Jo Herrings Adventures

There is something magical about the way music can transport you back in time, make you feel like your 10,20 (or more if applicable) years younger, how it reminds you of a smell, a taste, a love, a place and oh, the people. The warmth of that feeling can hold you longer than the last note. And then of course the bitter reality that  music can conjure also. That stomach wrenching reminder of a lost one, a moment in time when life was not so colourful and the dark cloud of sadness that the words, tune or tone harks from. And on the opening chords you want to pull the plug, run out of the room for fear that the memory will take you back to a time of endurance. Mine vary from songs that they played at a mid-year Christmas breakfast  where our entire school listened to the radio in a church hall one cold winter school day(....why this memory sticks I'm not sure!), to the jubilant music at the Rugby World Cup Final in Auckland, the Meatloaf album that was stuck in our car tape pl...

I don't plan what I write about on this blog but one thing I have tried not to involve you all in is my constant struggle with my lady bits. Not because they bounce around on Asian bus journeys if untamed by a fierce sports bra, nor the nuisance of fitting these curves into any clothes in the beautiful high street stores, but the actual innards of my lady bits where on a monthly basis I turn green, lose feeling in my legs and have to swiftly crawl to the bathroom to vomit in pain. Always a little awkward if out in public obviously. For the benefit of my male readers be warned I'm likely to start mentioning words you'll recognise from Health lessons at school when you would blush and be baffled by the intriguing boobs and bits girls were starting to develop across the classroom (some of which you learnt you never wanted to know about). You may also squirm when I write "period" and don't mean full stop. I'll forgive you for laying off the blog for a bit w...