Tag Archives: katherine gregor

Fifty

Posted on March 8, 2015 by Scribe Doll

One finger for every pie. One colour for every intention. The first thought that flashed through my head when I saw the gloves.  I was in a Norwich shop called ‘Head in the Clouds’ – apparently, UK’s oldest head shop.  I … Continue reading →

Posted in Odds & Ends | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments

Baucis and Philemon

Posted on March 1, 2015 by Scribe Doll

P. and T. kiss in public.  A swift, light peck on the lips, so full of tenderness and respect.  T. squeezes P.’s hand and he holds it, drawing strength from its warmth and reassurance.  I watch them in awe.  They … Continue reading →

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Crawling Slowly Out of the Dungeon

Posted on February 15, 2015 by Scribe Doll

Work.  Work.  You’ve fallen behind with your work.  So you work without stopping.  Except for meals.  You can’t taste the food, really, because you keep glancing at your watch.  Time to get back to work.  When you go to bed … Continue reading →

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On a Train from Norwich to Cambridge

Posted on December 7, 2014 by Scribe Doll

The day is grey and very, very still, self-contained in drowsy introspection.  But maybe it’s not sleeping at all but quietly meditating, plotting an event, contemplating crafting its next miracle. The fog is blurring the silhouette of the trees, like … Continue reading →

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Clocks Take a Step Back, So Take a Step Forward

Posted on October 27, 2014 by Scribe Doll

It’s my favourite day of the year.  I go to bed with a feeling of hopeful anticipation, after setting all the clocks in the flat back by an hour.  As far as I’m concerned, I’m going to wake up to … Continue reading →

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No (Proper) Post Today

Posted on August 31, 2014 by Scribe Doll

Scribe Doll is busy packing and saying goodbye to Brussels. For further information, see Westvleteren. Scribe Doll

Posted in Travel | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

The Castle of Translators

Posted on August 24, 2014 by Scribe Doll

Seneffe.  H. is beaming as we walk into the courtyard.  It is girdled by a horseshoe of former 18th century stables, now turned into guest rooms.  In front of us, beyond the railings, are the tall trees belonging to the … Continue reading →

Posted in Travel | Tagged , , , , | 14 Comments

Pandolfi’s Violin

Posted on August 17, 2014 by Scribe Doll

There’s a twinkle in the eye of the violin in Pandolfi’s sonatas.  He teases, provokes, confuses – then bursts out laughing.  An impish laugh, part-threatening,  part-joyful.  Now, he plays the notes  measuredly, mathematically, in deference to the accompanying continuo, and now … Continue reading →

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Homesick

Posted on July 13, 2014 by Scribe Doll

Wind-swept, East of England skies.  Shapeshifting clouds.  Swirls of white puff that stretch into mountains, curl into castles, swell into dragons, rise into chariots, then metamorphose into angels.  Skies mottled with lead-grey, steel-grey, velvet grey with  undertones of purple, shades … Continue reading →

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The Red Room: A Farewell

Posted on July 6, 2014 by Scribe Doll

The news of the Red Room closing down reached me at a time when I especially feel the need for continuity and something solid under my feet. I am preparing for my fourth house move in eighteen months.  A few … Continue reading →

Posted in Odds & Ends | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments