruitment hoops that required passports and National Insurance numbers (it’s not just me who knows their NI number off by heart, right?), and then to complete an online aptitude test within a strict 20 minute time slot.

Nailed that, loved it, the need for attention to detail made my heart sing and I easily ‘beat’ the timer. Less than 24 hours later I received an email inviting me to an in-person interview the very next day. I was cock-a-hoop, went straight into revision-mode, gently reminding myself that knowing their growth strategy inside out was probably not going to be tested but falling straight into the ‘Head Girl’ archetype I know so well. I shuffled my diary, moved a couple of appointments and checked travel times to ensure I could get back to the store in plenty of time to have a walk around before the interview and familiarise myself in a different way to the one in which I fill my basket with our favourite foods almost every week…

So there I stood, waiting at the back of the store for the person who was interviewing me to come out and greet me, rehearsing what I would say to make a good first impression and feeling a little bit nervous because we all know a healthy flow of adrenaline means we care (right?) when this happened…

Someone - not the person who was supposed to be interviewing me - came out and said something along the lines of, “We don’t know why you were given an interview slot, all the positions are filled, you must have slipped through the net, sorry”. Not a handshake, not even a particularly sincere ‘sorry’ and, just like that, I was left there, at the back of one of my favourite stores, with my ‘fight or flight’ instincts fighting with each other. Not only was I mortified - this very short interaction took place in front of other employees and shoppers - but I was pissed off at the lack of empathy. Years of interviewing and recruiting people has taught me to remember that you are meeting people at a time when they’re feeling nervous, under pressure and a little exposed. Being kind to interviewees (that can include cutting interviews short when they’re clearly not right for the job - I’m not a ‘biscuits and hugs’ kind of interviewer!) is the right approach.

I could not get out of there fast enough and didn’t even stop to grab stuff for dinner as I’d planned. I sat in the car for a bit, feeling utterly deflated and a little bit cross. But here’s why I quickly got to a place where I believe the universe was looking out for me:

• I was pinning my hopes on other people and places to give me what I thought I was missing. I was feeling nostalgic for the fabulous teams I’ve worked in, and built, and thought I could replicate that easily;
  

• I was trying to ‘solutionise’ a feeling - literally thinking that I need more interaction with people on a regular basis and therefore I must get a part-time job in order to do that because ‘team work makes the dream work’, right? I hadn’t given myself any time to sit with that feeling and work out what it really meant;
  

• I was procrastinating and using distraction techniques to avoid some of the coaching coursework I needed to do. I’d wasted a good half day on this job application which I could have spent breaking the back of that really important work.
  

• When I walked through the store on my way to the offices at the back for the interview that never happened, I’d seen lots of people working but not a single person smiling or even looking vaguely happy. That should have told me everything I needed to know about whether a job there would be what this extrovert thought she needed.

So thank you universe. I might not have the 12-hours-a-week job, the discount card and the ready-made gang of team mates but I learned a few valuable lessons. Sitting with the discomfort of not knowing exactly how you’re going to get where you are going is part of the process as is working hard on the long-term vision and not getting distracted by short-term ‘fixes’. Already this week has been extraordinary - I’ve found the last couple of modules on my course utterly brilliant and the work has been a pleasure; I have a plan for recruiting some coachees to help me get my practice hours up and I’m about to start coaching one of the most impressive people I know.

All this and the sun is still shining so I’m still wearing shorts!

Until next time, X

My lie-in was rudely interrupted at regular intervals from about 6am by one or other of The Furry Serial Killers. A loud miaow right in my ear (Ginger) or a light tapping of the paw, claws out, on my face (Fred). This is the price I pay for my rest and the frequency of said interruptions is significantly greater when said Furry Serial Killers have missed you whilst you’ve been on holiday enjoying yourself and simply want to make sure you are still there.

That I slid into bed after 1am this morning, ears ringing and slightly smug that I had remembered to drink water, and had enjoyed a coherent chat with the littlest Willson (she’s always coherent, I had an excuse not to have been), meant that when I did decide to venture out of bed this morning, it was with only one eye open and bated breath. Bated breath as I waited to discover whether today’s version of myself was going to be a very lucky one - one who had dodged a hangover. Delighted to confirm that it was so!

Last night, three-quarters of the jet lagged Family Willson went to the 50th birthday party of one of our favourite people. From the moment Matt and I were introduced to the Wilsons (no relation - count the l’s!) by a mutual friend almost twenty years ago, we have been lucky enough to call them friends. They had moved into the same road as us, three doors away (a very short stagger on more than one occasion), and we bonded over boozy nights out in Leighton Buzzard pubs back in the days when they were a real thing and there were no children to be looked after.

