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We make a lot of assumptions about loneliness, sometimes forcing ourselves onto people who are honestly fine with being alone thank you very much. Perhaps there is a difference between loneliness and being alone. The first can occur for many reasons but is generally done 'to you' not 'by you' and can be a result of a series of abandonments as people exit your life. The second is perhaps more likely to be your choice. You are alone because you have selected to live your life b

Where did my family come from? When? How did I get to be where I am today? Who and what made me who I am?   I have started tracing my ancestry on numerous occasions but I become distracted and rarely get far. My mother once handed me a pile of papers and asked me to shred them. With a writer's curiosity I decided to investigate first. They must have belonged to my grandmother, a woman of little warmth and a love for whisky. Insurance certificates mingled with old photos and n

Hana stomped up the wooden steps leading to her Nanna's house. She was really not in the best of moods, but then she hardly ever was lately. She didn't understand why it was her job to call in every day on the way home from school and make sure Nanna was still bloody well breathing when she could be doing something fun with her friends. Although, after her little outburst today, she was wondering if she would still have any friends left. Nope, Hana wasn't going to feel guilty

It was always cold in the apartment block where the writer had lived for some years now. There was no elevator so he tromped down eight floors to the ground, his shoes stuffed with cardboard where the soles had worn through. Nobody really needed writers any more, or so they had been instructed, and his income had all but dried up. He had a few clients, mainly elderly emigres with arthritic fingers and he penned their letters back home, occasionally wrote a memoir. Today he ha

Ella ran, not looking back, bare feet pounding the pavement, dodging the dog shit, glass and other debris. Heart racing, breath catching, she headed west, trying to keep a clear head and a picture of her destination in mind. Refuge, sanctuary, pounding a rhythm through her brain. She darted into a patch of woodland and her pace slowed. It was dark, she needed to move carefully. Something scurried over her feet and she almost screamed. She trod on something sharp, a twig perha

She awoke in the unfamiliar bed, under the sheet she hadn't picked out and glanced to her right, just as the sun sent groping tendrils through the cracked blinds. He was still, neck at an impossible angle. She remained impassive, short clips from the previous night flashing through her brain. The crowded bar, the shots of tequila, the pretty, blonde man child who now lay unmoving beside her. He had been persistent and eventually she had caved in, accompanying him to this room

Growing up in a country that had seen its fair share of invasions, civil wars and revolts, there were many traditions and rituals performed and celebrated. 5 November was possibly one of the most exciting and terrifying ones for a small child, the celebration of the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605. This was an attempt to commit regicide against King James 1 of England and Scotland, led by a group of Catholics, most notably Guy Fawkes. The intention was to blow up the Houses of

I'm looking at a woman, not a young woman, but one with many years behind her, and hopefully a few left in front. I'm looking at her because I know her oh so very, very well. Today I'm looking at her struggling because lately she finds interaction with people increasingly difficult, the outcome of an outing rarely what she had imagined. This is making her angry, twisting her insides, causing her to frequently think, and occasionally say, fuck it. It's not that people are stup

I haven't heard it come out of the mouth of a parent or teacher for many years but this was a very common statement when I was a child. "There's no such word as can't." I believe it meant you shouldn't place limitations on what you can achieve, which is all well and good if you are four years old and struggling to tie your shoe laces. Sooner or later you will master that or just wear slip on shoes (creative problem solving). But if you're standing on a precipice with a hoard

I don't usually scribe on a Sunday but today I have beef and it's not roast beef. I honestly don't think I could. And here's why.   Originally trialled in 1939 to distribute an excess of agricultural produce (yes an excess) to mostly white Americans at the tail end of the great depression, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) was officially launched by President Johnson in 1964, building on a commitment already made by JFK. That's enough of the history lesson.

A ray of sunshine pierced its way through the encrusted dirt on the window. It had been many years since a window cleaner had paid a visit to the cottage in the woods, if ever. The light danced across the room, settling on a spot on the far side of the heavy oak table, forming a little pool of light. A spotlight, Gilda thought, remembering how, in another heartbeat, she had been drawn to the light, adored using her voice, her body, to create a spectacle on stage. It had been

Kezia reached the middle of the balance beam and wobbled. Shaking her head, she jumped down, took a few deep breaths and tried again. Another wobble, in exactly the same place. For two weeks now this had been happening and she knew she had to get her shit together before the competition. She could feel Coach watching from across the gym as she gave it another shot. Same again. Frustrated she grunted, leapt from the beam and headed for the changing room.   Standing in front of

Truffles are unique. They aren’t like fruits that ripen even if separated from a plant: they’re a fungus that stops ripening when removed from the ground.   It was the dead of night, lit only by a canopy of stars and there was a distinct chill in the air as the cloaked figure moved out of the shelter of a clump of trees, a large dog by their side. This land that sat above the woodland already claimed by a farmer, was a rich source of black truffles, one of the richest in the

Are we malleable enough to be manageable, us wild women, artists, writers, activists, rebels with a cause? Do we need a man to plan our day, ensuring his expectations are met, nay exceeded even? Must we have a boss who steals our ideas, taking all the credit and leaving us micro-managed and empty? Thoughts on the back of a postcard please.   My postcard has a picture of a baby, round-cheeked and charming. Cherubic mouth surrounded with ice-cream, blowing a raspberry to the wo

The Rain Came   The summers got hotter and hotter every year and this one had been a doozy. The hi-lifers in their mansions and castles atop the hills didn't care. They had everything they needed for a life of luxury; air conditioning, cool marble floors, swimming pools and fountains. Some of them had statues of themselves sculpted to stand at the entrance or in their lush, green gardens.   In the valley, the lo-lifers sweated and toiled on the land, growing many varieties of

She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.    

For the longest time I felt as though my heart had stopped beating, even though I could still breathe. Yet even breathing became difficult and I struggled to catch a breath so many times during the long, long days that echoed your departure. You had been my world, the spark that lit up my life. Now, everything felt flat, dull, permeated with a rot that seeped into the very bones of me, making them brittle, rendering me unable to move. I don't know how long I stayed that way,

As an olive-skinned girl growing up in a solidly white world, I hated my dark brown eyes. I wanted blue ones like my purely English cousins and the neighbourhood kids. One of my early memories is of my Mum telling me how much she hated taking me for my check-ups as a baby. Apparently, the other babes were plump, pale and rosy-cheeked, happy little cherubs. In contrast, I was prematurely scrawny, dark and had a shock of black hair, Mohican style. I also screamed. A lot. My Mum

Justice is the ethical, philosophical idea that people are to be treated impartially, fairly, properly, and reasonably by the law and by arbiters of the law, that laws are to ensure that no harm befalls another, and that, where harm is alleged, a remedial action is taken .   Thank you Wikipedia.   I no longer believe in justice, I have no faith in the law or those who are appointed to uphold it. If we can allow war criminals to run countries while committing genocide, there i

As a teenager, I was just a little obsessed with shoes, with clothes and dressing up full stop to be precise. This was back in the days when underage drinking was the norm, and the law was rarely enforced. The whole week was spent planning outfits for Friday and Saturday night, and, of course, you could never wear the same one twice. A lot of my clothes were bespoke, created by my talented mother on her old sewing machine from patterns I adapted. Others came from the one bout