When I was a young child, my parents used to take us kids with them when they went to friends for dinner. This was a win-win. They didn’t have to pay for a babysitter, and my brothers and I got to stay up late listening to the grown-ups downstairs getting louder and louder until there was a sudden stop – … More Headlights in the Treetops
There’s a mother and son I’ve not seen in a while. They’re regulars in the local park, like me. Except that they walk their dogs while I walk by myself. I’m not too fond of their dogs. They’re small and yappy, and the mother and her adult son don’t call them away when they pester … More A mother and her son
Yesterday, I did something I’ve never done before. I went to the cinema in the afternoon, on my own. At least I can’t remember having done this before, but now a vague memory is whispering that this is not true and that many years ago, when I lived in Mainz in Germany, I fled a … More Alcarràs
The grave of three men: Jobo, Cabo, Baco. They all look alike. Two could be brothers, the third could be the son of one, or a nephew, or a much younger brother. This youngest man (Cabo) died in 1943 at the age of 23. The 23-year-old man of a different family looks thoughtful and resolute. … More Montenegro Lives
I know a woman who sprays herself with perfume each time she goes for a run. Afterwards, she takes a shower and washes both sweat and fragrance away. I know a man whose right hand clenches into a fist when he finds his running rhythm. His left hand always remains relaxed, even when he tries … More On ‘Being young until you get old’.
I was taking photos of shadows, cats, bricks and steps in the city of Cuenca in Spain. Everything that I could see right in front of me. It was sunny and mild and even the grafitti seemed to have had a spring clean. I thought I had the old town all to myself, but someone … More Los Ojos
Again I begin a post with Fitta Chipeta. Otherwise known as ‘Fitta the Fixer’. When in Malawi, if there’s a glitch with a gadget, Fitta will get F Man to sort it. If you’d like a live chicken, Fitta knows someone who knows someone whose father’s sister’s neigbour can supply you with a bird. If … More A Lesson with Fitta
A year ago, I wrote that the curators of the Mass Observation Archive were making their annual appeal for our 12th May diaries. Here we are again, twelve long yet quick months later, and the Project is keen to know how we have fared. Its aim remains to collect glimpses of our lives on one … More 12th May
(A short walk through a Sevenoaks churchyard) Hestor was a wife. She was remembered with love by her husband, after she died in 1802. Her gravestone still stands and her name is still legible, despite the threat of a colony of white spots. Other names are invisible, swept away by the elements. Or have dates … More Memories and Daffodils
A love story from Andalucía (adapted from Lorenzo Valla’s 15th century version of the Legend of La Peña de los Enamorados). A young man once served as a slave in the house of a Moorish leader in the Kingdom of Granada. The man’s name was Tello, and he was a Christian soldier who had been … More Tello y Tazgona
Have Paprika, Will Travel 