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On Boxing Day, I finally, for the first time ever, watched “It’s A Wonderful Life.” Oh my Bowie. I loved it. I related to it. I guess you could say I responded to it in exactly the same way in which I was supposed to. The idea of feeling like a failure, like you’ve never managed to leave the place you were planted, never been able to achieve whatever it was in life you thought you could have…only to realise that all of the beautiful parts of your life were right in front of you all along. It’s so cheesy…

I spent the countdown to New Years’ Eve sitting on the hill in the amphitheatre at Woodford Folk Festival, bawling my eyes out while giving 2014 the finger. After the shite-pile that was last year for my family – death, divorce, two interstate moves and severe declines in mental illness – it really did seem that entering this new year, the only way was up. And you know what? I really think it was. In 2015, I: fell even more utterly and completely head over heels in love with a truly brilliant and wonderful human; became a Clown Doctor in…

NOTE: Yesterday morning, after a long night taking shifts with Mum, I took my first shower in days, came back into the room and opened the computer to type. What came out of me was like fire igniting a line of petrol: from my desire to remember all the little moments of what had been the blur of the past few days, I found I had never written so fast in my entire life.  What you are about to read is un-edited as I want to remember this writing blurge in all its raw, flawed glory. Because as I finished…

Being there at the end of somebody’s life feels like standing in a very disorganised airport departure lounge. You’re there together, waving each other off, drying your tears – after all, this trip is to a far-off place with no return ticket baby – and just when you’re feeling relatively at peace about it, then the announcement comes through that the flight has been delayed. “For how long?” you enquire. “We don’t know.” “Well who does know?” “Nobody.” “Will it ever leave?” “Oh yes. Eventually. IT HAS TO.” Except of course, that it’s not really a departure lounge. You’re not…

I have tried to start this post without typing the phrase “Holy Shitballs Batman”, but am admitting defeat: when it comes to summing up this past week and a bit of this new life, it really is impossible to describe it any other way. So excuse me: HOLY SHITBALLS BATMAN. Ahh. Where to begin? All I can really say is that bringing our 90 year old Mum home to care for is remarkably like bringing home a newborn from the hospital. There is the delight, of course, of embracing a new member that will redefine your family, but also the…