STILL STANDING

Having written weekly columns (on fashion) in the Saturday Telegraph and (on life) in The Spectator it's frustrating to suddenly not have the discipline of deadlines and a steady outlet for all my gripes and observations.

Most mornings I go for an hour long stomp around Battersea Park with a girlfriend and we invariably end up giving one another short, breathless monologues about life/family/husbands/work/diets/fashion. It's free therapy, exercise and a Starbucks at the end and a great start to the day. At least once a week she tells me to blog. I keep promising I will but never do. Instead I tweet and have internal conversations with myself and use the excuse that I'm a hopeless Luddite and would need an "enabler" to post and upload and guide me. They are all just excuses. She's worn me down. I'm starting. This is it.