Drag houses and chosen families
Plus: Please do consider paying £4 a month to subscribe!
I write this from the Sainsbury’s car park. E is asleep in the back with her head flopped forward like an off-duty string puppet. J is doing the supermarket shopping and I am here sweltering in the passenger seat listening to Harry’s House - an album so easy on the ears you can forget it’s been on repeat for hours. One of the songs includes the lyrics ‘hash brown, egg yolk, I will always love you’. Back in my party days I met Harry Styles at some swanky fashion bash and we had a conversation about chicken nuggets. I’m surprised he’s not written a song about it tbh.
This week, I have been dealing with my daughter’s new obsession - a Sylvanian house. She has arranged its minuscule contents in a very particular way and I am not to touch it. It is in the middle of the sitting room floor and CANNOT BE MOVED. It is like living next to a land mine as every time I walk past it I’m terrified I’ll knock it, and trust me if one of the tiny books is not in the exact place she left it I will be in big trouble.
