Landscape Painter, Life Writer, occasional Nomad in perpetual pursuit of a dream
It’s begun raining heavily, and consistently, here in Atherton, and although it’s supposedly still hovering around the 23 – 25° mark, it feels decidedly chilly. After last week’s heatwave which rendered the short walk into town an endurance test (I passed), it feels as if I’ve been transported home, only without any suitable clothing. Nobody …
A couple of clichés spring to mind as I nurse a tear in the centre of my right palm – an unusual injury caused by my attempt, and subsequent failure, to dig up a root of a presumed ginger plant – and contemplate my new living arrangements: Variety is the spice of life, and Every …
As the small plane banked, the world turned green. I had removed my nose from the windowpane when the solid blue sky of Perth became bubbly-white and then finally a dull, flat grey in confirmation of our suspicions, as we neared the island: the wet season means rain. Yet as we came in to land …
Lord, I believe that it’s raining all over the world I feel, like it’s raining all over the world Crawford, R. (1981) A Rainy Night in Georgia Warm, tropical rain pounding the tin roof of a safe, snuggly beach bungalow must be one of the most comforting, life-affirming sounds. Not so much, however, when it …
We’d talked about it a lot, over the years. ‘Next time you’re in Sri Lanka,’ Polly would say, ‘Pop over and see me.’ It sounded simple enough: Sri Lanka to Goa, where Polly takes the same apartment each winter, November to April. Just a short hop, and it’s even in the same time …
(An inspiring philosophy) I have been following ‘Sodium Haze’ on Substack and on Facebook and receive interesting articles, sometimes no more than snippets, by email every so often. I have not yet disagreed with a sentiment expressed, and occasionally I identify with the posts in a profound way. One such piece is shared below (it’s …
Sultry doesn’t quite cover it. We spend the days praying for a breeze. Not wind – which would bring choking dust and obliterating sand, beneficial for neither painting nor body – just a gentle rustle, enough to ruffle the tips of the palm fronds, and perhaps keep the flies at bay. It’s the date harvest, …
How often have you heard the phrases, ‘I’ve never been busier than since I retired!’ and ‘I don’t know how I ever found the time to work!’ ? Clichés, right? Perhaps not. While I am far from ‘retired’, it has now been two and a half months since I appeared at a set time at …
Not even a month has passed since I squashed my remaining belongings into Rusti, jolted down the birch-lined track of my temporary home in Achmelvich (a haven of peace and decompression where bullfinches, voles and a pine marten were daily visitors to the garden) and bid farewell to Assynt, yet it already seems a lifetime …
I thought it was time to park this here, now I’m getting ready to run away: an essay I wrote last year. PRIDE OF PLACE ‘You’re not from here!’ It is neither statement nor question. It is an accusation: I am an imposter, a fraud. A huge disappointment. Depending how gracious I feel, I might …