I love potatoes and I love Barry Manilow. I bet that Barry loves potatoes too because his mother was Irish, and I have yet to meet an Irish person who does not hold a solemn appreciation for the potato. Mind you, Barry doesn’t have the figure of a man who enjoys his spuds; he is … Continue reading I Love You Barry Manilow
Games are easily mastered with only three years of life experience in your bones. Nothing about the world has made you cynical, nothing or no one makes you feel foolish. A game is whatever you think of, and whatever you think of is endlessly fascinating, hilarious, wonderful. The almost three-year-old had found the bouncy egg, … Continue reading The Game of Life
I think about you often, not as a continuum, not as a timeline, but as something whole, rounded, and intact, a ready-made container within which is everything I require for my life. I think of you as an old-fashioned trunk, one that might have accompanied someone on a passage to India a hundred years ago. … Continue reading Monologue with Life
Five people holding hands and dancing in a circle. Dance (La Danse) is a 1910 painting by Matisse. The bodies are painted red, they dance on a mound of green, the backdrop behind them (sky?) is blue, and they are naked. The colours are vibrant – two primary colours, one secondary – and the simple, primitive style … Continue reading Gotta Dance
I am walking along the West Strand when the sight of two couples playing frisbee unlocks a memory. Down it falls from the sky, unbidden, a moment I did not know I had filed away. It plays out like a film; so like a film that I wonder if it is my memory at all … Continue reading Frisbee
Life is confusing, demanding, complicated – or so I think, most of the time. Then I have the occasional thought otherwise, smoky thoughts that I can never quite pin down. I’ve tried to explain it here in fourteen lines. Simple, by Eimear Bush We make a meal of this life thing With four pots on … Continue reading Simple
Small consolations. That’s what the last year has been full of. We are told to observe them, to remember that life is made up of them, a series of tiny moments, most of which we dismiss as inconsequential. Yet the more we take notice of the small consolations, the more apparent it is that they … Continue reading A Year of Consolation
When children do it, it is said to be normal; their imaginary friends are thought of as the captivating make-believe workings of a lively mind. When grown-ups do it, and are either silly or plucky enough to tell anyone, they are in danger of being looked at askew (at best) or being told to immediately … Continue reading Imaginary Friends
I am slowly reading Flann O’Brien’s Irish classic, The Third Policeman. Slowly, because of his complex circumlocution, or rather, that of his characters, all of whom have a long-winded way of saying things. When eventually they do get to the point, it is rather unclear what that point might be, which, in itself might be … Continue reading The Courage to Say No
One of the things that lifted my mood during the week was listening to Surfer Girl by the Beach Boys. Let’s face it, even when the Beach Boys are singing something sad, they lift your mood in that poignant, feel-good, ‘oh how I yearn to wear a pair of pink pedal-pushers and feel the sand … Continue reading Accentuate The Positive
My Edinburgh Press 