The real me….

The sharp eyed amongst you might have noticed that my profile picture has changed. The previous picture was taken at the beginning of last year, just before I set off on my awfully big Everest Base Camp adventure. But I’ve changed a lot since then. And I’ve been looking at last year’s photo and thinking that it didn’t look like me anymore, and that it was time for an update.

Because this year has been my year for coming to terms with myself. For recognising that I’m not Gertrude Jekyll or Beth Chatto, I’m not Margaret Atwood or Anne Tyler. I’m me. And that’s fine.

I’m fifty-six years old, my oldest child is going to be twenty-eight this year, next April I will have been married for thirty years, my eyesight is bad, I’ve got age spots jostling for space with my wrinkles, and my hair is very very grey.

And you know what…. I feel bloomin’ fantastic.