Category Archives: Moving on

It goes without saying

I often feel that I talk too much and, indeed, I often do.  Some of this is innate, I think:  I have such an urge to try to express things, I gain such relief and pleasure in my quest to … Continue reading →

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Like Breathing Out and Breathing In

I have been present at first breaths, and last breaths.  Only at those most intimately connected with me: my children’s births and my mother’s death. And since, in female babies, the eggs of their potential children already nestle in their … Continue reading →

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The Habit of Love

Good Morrow, friends. St Valentine’s is past A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act IV Scene i What is love?  This huge essential word.  It motivates us so strongly, and at the same time it is ubiquitous and clichéd.  Patently, it ranges … Continue reading →

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It is time to speak of Julia

I am re-reading Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. It’s a striking, indulgent, flawed novel, I think. Not entirely successful, but somehow it communicates a – to me, irresistible – sense of beauty, loss and yearning which repeatedly draws me back. … Continue reading →

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The Mad Woman in the Attic

Sometimes I dream of being in a familiar house, opening a door and finding a forgotten room. This is a common dream theme, a recurrent trope. The discovery brings with it with a strange small mis-step lurch of emotion: how … Continue reading →

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Portway

At the top of our road is a thoroughfare named Portway. It heads roughly east to west, with houses and side roads along its southern edge and West Ham Park bordering to the north. This park was originally part of … Continue reading →

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Staying, still

Sometimes we know when we are about to create significant memories:  a marriage vow, a graduation, a last visit to the vets.  But other times they creep up on us and only that wise counsellor, hindsight, recognises significance.  So with … Continue reading →

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How does it make you feel?

‘Our possessions outlast us, surviving shocks that we cannot; we have to live up to them, as they will be our witnesses when we are gone. In this room are the goods of people who no longer use them’ Hilary … Continue reading →

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If I knew you were coming

I made a cake at the weekend.  I don’t often bake these days but it was my son’s birthday and traditions are reassuring.  My mixing bowl is a Mason Cash – you know the type, surely in the UK it … Continue reading →

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In My Mind’s Eye

Another national lockdown returns me to Dickens.  I have written already about the reassurance and pleasure provided through long novels.  Good audiobook versions are my substitute for live theatre:  more than anything else, this is where I can find compensation … Continue reading →

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