Reclaiming My Bod Through the Miracle of Travel

I can’t have been more than 7 when my grandma offered to pray that God wouldn’t let me get any more moles. I don’t remember much after that except a sudden surge of anger (the type that often led my mum to lecturing me on self-control during my childhood), followed by me storming out of the room. I was incredibly insulted and, perhaps for the first time, made to feel that awful self-consciousness that continues to develop as we grow.

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Astérix, Crêpes and Salty Butter

France France France-y France.

It was 3am when we left for the airport. Sleepy but excited I checked my ticket: we were flying into Brest. Snigger. As we wound through the dark streets of Marrakech we passed dozens of men in white robes heading out to pray. How do they do that every morning?! Too early!

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