Everyone in England wants a garden to call their own. It's one of the main reasons they move out of London, if they were not fortunate enough to have bought a house in Hampstead in the 1960s. Ironically, no one particularly wants a house in Hampstead Garden Suburb, as it seems to have very little... Continue Reading →
Slapped with a wet fish – really
I've been having a mopey few days. You know, drifting into self-absorbed disappointment about life, for no good reason. So I was unreasonably amused by a story on the BBC this morning; some random Irish teenager walked into a shop and slapped a shop worker with a big wet fish. A bream, in fact. I'm... Continue Reading →
How does one write something nice?
My husband wants me to write a "nice" short story. I suppose I can see why he wants this. He's so far volunteered to read the short stories I have produced; the first one was about a prostitute who dies while showing off her jewellery to her children, in an accident involving a pet goat.... Continue Reading →
Australia – Shangri-la for Europeans
I've become quite addicted to yet another daytime TV staple, a reality programme called "Wanted Down Under". It's a rather irritatingly structured show about people who want to emigrate to Australia. They're given an introduction to employment opportunities, house prices, and whatever lifestyle opportunity they think their move will open up to them. They are... Continue Reading →
Long weekend in LA in 2008
As predicted, this blog has somewhat died a death. Its cousin, The Resting Writer , is where I actually write stuff. So here's an old account of my weekend in Los Angeles in Summer 2008. I was on a business trip that lasted about ten days, so I had a weekend in the middle. It... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 