Archive For The “Writing” Category
Forget the shenanigans that go on amongst gardeners at ground level [Divided we stand, Greyhares, 29 August 2016], there is an altogether different world a little higher up amongst the avian community. Life for the birds appears altogether easier, but they too have their problems, and in this instance I am talking about residency. With trees…
My wife, Rohan, suggested that we eat out at Vince et Versa, a restaurant nearby. I agreed but on one condition, that I be allowed to bring my own cutlery. My proposal was rejected – it would be an affront. A day later, I hatched a less obtrusive plan and a table was booked. I…
a catapult; unsprung a gob of purple bubblegum a yard of string knotted; in three places a map of those three places a penknife; worn a breast torn from the pages of Playboy a woodpecker feather; lesser spotted a tasty piece of sausage half a handkerchief semi-snotted pieces of eight – one and thruppence in…
Moving house is one of the more stressful of lifetime events; for many it even matches divorce or the death of someone close. Perhaps a major component of the stress is the insecurity that follows being uprooted. However, although many roots are severed some remain, and for me at least, these remnants have helped. The fact…
In general, my French lessons follow a fairly standard format. After a session in which we catch up on the French news and on any important student news, our teacher goes round the table asking each of us in turn if we have a presentation to offer. Most of us will have prepared something and,…
After a poor night’s sleep in an hotel in St Malo it was time to catch the ferry home. I had just settled the bill when the young man behind the counter stood up, pointed to a wine glass full of straws and suggested that I serve myself one. I asked him to repeat this remark, which to…
I come from a chalk-white, sun-streaked street where skinny children stick-rattle and hopscotch away careless summer days. I come from the domain of bus drivers and bricklayers, where ferret-keeping, earth-salty sorts artfully tend their vegetables and their kneeling house wives with scrubbing brush and Vim nag at the linoleum within. I come from…
Thanks to the enduring suspension of our host’s old Mercedes, our descent of the winding drive to the riverside clearing couldn’t have been smoother. Phyllis, who collected us from the station, had invited us to spend a night at her family’s water mill. The once-dilapidated seventeenth-century mill had been restored by her father Bastiaan and he had also…
