My official bio reads :-
Cheryl was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.
Cheryl has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.
Later in life, Cheryl became the storyteller for a re enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.
It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.
In present times, Cheryl lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son, dog, hamster and two cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. She’s never been happier since she was made redundant and is able to devote herself entirely to her twin loves of writing and art
I must admit to being a complex character who often puzzles even myself. I might appear to be a hypocrite but I’m not a liar and if I seem to be the answer is probably that my mind is so open it changes a lot. What might seem perfectly right and good today, with more information might have a different reflection tomorrow. Or maybe I just have no morals.
I think I’m a fairly moral person. At least the important ones. Like not hurting people and not turning my back on people who need help…oh and RESPECT. People often forget respect. Respect means you don’t belittle people or put them down because of what they look or sound like. Respect means you don’t take things away from people – like possessions, right and dignity. Respect means not forcing your beliefs or opinions on other people, and not expecting them to stop expressing theirs. Respect means not having to bow to the ridiculousness of Political Correctness because we know that words are not being used to hurt us. When I ask for black coffee I’m not being disrespectful to the POC behind me in the queue, I just want a black coffee.
People get offended too easily about things that are not meant to be offensive. People no longer have the clarity to look at the “intent” in what is said. Was it intended to hurt, or not caring who it hurt? Then be offended. If not where’s the issue? You’re trans? Cool. I got the pronoun wrong because I’m new to this. Steer me in the right direction and I’ll do my very best to keep heading that way. Get pissed with me you can kiss my ass. You’re Muslim? Cool. Tell me about your religion and I’ll listen and respect. Get pissed with me for sending you a Christmas Card and you can fuck off. You’re Christian? Well, I’m kind of suspicious but carry on. Talk about your faith and I’m fine. Tell me I’m going to hell for mine or try to convert me and I’ll metaphorically punch you.
So that’s the radical side of me, on the other side, where the unicorns live, I believe in magic, I have a childlike joy in the simplest thing, I adore my friends and family and I have a complicated relationship with angels. If you want to give me a gift get something that sparkles, something deeply disturbing or anything to do with writing or art. If you want to piss me off tell me you’ll pray for me or that you don’t like cats.
Here are some photos of stuff