Writing my post about Cricket for the ‘C’ post reminded me of another reason why I may have a mental block against the sport. His name was James, a mate of mine at school. He looked like a young Prince Charles, even down to the sticky out ears. He was very English, fantastic at sport, … Continue reading James

On the ‘dangers’ of female travel

I had to reblog this from Road Essays. It’s an intelligent reaction to yet another case (yawn) of journalism creating news rather than reporting it. Having done a bit of travelling myself, I couldn’t agree more with this…

Road Essays

This could just be a story about countries deemed dangerous for women to travel to. But it’s more than that. This is a story about our perception of danger and how we’re told time and time again that the unfamiliar and the foreign are more dangerous to us than what is on our own doorstep.

A couple of months back, British tabloid the Daily Mail ran a story in their travel section titled ‘Sex attacks, muggings, and harassment: World’s most dangerous holiday destinations for women (and some of them may surprise you)’. The top ten list declared India; Brazil; Turkey; Thailand; Egypt; Colombia; South Africa; Morocco; Mexico; and Kenya to be the most dangerous countries for female travellers.

We’ll get back to that shortly.  First I want to tell you about a strange encounter I had in Medellin, Colombia in 2001.

After a hard couple of days travelling…

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Fecund (or: Falling in love with two older men from afar)

Fecund is one of my favourite words. It means: fertile, fruitful, reproduction, prolific, rich, pregnant. Juicy word, eh? I remember clearly where I found the word fecund. I was seventeen or eighteen. We were studying David Herbert Lawrence’s The Rainbow for A Level Literature at Princethorpe College, an imposing Catholic boarding school in Warwickshire. There … Continue reading Fecund (or: Falling in love with two older men from afar)


We’re adopting a kitten from a wonderful cat rescue centre called The Kitten Inn next week, and it has made me think about my first cat, Dylan. I moved out of Dad’s house and purchased my first home when I was twenty-three. It was a small, two-bed terraced, with a nice but lonely view of a granite quarry. I hated … Continue reading Dylan