April 2, 2024, prompt: Write a story that happens in a flash in 99 words (no more, no less). A flash of inspiration? A flash flood? Who shows up in a flash? Who is impacted for a lifetime by a single flash incident? Go where the prompt leads!
In The Blink Of An Eye – by Hugh W. Roberts
The time machine hummed to life in a blink, thrusting me into a whirlwind of eras. Past and future blurred into a kaleidoscope of moments.
I glimpsed dinosaurs roaming prehistoric jungles, the crowning of kings and queens in medieval and Tudor castles, and cities bustling with futuristic wonders.
Time was a relentless river; I was a fleeting leaf upon its currents.
With a final flash, I returned to the present, breathless and exhilarated. Yet, in my mind, the echoes of centuries persisted, a reminder that anyone can journey through the annals of time in the blink of an eye.
February 27, 2024, prompt: Write a story about artificial intelligence in 99 words (no more, no less). Use any genre. What is unfolding, or has the situation existed for a while? Who shows up, AI or a figure of imagination? Go where the prompt leads!
Future Affairs – by Hugh W. Roberts
“Kenneth, the AI isn’t working.”
“Have you tried turning it off and on again, dear?”
“No, I’ll try.”
***
“Kenneth, I can’t turn off the AI.”
“Did you unplug it from the mains?”
“No, I’ll try.”
***
“Kenneth, the AI just told me you’re having an affair!”
“Where did it get that information from?”
“I’ll ask.”
***
“Kenneth, the AI says you’ve murdered our marriage!”
“Me? Where did it get that information?”
“From me, Kenneth. That’s why I’m having an affair.”
Gunshots rang out.
“You’re dead for killing the marriage, Kenneth,” said the AI. “Will you marry me?”
Wordless Wednesday – No words, just pictures. Allow your photo(s) to tell the story.
Who lost their heart on the beach?
Not sure what Wordless Wednesday is or how to participate? Click here for full details.
Are you participating in Wordless Wednesday? Although I am not hosting this challenge, you can leave a link or pingback to your post in the comments section to help promote it to other bloggers.
To help those with eyesight-impaired vision, please remember to complete a description of your photo in the ‘alt-text’ and description boxes of the picture in the WordPress media library. For more details, check my post, Adding Images Or Photos To Your Blog Posts? 4 Essential Things To Do.’
If you want to know more about the photo featured on this post, ask me in the comments section.
February 6, 2024, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something lost now found. Is it an object or person who is lost? How are they lost? What happens when what was lost is found? Go where the prompt leads!
Hilary’s Loss – by Hugh W. Roberts
Hilary had lost the love of her life, but life went on.
She looked at her reflection closely in the mirror.
‘Gorgeous.’ she assured herself.
“You are,’ said the reflection of her husband, Bert, from behind her.
Hilary quickly turned her head, but, of course, he wasn’t there. He was dead.
While clipping on the pearl earrings Bert had gifted her on their pearl wedding anniversary, Hilary was somewhat startled by the sound of the doorbell.
Opening the door, Hilary had found love again. She didn’t care that love came with a price. Some things were worth paying for.
Wordless Wednesday – No words, just pictures. Allow your photo(s) to tell the story.
A couple from the 1950s dressed up for a night out
Not sure what Wordless Wednesday is or how to participate? Click here for full details.
Are you participating in Wordless Wednesday? Although I am not hosting this challenge, you can leave a link or pingback to your post in the comments section to help promote it to other bloggers.
To help those with eyesight-impaired vision, please remember to complete a description of your photo in the ‘alt-text’ and description boxes of the picture in the WordPress media library. For more details, check my post, Adding Images Or Photos To Your Blog Posts? 4 Essential Things To Do.’
If you want to know more about the photo featured on this post, ask me in the comments section.
Wordless Wednesday – No words, just pictures. Allow your photo(s) to tell the story.
Drawing, artwork or something else?
Not sure what Wordless Wednesday is or how to participate? Click here for full details.
Are you participating in Wordless Wednesday? Although I am not hosting this challenge, you can leave a link or pingback to your post in the comments section to help promote it to other bloggers.
To help those with eyesight-impaired vision, please remember to complete a description of your photo in the ‘alt-text’ and description boxes of the picture in the WordPress media library. For more details, check my post, Adding Images Or Photos To Your Blog Posts? 4 Essential Things To Do.’
