This week, wounds and scar tissue. Not one of my usual efforts, though it is a kind of a Stop and a kind of a Story. I want to give some explanation of why I’ve not been enthusiastically blogging the last few weeks. It all starts with my birth…
Remembrance Day 2016 as commemorated in Brussels and a meditation (or a rant) on the meaning of the day, plus an apology for the recent break in service. Also a little gallery of photos.
History is all around you in Brussels, still I was surprised one day to find myself walking along Rue Edith Cavell… and then I remembered.
If you’ve ever fancied experiencing time travel, I recommend a visit to the Brussels Atomium – go back and see the future we once looked forward to.
These are my three scents – three smells that each conjure up vivid double memories of events widely separated in time and place.
The Ghana Christmas ball was the first Christmas present I remember receiving. I was six years old and I was given the ball by my Father Christmas.
This week I am diminished, made smaller, because last Friday I helped to bury my friend. I’d known Adrian since we were 10 years old and at school together.
In which, still in Brighton, we visit a cafe where once was an antiques shop that I worked in: stories of the two proprietors 40 years ago.
Does bibliomania run in my family? My grandfather, Charlie Warwick, had the reputation of being a bibliomaniac – among other things.
Talking aloud: A 13-year-old memory of a method of qualitative research interrupts and account of my writing process – both involve talking aloud to myself.