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I’ve been working on a new project called The Grantidote.  Last week it took me west, to where I come from.

The Grantidote’s centering women, pausing to understand how a woman’s wholeness is made up of fragments big and small, some chosen, others delivered by circumstance.

The Grantidote’s about acknowledging the marks women leave on our world.  I believe by fully registering women’s impact we begin to rectify an error that’s made how we organise, experience and understand humanity feel ill-fitting and wrong.

Toxic masculinity needn’t control the whole narrative, after all.

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Hop on my hashtags too, won’t you?  #52and40, Instagram and #TheGrantidote

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52and40/16 The Out-Crowd

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Things I didn’t know last month;

  1. There are jellyfish all round the coast of Denmark – my husband got stung every other summer as a kid playing in the viking sea.
  1. The Glasgow Gallery of Modern Art was originally built as a mansion for William Cunninghame in 1778, for £10,000. Cunninghame was a Tobacco Lord who benefited hugely from trade winds, the hideousness of the triangular slave trade and the connections of his prosperous merchant family.
  1. For the worse or better, it only takes two people to start a movement.

 

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Read more about #52and40 here.

52and40/1 The Importance of Good Lighting

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Autumn has arrived and keeps inviting summer back onto the stage for another bow and enthusiastic applause.  My thoughts are turning to putting the garden to bed for winter and revving up for draft 2 of my big writing project; editing workshops await (yay!)

We moseyed with friends in Glasgow at the weekend, lightly hungover and wondering what aliens would make of museums.  Subjectivity’s a theme I keep coming back to when considering what’s gross or what’s fascinating, necessary or enlightening.

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my milestone birthday. Nothing to fear here, at forty.

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52and39/44 Back and Forth

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It’s eighteen years since my husband (then fiancé) rented a top floor room on Polwarth Street while he worked a contract in Glasgow’s Atlantic Quay.  I’d visit every few weekends, firstly from Aberdeen then, after the flitting, from Eigg.

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We’d walk hand in hand into town taking in houses, flats, shops, pubs, trees, Kelvingrove Park and museum.

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In my memories, there are days when it’s always crisp and sparkling with frost and December fairy lights in Glasgow.  I walked the walk again last week, just to check I was still me.

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