June 30, 2017

For my Granny Keith

I don’t believe in life after death, hauntings or voices from the grave.

I think what we need from people we loved, is within easy reach.

Sometimes it is easier to get comfort from them than from the living.

Her life was endless gifts to mine, and no on...

June 30, 2017

Have you lost your mind? Where’s your sense of humour?

My mind goes everywhere it can, it loves to travel.

My sense of humour is not on call; it turns up when it feels like it.

Is your heart really in it? Listen to it, what does it say?

My heart is wherever I am, beating i...

June 30, 2017

 I went to festivals when I was younger, bare faced, muddy and skint in charity shop velvet and cords. No subtlety in our taste for pretty boys and girls with loud guitars. We drank cider, snogged strangers, threw up. We bathed in sweat and lager in the mosh pit.

We wou...

June 30, 2017

It’s Heathcliff’s fault, and River Phoenix and Pete Doherty didn’t help much. It becomes a habit.

Of course, no one is good or bad, there are only shades and flaws.

She doesn’t need him to spear a mammoth.

She’d like to talk about books and ideas and feelings. Yes. Those.


June 30, 2017

Mummy, I would like a humming-bird and also, I would like a swan.

Well, there are no humming birds in Scotland, and I think all the swans belong to the queen.


Emm…history? They just do. We can’t keep them as pets. Anyway, they’re fierce.

The Queen is greedy, keeping a...

June 30, 2017

It took me a long time to find a way to look.

Bleach and eyeliner, velvet and leather, black and silver.

Boots and lipstick, a diamond in my nose.

Now this is me. Like it or not.

It’s superficial, but it’s an achievement. To know how you want to look.

There are other things...

June 30, 2017

The problem is we are islands. The silence is hostile. Even the smoke signals get lost.

It takes someone else to suggest a bridge. One that might meet in the middle.

Ask him to join you on the bridge, she suggests.  Look at each other, she reminds us.

My island has a stor...

June 30, 2017

I have only a finite number of steps for city walking. Glamour, squalor, edification and dereliction crowd me like the filthy pigeons. It looks best from the rooftop, or better still the Crags. Footsore and sticky, we take the Waverley Steps. I’m glad when the train cr...

June 30, 2017

Steam off a hot horse and a drying road.

Heavy rain that dies away like a round of applause, leaving the air singing to a beat of dripping trees. Anxiously counting magpies, where is your wife?

Tiny purple flowers among the buttercups. Fireworks of yellow on the broom.


June 30, 2017

I know he will fear the terrible creatures, their teeth and claws. He is building the little boat that will take him there, and there is no room for me.  He’ll launch it without fearful memories, confident he has the tricks to tame them.

I cannot tell him not all monste...

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