The last day of the year; not even the whole day, just a few of the last twelve hours. It is, after all, the season for doing jigsaws.   The frost is still on the ground as we walk through the woods to the river, our breath coming in cold puffs, steaming out in front

Continue reading…

The petrol station is busy with office workers filling their cars and van drivers pumping in just enough fuel to get them through tomorrow. It is already dark, and the sulfurous lights cast a dull glow over the whole scene. Here, Christmas is cut price boxes of Quality Street and a two for one offer

Continue reading…

The two minutes silence begins. Some of the people in the room stand, but I sit, head bowed, in a pose of solemn remembrance. But all I can think of is the moment I crushed your little paper poppy when we hugged, and the feeling you are somehow as lost to me as the fallen

Continue reading…

I am picking up apples from the garden. Again. I have given bags of the fruit away to everyone who wants them, but still they tumble from the tree. Sometimes they even have the audacity to fall on me as I am gathering their compatriots beneath, the little green bastards. But still it feels like

Continue reading…

I am a wearer of hats. One day – four hats – same head underneath. I think. Hat 1 – 6.15am This morning it’s a struggle to leave the house; so much to do and I daren’t be late. Dirty washing flung into the machine, sandwiches made, fruit sliced, yoghurt poured, cake cut, bags packed,

Continue reading…

Dawlish, Devon A small child with a blonde plait down her back digs in the damp sand with a plastic spade. She wears a hand knitted jumper over her little bikini; she was almost blue with cold when they finally enticed her out of the sea, and her mother has insisted she keep the jumper

Continue reading…

As I step from the wooden walkway onto the sand I hear the muezzin call shimmer across the water from the neighbouring island. It is early yet, and almost cool; as my bare feet sink through the soft grains they hit a chill dampness that will not be there later on. At noon, the sand

Continue reading…

Everything is in boxes. It’s not that I’m packing up to leave; I’m packing up to stay. Stay sane, that is.   The boxes I am referring to are, of course, my emotions. One box for my husband, and another, smaller, box for Owen. And the most puzzling thing is – they are entirely separate.

Continue reading…

I know Tats is unhappy because she has put on weight. It’s always the same; the more miserable she is, the more she eats. So I know how unhappy she is before she even mentions it. And typically, she doesn’t mention it until we are almost out of time, but for once she cannot run

Continue reading…

We have scraped together supper from what is left in the fridge. Small, sweet tomatoes from our own greenhouse; the last few olives in the bottom of the jar; a week old loaf of bread; and three scrag ends of cheese.   I pick up the goat cheese and examine it, then put it down

Continue reading…