There ought to be aversion therapy for tears; a programme targeted at those people who squirm when faced with someone else’s crying. If controlled exposure to spiders for people with arachnophobia is a proven means of slowly dissolving their fear of eight legs, then surely the same should work for people who are mortified by … Continue reading Crying Over You
Gabriel Byrne, the Irish actor, had a book out last year, I heard him talk about it on a radio interview. I didn’t know it was him at first, I just thought, ‘there’s a man with a lovely accent who knows how to tell a story’, and so I kept listening, mostly because of that … Continue reading The Best We Can Do Is Move On
We start to lose the light this time of year and the sun moves back towards the bridges. Every evening as I watch it set from Calton Hill the sun creeps closer to the whale bone rib cage cable stays of the Queensferry Crossing. The runner beans in the backgreen have stopped searching for whatever … Continue reading This Time of Year
I had never heard the phrase before and then (how does this happen?) I came across it again within twenty-four hours. ‘Happiness writes white,’ he said. ‘When I am content, I have no inspiration. Ease causes the muse to fly.’ I didn’t want to believe it, that one needs to be tortured in order to … Continue reading Happiness Writes White
You would think I would have learned by now to temper my expectations. That, being from these parts, I’d have fashioned my character from stronger stuff. How I wish I had mastered the ability to rise above the suspended ceiling of grey, grim damp haze that has fallen in. By the hour I try in … Continue reading Please Stop Raining
There is an unbearable beauty about Edinburgh these days. All week I have witnessed nature’s exquisite performance; free displays so stunning to look upon that I am not sure if they are filling my heart with joy or wounding it with pain. It is too much to take in. I’ve come to think of my … Continue reading Unbearable Beauty
I have been lonely in the past, but I am not anymore. I know I might well be lonely again in the future, and, when that happens, I’ll have to remind myself that the feeling will not last. That’s one of the good things about getting older: we’ve seen it before. Some call it, ‘wisdom’ … Continue reading This Feeling Will Not Last
‘I don’t like it when you write about any of that fluffy stuff. If it’s a piece on trees and the sky and nature I don’t bother to read to the end. It’s the same with babies; they’re of no interest to me until they are two or three-years old, only then do I bother … Continue reading A Child Is Born
‘The thing I dread most, far more than the gossip – and God knows, I really don't like gossip – is the pity. The thought of people feeling sorry for me is too much. My worst nightmare is others holding a pity party on the coat tails of my misfortune.’ It had been a long time … Continue reading I Don’t Want Pity
A late June night. I’d picked her up from the tram, and we were driving back along York Place. From there, we drove down Leith Walk, briefly passing through Haddington Place, before we turned onto Montgomery Street. She lifted her hand, an involuntary action, she didn't seem to know she was doing it, and pressed … Continue reading Absence
My Edinburgh Press 