Hello. I am Sal T. Or Sal Thomas for long.
By day I do marketing to keep me in the no-frills lifestyle to which I’ve grown accustomed, as being a mum only pays £0.81 per hour, and then only for the first 12 months.
By night I chronically over-worry everything, but I’m working on it.
I started this blog ages ago with my husband. It was called Raising Edgar back then. But then someone (it was him) forgot to renew the hosting and we lost it all. I’ve cobbled together what I can remember of my best posts and stuck them here for padding.
Since then I’ve embarked on my lifelong ambition of writing a novel that no-one will ever buy. It reads like a cross between Jo Jo Moyes and Bill Bryson, so basically un-fucking-marketable (see job details above and note the irony). You can read it if you’d like.
We’ve also been renovating a house. It was like Grand Designs, if Grand Designs was called ‘101 Ways to Argue in Front of the Builder’. I still can’t write about it.
I realise this is now reading less like a bio and more like a very long note to excuse myself from not having become a much-loved mom blogger in the last few years.
Anyway, this here microcosm of the web offers up musings about any old tripe I can string a few words together about. Generally mumming, wifing and lifing.
It may seem to lack a bit of heartfelt here and there – I’m cripplingly shit at writing about my feelings unless they are sarcastic by nature. But rest assured that if you could unzip me like a fleshy onesie and peek within, you would actually find a heart beating with gratitude about my lot in life. And a partially-broken vagina.