Sorry seems to be the hardest word...

An apology, an update on the allotment, how to grow radicchio for our vegan recipe of the week, and the latest bumper extract from my new novel…

More beds have been cleared, and lining put down before gravel for my fire pit area arrives

I am so sorry I failed to file a Substack last week. I woke up to a migraine. It always follows the same pattern: a burst of flashing light, then I lose one half of my vision. Then, and this is the worst part, I can no longer think of anyone’s name, or words for objects. I tried to type, thought it was going okay, but later reading it back nothing made any sense. Once my brain starts to function again, there is tremendous pain, like a vice gripping my head, and then, finally, I throw up. Lovely!

         I had my first migraine in high school during a domestic science lesson, learning to cook sausages. I usually get a migraine when I am very tired, or haven’t eaten. Unable, if only temporarily, to think of words, I can understand how frightening it must be to suffer from dementia. I cannot decide my views on assisted dying, but watching my mum lose, over a decade, any ability to speak, listen to the radio, eat, laugh or recognise any of us was so much worse than the day she died. She wanted to go. But making the decision to not allow nature to take its course was one I am very glad I did not have to take.

I have made the decision to end an animal’s life too many times. Last year I lost my 16-year-old collie, Gracie. She couldn't get off the bed, or stand. I rushed her to a referral clinic an hour away near York, where a scan revealed a tumour in her throat. The next day, under general anaesthetic, the surgeon called to say he found tumours everywhere and that she could not be saved. ‘Do you want me to wake her so you can come and say goodbye?’ I told him I would not put her through that. I feel guilty every day that she was not in my arms when she died.

Here she is in happier times, always squirmy. She loved my singing!