Wordless Wednesday – No words, just pictures. Allow your photo(s) to tell the story.
New Life – New Beginnings
Not sure what Wordless Wednesday is or how to participate? Click here for full details.
Are you participating in Wordless Wednesday? Although I am not hosting this challenge, you can leave a link or pingback to your post in the comments section to help promote it to other bloggers.
To help those with eyesight-impaired vision, please remember to complete a description of your photo in the ‘alt-text’ and description boxes of the picture in the WordPress media library. For more details, check my post, Adding Images Or Photos To Your Blog Posts? 4 Essential Things To Do.’
I don’t like the idea of killing time. I don’t like the idea of killing anything. But when it comes to killing time, do you do it?
How do you kill time?
I can’t remember when it was I heard this quote, but it’s stuck with me like a sticky bun sticks to my fingertips.
‘Life and time is like a toilet roll The nearer you get to the end The quicker it runs out.’
Unknown
How to manage time before retirement.
Before I retired from full-time work in 2012, my life was hectic, and time was often my enemy. With deadlines to meet and places to be, I was forever rushing around like somebody who was too busy to tell anybody how busy I was.
I’d look at people’s schedules and wonder how they could easily complete everything. Some people seem to be naturally gifted at managing their time – or maybe they were better at saying “no” to distractions than I was?
However, I’m proud that I’ve always been a good timekeeper. I’d rather look after time than kill it.
I always arrive at appointments with lots of time to spare. And then it backfires on me as I start questioning myself about the time I am wasting when sitting in a waiting room or killing time when window shopping in the high street while I wait for a friend.
Maybe I should start arriving late than early? But the thought of being late for anything is something I can not face.
How do I look after time?
In many ways. But one thing that has helped me is to use time wisely by keeping a daily schedule.
I write down the things that I want to accomplish that day, and then I try to stick to that schedule as much as possible. Of course, things come up, and I need to be flexible, but having a structure in my day helps me feel like I am using my time wisely.
Another thing that helps me is to prioritise my tasks. I try to focus on the most important things rather than wasting time on things that don’t matter. This helps me be more productive and feel less stressed.
How do you kill time if you don’t have enough of it?
I’ve never liked the thought of killing time because I don’t usually have enough of it to get everything done in my day. After all, how can you kill something that you don’t have?
How often do you hear somebody say, ‘I don’t have enough time’ or ‘I wish I had more time?’
When we’re enjoying ourselves, time tricks us. It makes us think it’s going fast or gone quickly. Whereas when we’re doing something we don’t enjoy, it reverses that trick by making us think it’s going slow. Yet, all along, it has travelled at its usual pace.
Is time fooling you?
When I was at school, time seemed to go slowly. I remember the school summer holidays and how those six weeks of freedom seemed to last forever. They seemed endless until the nightmare of the night before returning began.
Even the two-week Christmas school break seemed to last forever. Back then, time was my best friend. It was always there and gave me as much of what it had as I wanted.
When time runs out on you.
Then, I got my first job and soon found myself fighting for time and trying desperately not to allow it to leave. It was as if time was upset with me and wanted to leave. If only I had saved up some of the spare time from my childhood. It would have come in very useful.
Work days would always go quickly. Somebody told me it was a sign of being busy. I’d arrive at work dreading the full week ahead, but it would often pass me by like an intercity express train.
When Friday afternoon arrived, the thought of all that free time over the weekend would put a big smile on my face.
Even better was when the weekend was extended because of a public holiday. I remember being told by a work colleague, ‘ Three days of time to roam free‘. It’s yet another ‘time’ quote I’ve never forgotten.
Time is like money. Those who spend it wisely, will never lose it.
Hugh W. Roberts
Yet, when the office clock struck five and a long weekend was upon me, why did I resist going home and getting the long weekend started? Was I fooling myself by believing that the long weekend would last even longer if I delayed it? Or was it because I wanted to enjoy that feeling of ‘three days of time to roam free’ even longer?
Time doesn’t stop for anybody, so why was I kidding myself?
Time after retirement. And why do some people find time boring?
When I retired, the thought of all that spare time on my hands was one of the benefits of retirement.
At first, I had no idea what I would do with all my spare time. However, I knew that I would not allow myself to get bored or become addicted to daytime television or social media.
