My friend Kathy is the only person who'll be halfway honest with me. 'Did you ever see a cowboy film, where someone has been caught by the Indians and tied between two wild stallions, each pulling in opposite directions?' she asked.I nodded mutely.'That's a bit what giving birth is like.

It was only when the salt water of my tears ran into my cuts and made them sting that I discovered I was crying.

Political correctness is a minefield

I suppose I wanted to have my cake and eat it. But then again, what were you going to do with your cake if not eat it? Frame it? Use it as a sachet in your underwear drawer?

I know of people who don't believe it, but depression is an illness, but unlike, say, a broken leg, you don't know when it'll get better.

My mother is the best storyteller. And her mother was too.

Here's how it is: I feel guilty about every single bite of food that goes into my mouth.