When Opening the Door Opens Your Heart

I learnt a lot of things the year I lived with a stripper.

Did I learn to how to totter in perspex heels? No. Did I learn to dance around a silver pole? No. Did I learn to inhabit stage personas? No.

But I learnt about what life was like for someone who did.

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Befriending Loneliness

Last night I woke at 3 a.m.

When you live on your own, 3 a.m. is about alone as alone gets.

So I lay there, in my ‘aloneness’.

At this point, staring into the darkness, the ‘lonely’ dog sat at the end of my bed. Would I feed it until it lay full and satisfied; snuggled with me under the sheets?

I knew that the weight of it would be suffocating. I knew it would be dark. As I contemplated this emotional defeat, a thought slipped into my head.

‘I am so lucky to be alone’. Read More

If I were here

If I were here.

If I were here the morning light would be Marie-Antoinette-blue.

I would push one of the cane chairs to face the other and I’d recline between them. My light grey linen dress would be trimmed in French lace and the fabric would gather around my ankles like a cloud heavy with imminent rain.

I’d decorate the small table with buttery croissants and jam bubbling with sweet nuggets of fruit. As I ate them great feathery flakes would break and flutter to the ground, nibbled by soil-dwelling minutia where they fell. Read More

If I Were Here

If I were here.

If I were here I would spend the morning steeping ground coffee over fireplace embers. I would sip a cup full of it by the window as I curled cat-like, my fingers slowly warming around the clay mug.

I would open the door to let the first light in and it would cast a gold-specked ray of dawn on the floor. Read More

Why Writers are my Rock Stars

The crowd around me was swollen with anticipation.

The spotlight spun from his hair like the heroic thread of gilded biblical texts.

By the time I had shuffled to the front of the crowd I was so giddy that I would have let him sign the flesh of my bare extremities. Instead, I lost the ability to speak and stood with doe-eyed adoration.

This was not a Rock Concert and I wasn’t supplicating in front of a leather-clad Rock Star. Instead, this is a recount of the moment that I met the one and only Bill Bryson at a book signing.

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