Generally speaking, I do not get very personal in my blog posts. I tend towards breezy intimation rather than Freudian analysis with regards to my early life. Being British means never having to talk about “feelings,” or other embarrassingly messy things. We arm ourselves with sarcasm and alcohol to deflect horrifying “touchy-feely” confessions. This Mother’s Day, however, I thought that I would toss aside my scratchy English bonnet for my jaunty US citizen’s baseball cap, and reminisce a little about my mother… Read more »
