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A sprinkling of the Green Man’s inclusive magic
Hey presto! Another birthday, another magical weekend in the mountains at the Green Man festival. It’s so thoughtful of the organisers to schedule the festival to coincide with my birthday again. Thanks, guys! You’re the best! You see, I love parties, but I don’t love organising them. So Green Man is a dream, a ready-made birthday bash
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An unforgettable night for Welsh Swifties….
I don’t want to be *that* person, but I’ve been a proud Swiftie since she was an ACTUAL EMBRYO. Ok, not quite that long, but it has been a long-standing, beautiful (and entirely parasocial) love affair. I first jumped on the Taylor bandwagon in 2009, when Kanye West’s stage invasion during her MTV Awards acceptance
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Decades-long Hay Fever
Imagine standing nervously on a makeshift stage, sharing your tortured teenage poetry, only to be interrupted by drunken old man hollering obscenities from a barstool. That, reader, is my earliest memory of Hay Festival. Yup. I was heckled by a sozzled author while reading my over-wrought poetry at a fringe event in a smoky room
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A dreamy weekend at The Dreaming
If you haven’t watched “Charlotte Church’s Dream Build” on Amazon Prime yet, add it to your watchlist. It’s addictive telly at its best, following the singer’s journey as she plunges her life savings into renovating Laura Ashley’s former country home in Powys, Rhydoldog, and transforming the unloved house into a dreamy healing retreat. It’s a
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Discovering Niksen, or the under-rated art of doing nothing
I hope you had a lovely Easter break, however you spent it. Mine was full of surprise and discovery. With a teenager studying for exams, I took myself off on a solo writing retreat in rural Monmouthshire. For this natural introvert, the prospect of a week alone to explore creativity was delicious. Having time to
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The (sad) state of independents
In January, one of my favourite places to eat closed for good. We take them for granted, don’t we? Those little neighbourhood gems that extend a warm welcome, serve food made with love, and then wash up for us? We assume they’ll always be there, doors open, ready to welcome us back. Until they’re not.
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The miners’ strike, dad and me
There’s a photograph taken on my third birthday that I treasure. I’m sitting on my father’s lap, lost in chatter, and he’s gazing adoringly at the little auburn-haired toddler in dungarees and bare feet. Photographs from this time are scarce; even fewer feature me with my dad. As my mum euphemistically puts it, there was
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ADHD and what it means for me
My name is Sara, and I have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. A year since my diagnosis, and during ADHD Awareness Month, what better time to come out as neurodivergent? If you’re scratching your head over the term ‘neurodivergent,’ you’re in good company. I was in the same boat until a doctor enlightened me. It describes
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I am the mosaic mam
When I suggest it, my son is sceptical. “Remember what happened the last time you dragged me to see flipping mosaics?” he says accusingly. The boy has a memory like an elephant. But it’s a fair cop. We stayed on a farm in northern Italy the summer when he was nine. I’d read in the guidebook that the nearby town
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Take me home, Crickhowell roads?
Life’s a journey, and every so often, you find that special place where you can pull over, take a deep breath and refuel your soul. My preferred refuelling station? It’s tucked away in the folds of Bannau Brycheiniog and opens its doors only once a year. I’m talking about none other than that shimmering jewel
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About this blog
Hello. I’m Sara. This site is home to my writing for the Western Mail, a newspaper kind enough to publish my internal ramblechats. In 2022 I was named Wales Media Awards Columnist of The Year for this column. Madness. You’ll find me spaffing opinions on feminism, inequality, festivals, tech, art and whatever else pops into my head at 3am the day before deadline. There’s also bonus content, when the muse takes me (WHERE IS SHE TAKING ME? I DIDN’T ORDER THIS CAB! Etc…).
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