When I hear people say they are bored, I want to arrest them and put them in ‘time jail.’ How can anybody get bored with their time?
When I see people on social media saying they’re bored, not only do I ask them how anybody can get bored on social media, but if they’re bored, do something less boring than spend time on social media.
I’m proud to say that I’ve never been bored or addicted to daytime television or social media.
Looking back, I wonder how I managed to fit everything in. Where did I find the time to work and find all the time enjoying a social life that often took me away on vacation or on long weekend breaks? It’s something I never found out the answers to.
Fast forward to the present, and I ask, ‘Where does the time go?’
Unlike my early years, days, weeks, and months seem to zoom past even more quickly. I often compare my life to the toilet roll I mentioned at the beginning of this post.
I was never good at mathematics. And when it comes to time, the maths still doesn’t add up.
But even with good time management skills, sometimes I feel like time is slipping away. It’s a strange feeling – like I’m racing against the clock and can never quite catch up.
But at the end of the day, I try to be grateful for my time and make the most of it. Because, as the saying goes, time waits for no one.
How do you manage your time? Do you kill time, or are you somebody who never seems to have enough of it? Is time your friend, or is it an enemy? Do you have any tips on freeing up more time? Share them in the comments section.
Follow Hugh on his social media platforms by clicking the buttons below.
If I’d not taken five minutes, my eleven-year-old son Billy would now be dead.
It could have been so different if I had not decided to do what I promised myself for the last five years. Just five minutes, that’s all it took.
The world of technology had taken over my life. Like most of humanity, I had my head buried in a screen. Morning, noon and night, I couldn’t resist it.
I was missing out if I wasn’t checking my social media accounts or email every five minutes. I was missing out on a new world! A new world that just five minutes could change.
The distant sound of crying coming from Billy’s bedroom forced me to bring my head up from the screen of my iPad. Why was he awake and sobbing at this ungodly hour?
When the familiar sound of a ‘ping’ came from my iPad, I could feel myself being pulled into the online world again. I’d made the mistake of looking down and seeing the notification on the screen telling me that Rachel was online.
Aroused by the thought of Rachel, my finger hovered over the Skype button, where I could instantly connect with her, while my ears picked up the sobbing coming from Billy’s room.
What should I do? Check on Billy, or find out if Rachel wore that sexy nurses’ uniform.
Thank goodness I chose to take those five minutes wisely.
If I hadn’t used them to check in on Billy, I’d never have discovered he’d been contemplating suicide. Not only had the death of his mother, five years earlier, taken him to the edge of a cliff, but my new online world and the neglect it had forced upon him had also taken him there.
The self-harm images he’d been looking at online were worlds apart from those I’d watched when Rachel was online. Ready to blackmail me, she’d had the camera ready to record me that night.
Not only had those five minutes saved my son’s life, but they’d also saved mine.
Five minutes.
***
Flash Fiction Friday
Enjoyed this piece of flash fiction? Then you’ll love ‘More Glimpses.’
***
32 short stories and flash fiction pieces take readers to the edge of their imagination.
Every time I walk into my local library to pick up some recycling bags, I feel like I’m entering a world that doesn’t want me there. Or is it that I don’t want to be there?
For me, libraries can be terrifying places. Just like picking up a book and opening it can be a terrifying prospect. As an author and writer, you’d think that both would be something I’d get a lot of pleasure from. But I don’t.
Does reading, writing or libraries terrify you?
Why Am I terrified of libraries and books?
Dyslexia – that’s the answer. As somebody who is dyslexic, reading and writing are two things I have always found difficult. And writing about dyslexia is even harder.
When I enter the library and face all those books that can introduce me to new characters and transport me to different worlds, I feel like a big door is being slammed shut right in front of me. Why? Because I know that I would find it difficult to read many of the books on the shelves.
How does being dyslexic affect me?
Being dyslexic affects me in many different ways. For example, I often find myself struggling to know what a word or its meaning is.
It doesn’t always come to me even when I try saying the sounds the letters make as they appear in a word. Struggling with a word in the middle of a sentence can stop me on my reading journey and sometimes make me feel like a failure. It’s as if the word is some sort of barrier preventing me from continuing my reading journey.
Occasionally, when I pick up a book, I encounter too many words I don’t understand. They can be the simplest words, yet my brain can not determine them. I start asking myself what those words mean. Are they important? Why can’t I say them?
