
Melanie Reid
Journalist at The Times
Times journalist. Memoir The World I Fell Out Of. Saltire non-fiction prize 2019. [email protected]
Articles
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1 week ago |
observer.co.uk | Melanie Reid
The passing of the assisted dying bill gives us all self-determination in alleviating the pain we might be living through and shortening our death At last. How profoundly relieved I am that the bill has finally been passed.
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3 weeks ago |
observer.co.uk | Melanie Reid
The joy of living in a house without mirrors For the past six months I have been living in a house without mirrors; not by choice, but because our new house hasn’t yet been properly snagged. As time has passed, I have become deeply content with the absence of my own reflection. There’s something pleasingly ascetic about it: I don't need reminding what I look like in a wheelchair, thanks very much. I don’t buy new clothes. My hair appointment is in the diary, so no point fretting.
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1 month ago |
observer.co.uk | Melanie Reid
Disability is an expensive business – but those who can afford it should not receive the same benefits as those who can’t I’ve felt mildly queasy about non-means-tested benefits ever since I went in to withdraw 20 weeks of £15.75s, my little nest egg, and the lady in the building society quipped: “Child benefit comes in handy, doesn’t it?”Guilt sent me scuttling away. In the early 2000s child benefit still was, as it always had been, a lifeline for millions of families for food and school shoes.
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1 month ago |
observer.co.uk | Melanie Reid
As night falls, dementia can wreak more havoc on patients and carers My earliest exposure to dementia, as a six-year-old, seemed like a crime scene: poo smeared on the white walls of the downstairs loo. My mother wasn’t in the house – she was out chasing my grandmother, by then far down the road knocking on neighbours’ doors demanding to know where Margaret was. Poor granny.
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2 months ago |
observer.co.uk | Melanie Reid
In the first of her new column, journalist Melanie Reid explains how a riding accident changed her life "Never sick or sorry." When I was a pony-mad kid, that’s how small ads described horses for sale: archaic shorthand from a time when the value of animals and people lay in their suitability for work or war. Occasionally, I’ve chewed on that memory. I’ve had time enough.
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