An apologetic shade of blue. Yes, I can remember what I was wearing quite vividly, even though it was 2003. It’s not that long ago for remembering details, is it? A cheap polyester suit in a tired, non-descript hue; a colour that doesn't make you stand out, one that’s rather sorry for itself, that looks washed … Continue reading Sign From Above
I’m better. Pretty much. The fire in my head has been doused. T. told me to drink hot whiskey. I didn’t. Not because it wasn’t a good idea, I just forgot to uncork the bottle of Bush each evening. Y. suggested I gently tap below my eyes, from the bridge of my nose to my temples, tracing the … Continue reading Dream Angus
What archetype are you living out? You will be embodying one, whacky as it might sound. Probably more than one, and you’ll outgrow it and grow into a new one, like a snake shedding its skin. We all do. We recognise archetypes in other people, but it’s harder to recognise our own. When we use phrases like: … Continue reading If The Shoe Fits
In both the religious and the secular world, November is the month of remembering the dead: the ordinary dead, the glorious dead, the forgotten dead. Remembrance Sunday fell this month and people are still wearing their poppies (a smattering of white now joining the red). They are probably worn for different reasons: to respectfully call … Continue reading Past Glories
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
Years ago I had two short-lived spells of being around horses. Both were at the same stables, high above my hometown on the Corbally Road, a name that I now think of as aptly onomatopoeic; it sounds like something you might say to a horse instead of ‘giddy up’ – ‘cor-bally!’ Sisters, B. and S., … Continue reading Kelpies
There are times writing, when I remember a story someone has told me because it fits whatever convoluted point I’m trying to make. Often I go right ahead and recount it – a stich here, some beading there, a nip, a tuck, a little glue and glitter. Occasionally I stop and think: this is not … Continue reading Tell Stories
The time to make your mind up about someone is never. That’s what my father used to say. It is both an uplifting and depressing maxim as it means, in equal measure, that people can unexpectedly delight and disappoint. They can act out of character - or what you suppose to be their character. For one’s character … Continue reading Ordinary People
I arrived into London’s Kings Cross three hours late, running through the connecting underground passageways of the Tube network towards the Victoria line in a pool of sweat. ‘Horses sweat, men perspire, ladies merely glow,’ my father once taught me. Would that it were true. It was 34 degrees and I was sweating. “Sorry! So … Continue reading And Breathe
About ten years ago, on a camping trip, I caught the little toe of my left foot on a rock when I was messing about in a river. Nature had provided a slide in the form of a long rock rendered smooth from thousands of years of water running over it. Taking turns, we would … Continue reading Wounds