Then came the children - two single l’s and two double - with G&L born just 10 days apart and H&L arriving two years later. From sharing Jumperoos and tasting Marmite for the first time to following each other on TikTok and sending J & me a photo of them posing together at Prom (“because we owe our Mums a photo”), I love the way our children have always just ‘got on’ in the same way that us four grown-ups have.

The Single L’s are just the tiniest bit younger than us (mere months between J & me - if 53 months can be classed as a ‘mere’ amount) and so it was that we had a date in our diaries for 48 hours after we landed back from Canada, to celebrate J’s 50th. One of the things I love about having been friends with the Single L’s for so long is that, whilst I didn’t know everyone at the party really well, I knew enough of them to continue partying right until the very last track the (really fantastic) DJ played, a few hours after jet lag had claimed the partying legs of M&H.

And there was a point during the evening, standing just off the dance floor to grab a quick drink, that made me feel all the feels and wish I could bottle that feeling…

The dance floor was heaving in a good way; arms waving, loud singing, hugs and laughter all over the place. Family and friendship all wrapped up with a ‘Happy Birthday!’ bow and a group of fabulous people brought together by a shared love for J. I think it might have been ‘Sit Down’ by James that was playing at that point and, once I’d refreshed myself, I was back in the melee rejoicing in the powerful effect of music on our souls, our mental health and our experience as humans. That there were cool 14 year olds sharing a dance floor with ravers in their 40s and 50s as well as some of the most incredible septuagenarians I’ve ever known (W, I always love catching up with you and last night was no exception) flooded by heart with emotion and made me so very grateful for friends like these.

Not only that, but the joy of living in a relatively small market town and being friends with people who were born and brought up here (leaving to study and work before moving back to bring up families) meant that I got to spend time chatting to the lovely co-owner of my favourite shop in town (swapping stories of the adventures our eldest daughters are having this summer), was able to introduce myself and have a quick chat with the head mistress of the girls’ school (G&H will clearly be delighted I did that!) and swapped parenting tales with a Mum I first met at BuggyFit classes 16 years ago, with whom I never fail to have a proper laugh.

So, I took the long way round - but I’m a fan of The Chicks so you shouldn’t be surprised - to saying that the only thing that actually hurt when I finally got out of bed this morning were my feet, my legs (especially the dodgy one, from my recent ‘fall’), my hips and one of my knees! Because I danced non-stop for hours last night with these wonderful people, enjoying that rush of endorphins as track after track from my twenties took me down memory lane and I sang so much that today, I sound like an old East End barmaid with a thing for a pack or two of B&H (IYKYK).

Thank you, Single L Family, for being the very best kind of friends; the ones you always pick up with where you left off; the ones you love bumping into on a morning or evening commuter train (preferably both); the ones who make you laugh out loud whenever you see them; the ones with whom you have an annual BBQ date that is not to be missed and the ones who most definitely know how to throw a fantastic party.

G sent me a two word WhatsApp reply when I messaged her with a photo from the party last night. The girl who only missed said party because she’s still in Canada, learning to waterski on a lake with a new friend from camp and her parents for the weekend, wrote “extremely jealous”. If she could have found a way to be in two places at once, she would not have missed J’s party and I think that says it all.

Here’s to friendship, laughter, multigenerational dance floor fillers, sore legs and feet, and, perhaps most importantly, remembering the joy that dancing all night delivers. Might not be everyone’s cup of tea but it is mine and I’m adding it to my slowly expanding list of things I do for fun. I will be tracking down a playlist of 90’s Bangers and you will find me in the kitchen dancing on my own whenever the mood takes me.

Until next time, promise me you’ll have a little dance whenever you can X

I usually gravitate towards Instagram for holidays because a) photos and b) it’s the easiest way for me to remember what we did on which day and fool myself that I’ll sort the photo book really quickly by having my favourite snaps and ready-made captions all in one place. That we have done at least ten US road trips that I can remember and I only have two photo books, suggests something is not quite going to plan.

This holiday - I really have no right to call it a vacation and am not totally convinced that Canadians always say vacation anyway - already feels like a visual and literal interpretation of the midlife stage I’m currently navigating. I’m attempting new things and trying not to care if I’m any good at them; I’m making a conscious effort to question how I have always done things in case there’s a different way (not necessarily better but one that might fire some synapses in new ways) and I’m starting to do the work that is helping me see what I can, and perhaps should, leave behind and what I could embrace more fully to build the life I want to live.

I have loved America since studying there for a year in the mid-90s but my love for the place came earlier than that. From TV shows like ‘Moonlighting’, ‘LA Law’, ‘Miami Vice’ and ‘Cheers’ that I devoured as a teenager and dissected with my school friends the morning after every episode aired. I’ve returned to the US as often as possible since the sliding doors moment when I turned down a job offer in the office of the Congresswoman I’d been interning for and left Washington D.C. to return for my final year at university in the UK.

