Love, a loch and an empty seat
“You want to go upstairs, don’t you?” His eyes glint with amusement and prophecy. He knows we won’t stay here long, down here where it is warm and dry, where...
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Blog
My blog features some of my more personal writing, usually impressions from my travels.
The flowers we laid around their heads
I don’t know how to write about this. I don’t even know if I should. But I don’t know what else to do with my body today, and with the...
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Turn left and leave it all behind
There’s an unmistakeable moment – just one – that completely captures solo travel for me. It is the instant, relieved of my bags and assured of a place to sleep...
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The cobble stones of memory lane are made of music
Voices mumble and a guitar starts up, a gentle melody to which Steve soon starts singing in French. “No no no, wait, please stop,” I hear my 19-year-old voice say...
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The passions we misplace
The first time I tried to read The English Patient, it took me seven months and I laboured through every word. I endured it because it was a gift and...
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Under the sycamore tree
Imagine skin stripped from flesh. Imagine only the muscles and tendons and fascia beneath, sinewy and strong, revealing and raw. For a couple of metres from her roots up, that’s...
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Seven lessons in seven months of freelance
September marks seven months of freelance. Seven months of buying groceries with the pensioners at 11am on a Wednesday, of riding the waves of desperate anxiety and joyous I-got-a-gig relief
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The fierce fortunes of transient love
“Put this on,” he says. “You’re going to need it.” “What for?” “We’re going out.” “You can’t be serious. It’s snowing.” “Which is why you’re going to need my coat....
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Fall on your feet
When I was living in Toronto, I learnt why the Canadians call it fall. It’s not because of the leaves that descend; instead, it’s the invisible fire in the sky....
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