Outside Scotmid a young girl with matted hair sits on a tartan blanket. ‘Any spare change, please.’ A man carries a baby, pressed like a pillow into his belly. He stops at Bayne’s window to point out the green spider decorations and the buns shaped as pumpkins, iced with orange fondant. The baby is too … Continue reading The Street Where I Live
I am in the Post Office sending parcels, there are two hatches but she says – go to go his, I am sorting something, and as he serves me she speaks sharply to him, saying that he has labelled these boxes incorrectly and has placed a bag where she is bound to trip over it, … Continue reading While There Is Still Time
I’m still in Ireland, spending time between two houses that are located close together, one perpendicular to the other, each with a flow of people coming and going as regular as the rise and fall of the tide. Coriander: that was the first thing the child called for at tea-time, which he got. Five minutes … Continue reading Neighbour
Apparently, over these last few strange weeks, more people than ever are dreaming and remembering their dreams. Some say it’s because we are sleeping longer in the days of lockdown; that we’re dropping into deeper REM sleep when we would otherwise be getting up with the alarm. Others say it’s the psyche flushing out silos of … Continue reading I See In My Dreams
The Big Clap – did you do it? Wasn’t it great? I nearly forgot, but I heard them getting going, and came out from the kitchen into the front room, opened my window two floors up and leaned out into the darkness to clap. I find every standing ovation moving, but this one even more … Continue reading Clap Hands
Everyone wants to be needed. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Each of us have needs to be met, and most of us feel rewarded by a sense of achievement, validation, or plain old love when we look after the needs of others. So, how is it, by and large, that we cannot … Continue reading I Need You
My dad would have been 81 today but he died a few years shy of seeing another decade. It’s long enough ago for me to reflect peacefully, to cradle his absence from a place of stillness. Not that opening packages of memory comes without emotion, but now any pain I feel has a soft give, … Continue reading Whole
St. Patrick’s Day came early for me when I attended a Scottish-Irish poetry event during the week. One of the poets was a young Dubliner called Stephen James Smith. Without reference to paper or book, he delivered a long, lyrical, swiftly paced poem called, ‘Dublin You Are.’ He captured us. It was a love poem … Continue reading Ireland, My Ireland
There is an expression in Scotland that might be unique to just here; at least I’ve not heard it anywhere else. It is the question, “where do you stay?” When I first moved across, it was never far from my ears as people welcomed me, then tried to place me. I interpreted it as an … Continue reading Home
I’m beginning to see Edinburgh as my town. Beginning to. The crowds have descended for the festival, and, as I weave my way through them, I think: “I live here. I know where I’m going (geographically speaking), while most of these people don't. I’ll still be here on Tuesday 28thAugust, when they’ve all disappeared like … Continue reading Our Town
My Edinburgh Press 