Tag Archives: katherine gregor

The Polish Woman on the Bus

The emotional memory of that day is much stronger than the memory of the event’s details.    It was 1981 and I was coming home from school on the bus.  I was sixteen.  Without a word, she presented a card … Continue reading

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The First Day of Spring?

Last Sunday morning, 20th March, radio presenters were cheerfully announcing the first day of spring. “It’s not the first day of spring – it’s the vernal equinox!” I grumbled once again. I do that: talk back at radio presenters, cheer … Continue reading

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Just a Five-Pound Teapot

I bought the teapot in Boots.  White with blue and yellow flowers.   Back when there was a Boots in Sidney Street. When they still sold a few household goods and stationery.  I paid about five pounds for it.  I … Continue reading

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New Year’s Eve

A tower of books is rising in the corridor, taller, wonkier by the minute, until it comes tumbling down.  I scoop the books into several plastic bags.  They’re going to Oxfam.  Books I no longer like.  Books I don’t care … Continue reading

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Yuletide

There are things you can’t tell other people – or only just a few people, perhaps: that you love the time of year when nights are long.  That you long for the moment, at around four o’clock, when you watch the … Continue reading

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Unapologetic Anthropomorphism

Scribe Doll

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Why I Find Emojis Sinister

“You just take it too seriously,” F. has told me over the thirty-five years we’ve been friends.  Over the decades, the it has referred to various situations I’ve felt strongly about.  From having to deal with unnecessary and time-consuming bureaucracy … Continue reading

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A Necklace of Words

1. Sfumatura (Italian): a shade, a nuance, but I love the sound of the word fumo (smoke) that forms it. A graduation in colour that’s as subtle as smoke; its very sound evokes a swirl of gossamer.  Close your eyes … Continue reading

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I Want to Live Among People with Salt

Grey outside; on my improvised worktop, red, green, white and gold. Murky, rainy, chilly, gloomy.  An early autumn. But not with the wistful charm of Johnny Mercer’s lyrics.  Not like the entrance of a Jerry Herman heroine, who swoops down … Continue reading

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Last Night of the Proms

I caught the end of the Last Night of the Proms on television last night.  The Royal Albert Hall was once again filled with people, many wearing blue berets with yellow European Union stars, but most waving small Union Jacks … Continue reading

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