If I have to go back to the beginning of a page or chapter because I don’t understand the plot or what’s going on, I will almost certainly give up on the book. I may have another go, but more often than not, I never pick up that book again.
It’s not only about reading.
When it comes to writing, one of the strangest things dyslexia does to me is not putting certain letters in the correct order. I struggle if a word has an ‘A’ and ‘C’ in it. For example, I can often type ‘because’ in a blog post, yet Grammarly will underline every ‘because’ I’ve typed because they’re all incorrect.
The same thing happens when using pen and paper. My brain is rushing ahead of me, causing my hand to travel in different directions as it pushes the pen that produces awful handwriting, not even I can understand. What I write resembles the scribbles I drew as a young preschool child.
But not all is lost, is it?
I’m pleased to say that I don’t have problems reading all books. I seem to go through peaks and dips with them. I have to be in the mood to read books. They have to be written in a way that I can understand exactly what’s going on. No silly accents or too many characters whose names all begin with the same letter.
So, unfortunately, you won’t find many book reviews I’ve written, yet you’ll find many comments I’ve written on the many blogs I follow. And by comments, I don’t mean the types that don’t offer any value. If I leave a comment, it’ll be at least a couple of sentences long.
For me, comments are like leaving book reviews. If I leave a comment, it’s because the words on a post have connected with me, and I want to engage with the author.
Happy endings
I allowed dyslexia to suppress my love of writing for far too long. In February 2014, when I published my first blog post, I felt like I had conquered it.
I’ve often heard it said that people with dyslexia have unique imaginations. I’m unsure if that’s true, but it’s been a happy ending. If it were not for blogging and the many bloggers who encouraged me to write, I’d never have self-published two short story collections.
Don’t allow me to stop you.
But even with my love for blogging, I still find books and libraries terrifying places.
It’s not just the fear of being judged for my reading speed or accuracy; it’s also the overwhelming amount of options available. With shelves upon shelves of books, where do I even begin? I had the same problem with blogging. I followed too many blogs, so I cut down on the number I was following. That helped.
For someone with dyslexia or any reading disability, picking up a book can be anxiety-inducing. The fear of being unable to understand the words and follow the plot makes it easy to understand why some people avoid books altogether.
And while libraries and bookshops may seem a haven for book lovers, it only adds to the pressure for some. Surrounded by so many books, it’s easy to feel like you should be reading them all, like you’re missing out on something if you don’t (just like all those blogs you follow).
How often do I hear or read that somebody is so far behind in reading blogs? They fear they could miss out if they don’t read them all.
The same happens with social media. How often do we see people with their heads down while looking at a screen? I’ve witnessed whole tables of people in restaurants, all with their heads down, looking at their phones while eating.
But the truth is, there is no “right” way to read. There is no “right” book to read. It’s okay to read at your own pace, take breaks when necessary, and stop reading a book or blog if it’s not connecting with you.
And remember! You don’t need to read just books to enjoy reading. I get far more enjoyment from reading blogs than I do books.
Books and libraries may be intimidating places for some, but there’s no denying the magic of losing yourself in a story. However, we can also lose ourselves watching a movie. It’s worth facing your anxieties and fears to experience that magic for yourself.
So, please, don’t be like me. Pick up a book, visit your local library, and don’t be afraid to take it one page at a time.
Who knows? You might find a new favourite author or even discover the joy of writing for yourself.
And don’t forget you can also do the same in the world of blogging. It’s a magical place full of content where you can quickly lose yourself.
Books! Friends or foes?
Now it’s over to you.
Are you dyslexic? How do you manage your reading, writing and blogging? What books or blogs are you reading that help you conquer dyslexia? Tell me about them by leaving me a comment.
This post was originally published in April 2019 and has been updated for republishing.
Follow Hugh on his social media platforms by clicking the buttons below.
If receiving Christmas cards were a hobby, it would be a hobby I’d embrace and never let go of.
I’ve always preferred receiving Christmas cards to birthday cards. They’ve always been more important to me, but over the years have caused me a few dilemmas. Do you recognise any of these?
Christmas cards. Are they a problem?
How to display Christmas cards
My parents always strung Christmas cards along our lounge’s longest wall. I’d stand underneath the line and count them every day. And if any of the cards overlap, I’d make it known so they could be adjusted. I wanted every Christmas card to give the same pleasure to visitors as I got out of them over the festive period.
