It's tough, this blogging lark when nothing is happening, plodding along from day to day just waking up and breathing and going to bed and waking up ....all perfectly respectable but blogworthy? Not at all.
If I go back and read my old blog posts, the ones I think are the best are the angst filled ones, it would seem I am at my best when I am experiencing the worst. I am funniest ( I think) when I am saddest, so when I am all fine and dandy, I am neither funny nor a good writer....so it's all good news then, the blog is as dull as dish water, all must be well in the house of Helen.

It is too, well indeed.

I think it may be my age. 46. Neither here nor there is it really? Youth is a distant memory and not particularly one that is worth dredging up if I'm honest.
Young womanhood....oh what hard work that was, all that drama and fretting over whether I was clever enough, or sexy enough or desirable enough ( no, no and no) Everything, in my 20s was so HUGE...so black and white and desperate, so important and urgent. Exhausting.
Old age will bring it's challenges, incontinence not one of them I fervently hope, I do find myself htinking of getting old and thinking of how I hope things will be. I used to dream of having a good sized home that my children would feel was home, somewhere to come back to that holds years of memories and comfort for them, that dream is fading and lately I find myself imagining more down to earth and probable dreams. I fancy a little mobile home, a static caravan complete with little shed for gardening implements.
Right now though, 46..what am I? I am just ...this.

'This' is OK. I'll take it, even if it means blogging is close to impossible!