Welcome! You have found the home of 'Being Me', Fran Hill's blog. If you like what you read, you will enjoy my funny teacher-memoir 'Miss, What Does Incomprehensible Mean?' My next book - a funny-poignant novel about sibling rivalry in a foster care situation - is out in April 2023 with Legend Press and is called 'Cuckoo in the Nest'. My website is at www.franhill.co.uk. Come and visit for more Fran info!
Evidence that I am not always trivial and flippant (should you, of course, NEED such evidence ...)
My short poem about the inconsistencies of our world, posted on the fabulous Poetry 24 'news-in-poetry' website today.
My try-to-get-fitter walk in the fields today was a silent one. I usually listen to the radio through earphones but have lost one of the soft earbuds and nothing spoils a walk more than having hard plastic nudging up against your fragile tympanic membrane. The BBC's 'Woman's Hour' is a brilliant programme but loyalty has limits. It was disconcerting, walking in silence. Listening to radio distracts from the disturbing reality that my legs are propelling me in forward motion because, if I think too hard about this, I frighten myself. Today, while walking, I had to listen to my own thoughts. And now I've listened to my own thoughts, I remember why I like radio better. The inside of my head is like a wastepaper basket. Be grateful that I only offer you a brief excerpt. Oh, look, that bird is - / Where did I put that mark scheme. I'll need it for - / My shoes are getting muddier./ Maybe mash with the fish tonight / really muddy / The trees are definitely more
Yesterday, a woman on the train who had no teeth was noshing her way through a whole Scotch egg as if it were an apple. (For the uninitiated, a Scotch egg is a hard-boiled egg wrapped in sausage meat and breadcrumbs and fried.) If you'd given me the choice between watching her eat a Scotch egg and not watching her eat a Scotch egg, I'd have plumped for the latter. But she was directly opposite me, and I admired both her skill and her total lack of self-consciousness. I didn't take a photo (one can get thrown off trains) but to help you imagine, here's a picture of a woman with no teeth. And here's a picture of a Scotch egg. This egg is a world-record beater for the largest Scotch egg made in a restaurant. The one she ate wasn't quite that impressive, but, to her, it may well have seemed that way. There are other tasks that could be compared with a woman with no teeth eating a whole Scotch egg. a) Someone eating a whole joint of roast beef
It's Saturday evening as I write. This time last week my body still comprised one-fifth woman and four-fifths pudding. I was so stiff with starch that I couldn't bend at the waist to take off my socks at bedtime. I felt as though all my internal organs had been re-upholstered. Despite all this, non, je ne regrette rien. I had gone with two friends to The Pudding Club. It was their 60th birthday treat to me and - well - what an experience! I'm aiming to go again on my 70th, 80th, 90th and 100th or should I ever tire of life as it could do what Dignitas does but with added custard. Have you heard of the Pudding Club? It was started by people who felt that the traditional British pudding should be saved from extinction and celebrated. Because of this, the evening is full of ceremony and ritual as guests make their way through seven puddings, all paraded in regally, applauded and cheered. Seven puddings? Yes, you heard correctly. Puddings are in the news. There's a