I’d tell my school friends how many Christmas cards we had and keep a record of the number every year. The most we ever got was 106. So many that the line they hung on came down. I cried so much that my parents had to console me with chocolate.
Don’t hang too many Christmas cards on one line. If they are overlapping, put up another line.
These days, we display cards on a card rack. The overlapping doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it used to. However, I seem to prioritise those cards I see as more festive, so they don’t get pushed to the back of the rack.
How do you display Christmas cards?
Christmas at school
During my early schooling years, my class would send Christmas cards to each other. Back then, Christmas cards came in different sizes in one box. The first dilemma was matching the correct-sized envelope to the right card.
Usually, you’d end up with a couple of cards that didn’t fit the envelopes you had left or, on rare occasions, have cards left with no envelopes.
These days, Christmas cards seem to come in packs and are all the same size, so the dilemma of matching envelopes with cards has gone. But if you don’t have enough envelopes, dig out the spare cards from last Christmas. It’s unlikely people remember what Christmas card you sent them last year.
Christmas cards for school friends
We’d make a pillar box out of cardboard, cotton wool, paints and some sticky-back plastic. We were all encouraged to post Christmas cards into the box, and on the last day before the Christmas holidays, our teacher would sort them and distribute them out.
I’d always be super excited to get a pile of cards with my name proudly written on the front of the envelopes. I’d open them all before rushing home to hang them with the rest of the cards, careful not to snap the line.
If there wasn’t enough room on the line, I had to wait patiently for my father to put another up. Sometimes, this could take days, and I’d get frustrated that my cards were not on display.
After Christmas, I’d keep the cards I liked the most and make gift tags out of them for the following Christmas.
Did you send Christmas cards to your classmates?
The first Christmas card
The first Christmas card was sent in 1843. Back then, there were no signs of robins, snow, Christmas stockings or Father Christmas on them. Most cards showed people drinking, eating and being merry.
It wasn’t until the 1870s that Christmas cards began to display some of the festive images we see today.
Back in the 1970s (when I was sending cards to those in my class), I loved certain cards. These include the ones I thought were associated with Christmas. Those showing scenes that had Father Christmas, Christmas stockings, robins, snow, and Christmas trees were my favourites.
And then there were cards I didn’t particularly like because I thought they had nothing to do with Christmas. These included ones with scenes of horse-drawn carriages, fox hunting, St Paul’s Cathedral, or a hand-drawn poinsettia.
My favourite classmates always got the cards I associated with Christmas, but my dilemma was who should get the cards I didn’t like. Easy! The classmates I didn’t bother with much (or those I didn’t particularly like) got the boring ones. Back then, you could always tell who didn’t like you much from the type of card they sent you (or so I thought).
Christmas postcards
Back in the early 20th century, some Christmas cards were like postcards. Many years ago, I picked up some on eBay. This one is my favourite.
An Old Maid’s Christmas
On the back.
Postmarked Dec 24th 1912, I love the humour on this postcard. I’m not sure it would go down well these days. What do you think?
I can’t make out the postmark on this postcard, but the stamp on it tells me it’s from the U.S.A.
Christmas postcard from the early 20th century
Christmas postcard from the early 20th century
And here’s another early one from the U.S.A., postmarked Dec 23rd 1913.
Christmas postcard dated Dec 23rd 1913
Christmas postcard dated Dec 23rd 1913
Postal addresses were so short back then.
The best era for Christmas cards
In my opinion, the 1980s were the best era for Christmas cards. Here are a few of my favourites.
Some of my favourite Christmas cards from the 1980s
I have a scrapbook that includes some of my favourite Christmas cards.
The boyfriend dilemma
Finally, here’s a Christmas card from 1988 that was sent to me by my then-boyfriend.
Christmas 1988
Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. By New Year’s Day, I’d taken it away!
Unfortunately, Bob went on to break my heart on New Year’s Eve, yet I kept the Christmas card he sent me. I wonder why?
I hope you enjoyed my brief history of the Christmas card.
Do you send and enjoy receiving Christmas cards? Have you ever had any dilemmas with them? Share them in the comments section.
This post was originally published in 2020 and has been updated and republished.
Click the buttons below to follow Hugh on social media.
I probably talk or think about death more often than others.
I don’t talk about sex as much as I do death, but is that a problem when entering the autumn years of your life?
