Reflections

Making my day

There are various rewards to writing, starting with the exotic experience of being sucked into a fantasy world of one’s own creation. I suspect all authors experience moments of such utter absorption everyday life becomes a fuzzy noise in the background, an inconsequential little irritant in an existence that is entirely focused on the story […]

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Pavlov’s dogs and all that

Whenever I approach my house, I am overtaken by an urge to pee. I insert my key into the lock and have to twist my legs together – entirely ridiculous as quite often there should be no such need. Into the hallway, kick off shoes, dump my rucksack and after setting yet another new record

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The generation that never was

There’s a poem by Swedish Nobel Laureate Pär Lagerkvist that deals with death and afterlife, in which he rather sadly states that “soon it will all be taken from me; the trees, the clouds, the ground upon which I tread. I will wander on alone, leaving not the slightest trace.” But people do leave imprints

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Shop until you drop

It is five thirty on the Friday after pay day, and I’m stupid enough to be at IKEA with a shopping list long as my arm and droves of people equally equipped. Of course, the reason all of us are there at this same time is because our lists exceed our end-of-month wallets, and so,

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Cleaning out my closets

In less than three months, we will have moved out of our house and into an apartment. (This is one of the consequences of falling in love w seventeenth century walls – if you buy a country home, you must economize elsewhere) Having lived in this particular house for over a decade, the attic is

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Black is always black – sartorial elegance through the ages

I don’t think Mrs Cavewoman paid all that much attention to what she was wearing – at least not for the first ten thousand years or so. Or maybe she did … “Why can’t you kill me a nice leopard for a change, huh?” Mrs C glares at Mr C over dinner. “Look at her,

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The landscapes of the past

One of my favourite pastimes is to visit old churches. Not the fancy, huge Cathedrals, but rather the small, dilapidated churches that so generously dot our continent. The gate to the graveyard might squeak (or yet it might not, the hinges kept oiled by some diligent soul), headstones stand in ordered rows that degenerate to

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… When I’m sixty-four …

… my sister will be sixty-one, and hopefully we’ll still have several years of brisk walks and rambling conversations before us. Walking with my sister is something of a challenge. While being approximately 10 centimetres shorter, she has an impressive stride – and pace. Being the eldest, no way do I intend to let on

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Why idiotic tracts have to be conserved for the future

I guess (assume, HOPE – take your pick) that most of us believe in freedom of speech. Many of us do so by rote, i.e. it’s a knee-jerk reaction rather than a rational conclusion – we’ve been brought up believing in democratic rights and it’s necessary appendage, freedom of speech. Now and then I think

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