In my lovely husband I found someone who had also spent time in the US as a teenager and has been more than happy to co-drive on our North American road trips. It’s safe to say that our girls have been fully indoctrinated and are determined to chalk up visits to as many states as possible - last year’s New England trip being a particular favourite for the sheer volume of states ticked off in a fortnight!

But, my love for America - not to mention some (most) of my social media posts and follows - means I cannot bring myself to visit again until there is regime change.

So, in a gloriously serendipitous sequence of events, this summer we find ourselves exploring a tiny part of the vast country that is Canada. Admittedly this trip was mainly planned around dropping G off at camp in Muskoka Woods last week but I think there was something bigger guiding us here. An energy that wanted me to try something new, to look at things from a different perspective - Niagara Falls from the Canadian side being a perfect example of this as I smiled at the memory of 21-year-old me having her photo taken on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge in upstate New York all those years ago. The 21-year-old me who would have had no clue that the well-into-her-forties grown-up version of herself would one day be just over the water, with the loves of her life, smiling whilst staring at the very spot she had stood all those years ago.

I’ve convinced myself that I can feel the wiring in my brain resetting as it experiences new things and recognises old favourites.

The drip coffee machine at Tally-Ho Inn that makes a drink you definitely wouldn’t write home about but which, with the non-dairy creamer and the red plastic stirrer, feels familiar and stirs memories.

Drinking that coffee on a bench by a lake and catching yourself saying good morning to the family of ducks that emerged from their lakeside beds right by your feet and smiling because, why wouldn’t you talk to the ducks?

Sitting on a jetty as the sun starts to set and the sky turns pink and orange behind the pine trees, fire pit smoke and the laughter of strangers making its way to me in pungent wafts as I make my way to the nearby swing that has caught my eye and dared me to give it a go (which I did, three times in three days).

Getting out on the lake in a canoe with H because we’re ‘lake people’ now and that means we don the life jackets, we drag the canoe from the shore and we try hard to look like we do this all the time. And we have more fun than I think either of us had anticipated.

Having my favourite Canadian (Catherine O’Hara a close second) offer the perfect concierge service, ensuring that our Ontario trip ticks all the right boxes and that leaving G in Canada on her own when we fly home next week will be made slightly easier by knowing she’s going to see a friendly face in a couple of weeks time.

So now I just need to decide if I’m going to go out on the lake this afternoon and I think I hear that paddle board calling my name. There are some absolutely stunning lake houses nearby that I know I’ll get a better view of from the water…

Until next time, keep paddling X

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The very first time I pressed ‘publish’ on Substack, these are the words that had danced together on my laptop in the hours beforehand:

I’m well into my forties (turned 53 last month) and ever since I can remember I’ve been writing.

Lists, short stories, the odd poem (it was a bit odd, I was at Middle School and I can still recite it word-for-word), more lists, my diary/journal, itineraries, strategy documents, scripts for presentations, essays and dissertations, letters, a few more lists, birthday cards, love letters, letters of complaint, emails (so many emails), travel plans, lists of things I want to write about.

And finally, I’ve decided to acknowledge the fact that I’m a writer. I come from a creative family - think artists and actors - and it’s long been a standing joke that the most creative thing about me is my handwriting. Now I’ve written that down I realise that it’s actually only me who has ever said that the most creative thing about me is my handwriting. Talk about self-limiting beliefs, the GOAT of inside jokes.

So, what can you expect from this writer? Regular (at least weekly) posts on a variety of topics from travel itineraries (I love planning holidays as much as I love going on them), midlife career challenges and opportunities (where to begin?) and being a Netball Mom (joyful and exhausting) to my secret life as a fake foodie (love food but am more than a bit fussy), my desperate attempts to find a fitness routine that I actually enjoy and will stick with (for the love of Madonna’s toned arms, help me), gardening (my lockdown lifesaver that still just about keeps me sane) and tales of The Ginger Cats who love me more than anyone else in this house (husband and teenage daughters included).

I can promise quotes, likely lots of quotes, never met a quote I didn’t love; profanity on occasion (if you’re of a sensitive, non-sweary disposition, this might not be the right place for you) and hopefully a place that feels friendly, unforced and a bit of fun. I imagine I’ll be sharing photos and maybe even a video or two once I get braver but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m here, I’m writing and, if you’re still here, thank you, I’m looking forward to this so much.

For now, I’ll leave you with the story behind the name, ‘And Another Thing…’. Back in the late 1990s and very early 2000s I worked for The Independent in London. It was the perfect mix of a job I loved and was good at (advertising sales); very few responsibilities and a small group of work colleagues who quickly became great friends (and still are to this day). We kept ‘All Bar One’ in Canary Wharf profitable with our many nights out, nights when conversations frequently began with the immortal line, “And another thing…” and who knew where it was going to go from there.

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