LUPUS IN FLIGHT

I took late afternoon tea with Turner at the Tate (a story that requires its own post) after waving off my nieces at Heathrow. Their little ...

' Good grief .' Is there such a thing? Grief rhymes with thief. That much is true. I am always grieving. Something has always...

Birdsong. Rain song. A dog's song. I am in a hurry to reach my nieces before bed songs. Paw prints on my Gap white t-shirt: Gra...

Four years ago, I wrote and published a poem called Crossing Borders . This was how it began… ' If I meet an Israeli, I will tell hi...

The great vast network connects and divides us - time stretches us thin; we give years to the knowing, the unravelling of others ...

The clematis are dying in purple paper clusters, a pretty, dusty, crepuscular fading of old lace, doilies, beside the newly hatched de...

(for Mary Haybittle) Sometimes you have to catch the light, just where it falls beyond the line of blue iris and purple clematis to wh...

A friend alerted me to an online community activity called # 100happydays. 100 days, 100 pictures, 100 moments of happiness recorded and sh...

(for Mary Haybittle) On a Tuesday afternoon, in the only place to be, tables must be shared, politely. I join the ladies at Number 5 ...

You buy cupcakes with your cappuccino and the barista asks after your love life. You play dumb and ask after his (you overheard him...