I’m Nicola Humphreys. I’m a writer, but like most, have another job that pays the bills. Fortunately, I can do this job from my home office, so since March 2020, that’s where I’ve been, watching the world change forever. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been to a shop (spoiler – a pharmacy and the post office) and I did develop quite the Amazon addiction at the beginning of the first lockdown. My biggest trip out was to get my AZ jab.
I work for a company (like a sausage factory) that makes widgets or gizmos or something equally as boring, with characters straight out of a Dr Seuss book, pretty much like a cross between the BBC Comedies ‘The Thick of It’ and ‘The Office’. Probably somewhere in the north of England, or the Midlands, depending on your point of view. Most
weekends days, I stay in my pyjamas until noon all day, making stuff or making stuff up, listening to audiobooks or modern classical music, just chipping away at my 10,000 hours, in a gloriously sunny room of one’s own. I sometimes wonder where I’d be now if I’d had my own room sooner…
Few things make me as happy as writing does. Well, maybe chocolate and music. Oh, and cashmere. I can spot a 100% cashmere jumper at 40 paces now.
Once a month I (used to pre-Covid) go down to that London, eat real food, not wait around for public transport, to gaze at abstract expressionism, chuckle at installations, and wonder why I live in such a dull, lay-by of a town. Then I remember I don’t earn anything like enough to live near London.
Almost everything I write about here, could have actually happened to someone, somewhere, but I’m pretty sure I’ve made it all up. The people in these stories exist only in my head. I’ve picked bits from my travels and woven them together with snippets of conversations or places I’ve seen. They’re not real memories of mine.
My recollection can’t be trusted. It’s full of glitches, time lags and nonsense. I can guarantee it absolutely won’t be the same version of events that you remember. How could it be?
There’s a smattering of swearing in this blog, hopefully all in context.
Odd opinions are mine alone, and no blame is attributable to anyone for anything they might have done. Sunk cost, living well, timing, self-care and all that. Besides, what good does it ever do to dwell?
Thank you so much for stopping by, and taking the time to read my mutterings. I’m @nicolawitters on Twitter. Btw, the photos at the top of the page were taken about ten years apart from each other…
Please click here to read more about what I’ve been up to.
It’s got links to everything I’ve had published elsewhere.
Click here for the link to my Amazon Author page or scroll to the bottom for a preview.
This is what I sound like.
(Did you think I would have a Yorkshire accent?)
I really do appreciate your support and feedback. And yes, I do smell of Dove soap.
ps This is me inside one of those little pods at Terminal 5, Heathrow, London UK. Anyone who rides in one of these cute, little trains ends up with a massive grin on their face before they even get to Departures.
I assert my moral rights and the right of attribution to be identified as the creator of these stories.
😃 This lockdown witchy hair picture of me (aged 50) in my bathroom has taken on a life if its own in the #stopeditingolderwomen campaign on social media. I’m happy to help! Not everyone gets to make it to 50, and I have earned every single grey hair! I know I won’t always look like this but I’m certainly not going to waste any time worrying about it or wishing I looked 25 again.