Moots, mum and mutts.

  The last two days felt like a dream. Fast, vivid… and slightly incoherent, like one of those dreams where you’re late for something but don’t know what. Yesterday was the pathway double lecture. Every module tutor came in, proudly presenting their subject like it was the best thing since sliced bread (and to be fair, some of them almost convinced me). We were told what was essential, what was optional… and what would likely break us. Being part-time, I still have ten modules to go. Ten. Somewhere between “core” and “optional,” I had that familiar thought: the end is still very, very far away… Naturally, my brain did what it does best, spiral productively. Could I do it in two years instead of three? Would I survive the workload? Would my family still recognise me? The answer remains… unclear. So, in a moment of bold optimism (or mild panic), I booked a meeting with our course leader. Because three years ago, I would never have imagined being this far into a law degree, let alone ...

  Yesterday, Parliament passed what has been widely referred to as Benedict’s Law , requiring schools to implement clear allergy policies and ensure staff receive proper training. For many people, this will sound like a sensible safeguarding reform. For families like ours, it feels far more personal. Our youngest son Fred is four. Since he was a baby, he has lived with severe allergies. Last term alone he suffered two anaphylactic reactions at school . Those are words that no parent ever wants to write, let alone live through. When you have a child with life-threatening allergies, daily life changes in ways that most people never see. Shopping lists change. Kitchens change. Birthday parties become complicated logistical exercises. Every label is read twice. Every snack is checked. Every outing carries an element of risk assessment. Our whole family has had to learn. Fred’s older brothers and sisters know the signs of an allergic reaction. They know where his medication is kept...

  Today marked the final guest lecture in our Learning Through the Workplace series, and what an ending it was. We met Derrick Gooden, Director and Higher Rights Advocate specialising in Criminal Defence at Grech Gooden Solicitors. From the moment he began, it was clear that this lecture would not follow the usual script. Perched casually on the desk in jeans, completely at ease in his own skin, Derrick spoke with a frankness that instantly silenced the auditorium. No polished corporate performance, no rehearsed legal lecture. Just straight talking, confidence, and a storyteller who knew exactly how to hold a room. And hold it he did. Within minutes I was hooked. His style reminded me of those rare teachers who truly know how to tell a story, the kind where you lean forward without realising, because whatever happens next, you need to hear it. Of course, my mind wandered now and again, but not away from the law. Instead, it wandered to Hamilton . Since lockdown, my daughter has ha...

  On International Women’s Day, I find myself reflecting on what progress has truly been made since the day was officially recognised in 1977. On paper, the progress looks impressive. In reality, the lived experience of many women tells a different story. Recently I was chatting with my best friend, who is also a teacher. We laughed, slightly bitterly about a small but telling detail in our classrooms. Female teachers are called Miss , while male colleagues are called Sir . Surely the true equivalent would be Ma’am . It seems trivial, but these tiny details reveal something deeper about how women are still positioned in society. Our conversation followed a video I watched where a woman asked her audience a simple question: How old were you when you first received unwanted attention from a man? The question itself made my heart sink. Because my answer was not during my teenage years, or even adolescence. My answer was before I was ten years old. That reality is one many women quie...

  Yesterday was the university hackathon, and if I am completely honest, I am writing this with slightly mixed feelings. We did not win. There, I said it. A small part of me had secretly hoped that our idea might take the prize. We had worked incredibly hard, and by the end of the day I genuinely believed in what we had created together. But once the initial disappointment settled, something much more important stayed with me. It was one of the most enjoyable university experiences I have had in a very long time. The day began with presentations alongside students from other universities, setting the tone for what would become a fast paced and collaborative challenge. Once the briefings were finished, we were divided into groups and given a series of tasks connected to the Well-being of Future Generations (Wales) Act 2015 . Each team had to choose a theme and design a concept that could contribute to the future well-being of Wales. Our group chose Welsh culture and language. ...

I had planned to write today about the guest lecture from Gareth and Claire from the Senedd. I was genuinely looking forward to it. But within minutes of it starting, my phone rang. School. I needed to collect my son. The morning had already been fragile. The tumble dryer had refused to dry the uniforms properly. Traffic had been relentless. I had arrived at university feeling tight-chested and rushed, carrying more stress than I cared to admit. My Uni girl met me in the café. Her smile, her reassurance, her calm presence softened something in me. We chatted. My stress lifted slightly. The sugar from the chocolate brownie helped too, if I am being honest. But underneath, there was a hum of pressure. Tort coursework. The mediation exercise that afternoon. My placement reflection due at ten o’clock. Work frustrations that have been sitting heavily for weeks. The hackathon in two days’ time. So many spinning plates. So when I finally sat down, notebook open, ready to focus, the last ...