Fifteen years ago, when International Women’s Day had a lower profile than it has now, I attended a lunch where Anita Roddick of The Body Shop was guest speaker. I remember her as being dynamic and funny; she delivered extemporaneous stories, talked without a script, and effortlessly held the attention of her audience. It was … Continue reading Winning Women
Sensory overload, information overload, news overload, work overload, people overload. What about, ‘thinking overload’? What about those same old, tired thoughts that, if you are anything like me, are heavy to lift and wearing to carry around? I’m going away from the weekend and I have to pack within a 10-kilo weight limit. Easy for most, but … Continue reading Being Human
His voice is the first thing I hear when I walk into the shop. “Mina.” He is calling to her down a book-lined corridor to the back room where volunteers are sorting through bags of donations. “Those shoes I bought here before Christmas – remember? The size thirteens? I nearly didn't take them. Haven’t they’ve turned out … Continue reading Glass Half Full
I’m sitting in Edinburgh’s Poetry Library. I often sit here. I sometimes work here. It is modern, bright, quiet, and never too warm. Like being at home, I need an extra layer here. The soundscape moves from quiet footsteps and soft tapping keyboards to the gentle hubbub of staff dealing with visitors’ enquiries. They speak … Continue reading Even The Simplest Poem
“Could you send me the name of the wine you brought when you came for dinner the other night?” Ping. Back came an immediate response: “Canny Mind.” Gone are the days of wines being named after the vineyard, the land where the grapes are grown or the winemaker himself. Château Des Maures, Cloudy Bay and … Continue reading Canny Mind
I bumped into S. on my morning walk to Life of Pie (Canadian salute to the wonderful Yann Martel) where I go for my morning coffee and to get online. “Of course,” S. nodded when I told her about my routine, “there’s no wifi where you’re staying.” No, there isn’t. And after the initial jitteriness of feeling … Continue reading My Secret Place
Every so often my father used to tell me: ‘these days are the best days of your life.’ It would confuse me. ‘You told me that last year,’ I’d remind him. He wasn’t forgetful. He knew full well he’d told me the same thing a year ago. He tried to explain: those were the best days, just as … Continue reading These Days
