Writer. Food, places, people, stories. www.havepaprika.wordpress.com
Manfred Kaufmann moved from place to place during the final eight years of his life. From Freiburg im Bresgau in Germany he went to Mulhouse in France. From Mulhouse he went to Vichy near Paris, and from Vichy he went to Marseille on the Mediterranean. In Marseille, Manfred was able to earn enough money to support his parents, Louis and Yvonne, neither of whom were able to secure work. Marseille was at that time (August 1941) … … More Manfred Kaufmann
Final two days in Spain, Summer 2023. With No. 4. Lanjarón was the plan, but how? Some rally car event made the gateway to the Alpujarras inaccessible. When we asked a police officer what to do, she gave us an earful of Spanish and an armful of sign language which, combined, translated to something like, … More Lanjarón
You’ve arrived in Freiburg im Breisgau, south-west Germany. It’s been a long day (early flight … wrong bus … right bus … very busy train), and you and your other half want a drink. You stumble upon the Markthalle (market hall) in the old town. It’s packed. People shoulder their way through the crowds, choose … More The Bar
(On last week’s run and being an idiot) Mood: Could be better. Conditions: Mild. Daffodil pond in the park. Hawthorn buzzing with bees. Dogs and Nits: Every other person has a dog. Including a man who can’t stop scratching his head while his pup-in-training waits. I think, Who’s training whom? and Nits? Workmen: Five. Doing … More Probably Just a Phase
My daughter has left home. The third to fly the nest. “Take care of yourself, and have fun,” we said. “And don’t do anything we wouldn’t.”
“I’m actually quite sensible,” she said.
She’s been evasive about her travel plans, reluctant to disclose the details of where she’s going and when. I don’t blame her. Who wants to be tracked? … More I Don’t Need to Know
There’s a man to my right, leaning against a pillar with a smile on his face. He has a bunch of red roses in one hand and a takeaway coffee cup in the other. He’s worn the same sweet smile for fifteen minutes already, as if his intended is right there in front of him. … More At the Airport with Roses
One day not long ago, I was trying to tell my daughter how I felt about something. It was one of those circular conversations that concluded with, “I know but I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” “You just did.” my daughter said. Yesterday, I listened to a report from Zaporizhzhia, Ukraine. A mother was … More I can’t explain it
Happy New Year.
My two oldest boys are home for Christmas, and the six of us are together as a unit again. It’s been a while since we last did this, and I’m wondering how we’ll get on. Initial joy at their homecoming has waned, if I’m honest. It’s the constant ferreting in the fridge for food, the … More Just lovely
A few weeks ago, I was walking along the road in daggy day-at-home clothes, music blazing in my ears, thinking that I should have brushed my hair. I’d just be quick before anyone saw me. But someone did see me. Someone I didn’t recognise. A bald man with a liver-brown beard and quite a cute … More Footnotes
Have Paprika, Will Travel 