The lawnmower boy.


As a kid and like the vast majority of my generation, I knew the family worked on a tight budget. If you wanted something extra, you got some kind of nickel and dime part-time job and after a kickback into the family pot, you had some money of your own in your back pocket. I … Continue reading

A garden.


The Earth is rotating out of night and I’m a little speck on the surface of it. It’s still dark, very early in the morning and I’m listening to Dario Marinelli’s Stars and Butterflies. On the rare occasions I wake up in the night, I don’t tend to go back to sleep. I roll out of bed as quietly … Continue reading

Wallawoora.


Once upon a time, in a universe far far away, someone asked me where I came from. I was on a blog based in Australia and having a laugh joking with other commenters there. Off the cuff, off the top of my head and probably off my tits, I said Wallawoora and began to embroider on that mythical place, to what … Continue reading

A postcard from warmer climes.


As I write this, I’m in the middle of a brief holiday in southern Spain, in Seville to be exact. It is warmth, sunshine, the unlikely smell of Orange trees in the air, Spain at its over easy best and a complete break from the snow and bitter cold us hardy souls in the northern … Continue reading

The decline of popular science journals.


We are creatures of habit and pleasure. When we find something of pleasure, we tend to revisit it with regularity. Despite what a large part of the mainstream media might have you believe, not all pleasure starts at the gullet and ends at the genitalia, though eating well and making love, are of course pastimes … Continue reading

About writing.


I do the thinking thing very well. For so much of my life and for so many things in it, I think very carefully before I leap and I’m good at it. Over the years, people have learnt to trust and depend on that and because I love them, that’s something special I can do … Continue reading

Words, ideas, primary sources, history and a bit thrown in about writers.


I write and I read books. Either of those activities will inevitably lead you to think about the nature of the written word. Up until quite recently, it was the only way your thoughts and ideas could survive your death without any sort of distortion. Nobody was half-remembering, interpreting what you said or bending it … Continue reading