Be The Plot Twist

Heyoooooo!  

I’m going to be brutally honest: this week I seriously struggled with forward momentum. By Sunday I was convinced absolutely nothing had happened — like my entire life had been put on airplane mode.  

But then I actually thought about it and realised… that was complete hogwash.  

The week kicked off with a grim treadmill session that felt suspiciously like jury duty, collagen and biotin supplements (sexy-ass hair prep), and the usual work grind. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I wrote. A lot. I completely changed the sub‑genre of my story and suddenly had the literary version of word vomit. 

And then came my biggest accomplishment of the week.  

Okay, technically it wasn’t my accomplishment — but I’m taking partial credit because I did, in fact, grow a tiny human and help cultivate a top‑tier banter system.  

My 12‑year‑old son chose his World Book Day costume. 

I’ll let that hang for a second. Suspenseful music, please. Because for a pre-teen, this is basically the Oscars.  

If you have a pre-teen, you’ll know that high school is a fickle bitch. You can walk in wearing top-to-toe brands, but if you’ve got a Zara coat and Nikes, you’re still inferior to the North Face and New Balance crowd. Maybe it’s the alliteration. I’ll never know; I was a strictly non-brand, gothic teen. And honestly, even back then, I remember how brutal it was to figure out where (if anywhere) you fit in.  

So you can imagine how sensitive fancy dress is for a 12‑year‑old.  

Harry Potter? Too childish.  

Percy Jackson? Too easy. Not cool enough.  

Anything remotely mainstream? Absolutely not.  

So. We’d reached D-Day. After all the backwards and forwards, my son finally announced his verdict. 

Reader, brace yourself. 

He wanted to go as… a banana. 

Yes. A banana.  

And because ‘monkey see, monkey do’, my 7‑year‑old immediately declared he also wanted to be a banana.  

Now, here’s the issue: on World Book Day, you have to bring the book your costume is based on. And shockingly, there aren’t many teen‑appropriate novels starring bananas. Bananas in Pyjamas was vetoed instantly — far too babyish. We found Code Name Banana by David Walliams, which was perfect for the 7‑year‑old, so that was sorted.  

But the 12‑year‑old? No. He needed something “sick.”  

We scoured book sites and searched every corner of the internet. At one point, I practically wanted to shout: Know any YA titles starring potassium-rich protagonists? Please, someone, give me a literary legend in banana form. We tried everything to find a book that would justify a banana costume in a high school environment. 

And then it happened.  

The Holy Grail.  

The Banana Cookbook.  

In his eyes, this was the perfect solution. Not childish. Not cringe. Not embarrassing. Just… a cookbook. For bananas. As if that was the obvious literary companion.  

And honestly? I admired the logic. If you’re going to commit to being a piece of fruit, you might as well do your research.  

And here’s the part where I realised something about myself.  

All week I’d been telling myself that nothing was happening. That my life was stagnant. That I had nothing worth writing about. But then I saw it—my pre-teen son’s fingers wrapped around The Banana Cookbook, his eyes lighting up, and a crooked grin sneaking across his face like he was handling government secrets. In that moment, I realised my life isn’t stagnant at all; it’s just quieter, softer, and full of tiny, ridiculous plot twists I keep overlooking. 

Maybe growth doesn’t always look like big dramatic moments. Maybe sometimes it looks like gym visits, collagen supplements, late‑night writing sessions, and raising kids who are confident enough to walk into high school dressed as a literal banana with a cookbook as their supporting text.  

Maybe the plot twist this week… was that I’m not just scraping by—I’m actually kind of ripe and juicy. Not too green, not totally mush. Just quietly, unexpectedly, right where I need to be. 

What was the one ridiculous or unexpectedly funny plot twist in your supposedly quiet week? The weirder, the better—I want to hear about the moments that made you stop and think, Wait, did that really just happen? 

Let’s make the mayhem official! Tag me in your Instagram or Threads story with #QuietWeekChaos so I can see your best plot twist moments.  

Prefer staying low-key? Slide into my DMs with a banana emoji and share your story directly. I’ll be looking out for your posts, and who knows—yours might just end up being my favorite plot twist this week. 

And with that, I’m calling it:  

This week’s plot twist? 

Realising that even in the stillness, life is quietly ridiculous — and I’m here for it. Maybe that’s the real magic of airplane‑mode weeks: the weirdest and most wonderful plot twists sneak in when we’re convinced nothing’s happening. Life really is a rollercoaster. Queue Ronan Keating. You’re welcome. 

So, as always, let’s switch up the narrative, rewrite the script, and actually be the plot twist. 

Stay juicy, 

Katie x