XXIV. The Meadows A storm is blowing through. Aidan. Huge gusts shove children in the playpark, they stagger – little sozzled people – then regain their footing, run. Shouts can’t be heard above the blasting storm that rips through trees, strips boughs, steals hats. The pink curly wig on the girl with fishnet stockings is … Continue reading The Meadows, Kitchen Table
XIX. St Cuthbert’s My plan: to gaze on David glazed in glass bejewelled, a rarity from Tiffany’s. Slingshot held low on pebbled shore, he glances over, searching for Goliath. In the background, flags wave triumphant, God’s inspiration, a spur that we can conquer, vanquish beasts. But today the church is locked to keep at bay … Continue reading St Cuthbert’s, High Street, Lawnmarket
“Once I feel myself observed by the lens, everything changes.” Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida. I’m headed for McDonald Road Library to pick up Camera Lucida. Although I can barely remember ordering it, I must have, as they have emailed to tell me it’s ready for collection. I reckon it was a year and a half ago (more?) that … Continue reading Coffee with Roland Barthes
Yesterday, my friend and I walked the land around Ireland’s oldest linen fabric mill, Clarks of Upperlands, in Mid-Ulster. A section of it is still working after 300 years, but much of it is disused and abandoned, but for a few dog walkers, quiet explorers like ourselves, and more than the odd ghost. We walked … Continue reading Strolling With Ghosts
Having been alerted to my own haphazard use of the full stop I now see it abused everywhere. There is one particular book I am reading. In this book it is placed most unconventionally. Places where you wouldn’t expect. Everywhere. Are full stops. Littered with profligacy. Strewn. Thoughtlessly. Needless to say, it’s driving me mad, … Continue reading You Never Learn To Do It
One of the things I like about writing in the late afternoon or evening is that the light drops without me noticing it. One minute – at least that’s how it seems – the sun is low, but up, and the next thing I know, beyond the glow of my computer screen, the room is … Continue reading Watching Silence
‘Is that so? You’re great for getting up and on the road so early, that’s still the middle of the night for me. Dark until Moffat, you say? That surprises me, either you were driving fast, or the sunrise is later than I thought it was. Yes, that’s true, I suppose it is only the … Continue reading Conversation at Breakfast
Attached to my fridge is a black and white photograph from Hallowe’en 1978. It’s of me and my two sisters standing in the back garden wearing cobbled together costumes. M. is draped in a white sheet with two holes the size of 50p pieces roughly cut out at eye level; the cloth gathered at her waist … Continue reading Samhain
My Edinburgh Press 