Many people I know don’t like talking about death. Do you? Many don’t enjoy discussing sex but is it easier to talk about than death?
Is it odd or natural to think and talk about death and sex simultaneously? You tell me.
Which one do you feel most comfortable discussing?
Once upon a time, sex was a subject people didn’t like talking about. I’m going back to my early years here when sex was a hush-hush subject, almost taboo.
There was little information available about sex while I was growing up. The reaction I once got from my elders when I asked, ‘where do babies come from because I know the stork doesn’t bring them?‘ was like watching the faces of those watching the gory scene in a horror movie. ‘Is it something about a man and a woman solving a puzzle?‘ I went on to ask.
When I asked those questions, I got looks of shock, horror and embarrassment. My grandmother walked out of the room while my mother and father tried to change the subject quickly.
Lockdown talk
During the lockdown, my partner and I talked about death. But it was only while updating our wills. We couldn’t get past the point where we would talk about our deaths and what we wanted to happen when that time came. ‘We’ll talk about that another day,’ I told myself, yet death can come to any of us anytime. Can you imagine the problems we cause by not talking to each other about death?
Although nobody likes talking about death, we read, write and watch it happening in books, on television, in theatres and cinemas. It seems natural when reading, writing or watching it, but when talking about our deaths or the death of somebody we know, there comes the point where I hope somebody else will take the lead, and the subject will quickly change.
Why am I talking about death?
I have written about death here, but the truth is that what I call the otherside of death (where the person dying is not me) is approaching; it becomes a subject we can’t avoid. I have an aunt who is nearing the end of her life.
At 95 years old, some say my aunt has had an excellent innings. She loved life, but she wouldn’t like the life she is now living. I think I followed her for the love she had for life. However, she has spent what is left of her life in a hospital bed for the last three months. Her final words to me before she went into a deep sleep were, ‘I want to go home.’
I can relate to how she feels. Whenever I have been ill and not at home, I’ve always wanted to go home. If we allow it, being in familiar surroundings can help. Well, it always works for me. But does it help when nearing our final days?
As she faded in and out of consciousness, my aunt reacted to some voices in her hospital room yet ignored others. I wondered if she could choose which voices she wanted to respond to and which she chose to ignore? Does she have any control over what she hears while her life slips away?
Why do some people die quicker than others?
Truth be known, I wouldn’t say I like watching my aunt’s death being so drawn-out. The family all agree that she’d hate to be at the point she is – having to live the drawing out of the last days of her life in a deep sleep in a hospital bed. ‘There’s nothing else we can do for her except keep her comfortable,’ the medical staff tell us. ‘But keep talking to her because hearing is the last sense to go.‘
Really? Is hearing the last thing the dying sense? How can they possibly know? Have some of these staff lived previous lives, or has somebody who has left this world told them that’s what happens? It seems odd to say. I can not work out how they know.
When my father died in October 2020, his death was swift. He died within 24 hours of being taken ill. There were no weeks of being unconscious in a hospital bed. Yet when my mother died in September 2015, she took many weeks to die after we were told there was nothing else they could do. Why do some people die quickly, yet others seem to take weeks, months or years to pass?
Are those who have long-drawn-out deaths having to pay for what they may have done during their lives, or is there something or someone who has overall control over how long it takes for us to die? Do some linger because there is some unsettled business to attend to, or do we have no power over how long it takes to take that final breath?
Where do we go just before we die?
Years ago, I believed there was a waiting room we entered when dying. We sat there waiting for our name to be called before going through another door that took us on our next journey. Some remained longer in that waiting room than others. But while we wait, we are occasionally permitted to briefly go back through the first door to check what is happening in the world we are leaving. Perhaps we’re not quite ready to go because we’re waiting for somebody to come and say goodbye?
I’ve often asked myself why my mother took so long to pass away. Did she not want to go, or was she told she had to wait her turn? In life, we queue. Do we have to queue to die?
When we die, are we leaving behind those still alive, or do the living leave us behind?
I probably talk or think about death more often than others. Many people I know don’t like talking about it. How often do you talk about death?
Perhaps I should have talked more about sex? But would anyone have wanted to discuss it with me?
What are your thoughts on why we dislike discussing death or sex?
Follow Hugh On Social Media. Click on the buttons below.
Hugh's Views & News 