By Lucy Goldring
Snowy’s by the back door, set to leave. She really is the living end, but I need what she’s got. We’re having a face-off.
Cold white stuff’s falling from the sky. Snowy’s keen to explore, to embrace her nomenclature.
My Snow Day plan? I’ve bagged myself the ‘all-day’ boiler engineer slot. Besides, it’s peak TOTM – whatever the ads suggest, I’m just not sledge-ready. My salopettes are white. The entire world is white.
One step forward and Snowy is out that cat flap. She knows I’m after her dead mouse – aka the last damn tampon in my painstakingly ransacked flat.
Lucy Goldring writes to unleash her subconscious and because it’s cheaper than therapy. She thinks it’s magical that people might emotionally engage with her words.