I write every day about one thing or another, mostly about the elderly, their care and its funding, and about dementia, which stole my mum from her family in a drawn-out 10-year raid. My articles regularly appear in national newspapers and magazines.
When inspiration strikes, I tap out short stories, I tweet and now, of course, I blog. Bert, of @DownDogBert Twitter fame, chivvies me from my desk at least once a day and tugs me onto the common where he immediately disowns me (and I him).
I have a long-suffering husband who puts up with my rants – about feminism, post feminism, post modernism, the funding and foibles of the NHS, BT, IT, acronyms and grammatical mistakes – and displays remarkable tolerance for my growing eccentricities. Whereas, funnily enough, my teenage daughter does not.
@DownDogBert on his first birthday, enjoying his card
