All the things I do instead of writing…
I'm not sure travelling with small babies really counts as travelling. You don't lose yourself, breaking links with the everyday to go on a little daydream of difference; you're rather reminded how much babies like having their own familiar things around them, and how difficult they are when they don't. For Easter, we drove to... Continue Reading →
I keep trying to remind myself that the things I worry about are largely a luxury, fillers in a life that has always been entirely devoid of the effects of civil war, hunger or poverty - not that I think it's particularly helpful to suggest that everyone's problems are all trivial just because they have... Continue Reading →
I started this blog some time ago now. At the time, it was a way of filling time on long winter evenings, when I didn't want to go outside, or socialise, or do anything else terribly useful. I wanted it to be all about the things that intrigue me about life, the things I read in... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 