Tag Archives: scribe doll
Voice, Stone, Wood and Air as One
I love Early music. I love its level-headedness, its lack of mood swings. It’s everlasting YES. Part of the reason I listen mostly to Mediaeval, Renaissance and Baroque music throughout the day is because, besides its being soothing and immensely … Continue reading
A Tree with a Name Beginning with S
“I need a new tree friend,” I say to S. “A tree like my oak Merlin, outside my window in Wimbledon.” My new friend S. is a children’s and young adult fiction writer. She doesn’t find anything odd or unusual … Continue reading
Zebras at the Opera House
Last night, I eagerly tuned in to the BBC Radio 3 live broadcast from the Metropolitan Opera, New York, of Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot. It’s one of my favourite operas. I didn’t listen to it till the very end, though, because … Continue reading
Borzoi
I couldn’t believe my eyes, so I dodged my way through the Saturday lunchtime crowds by the market, and strode towards him. Two women were stroking his cream head. When he saw me, he slid past them and lifted his … Continue reading
“So What Brought You to Norwich?”*
When I tell the truth, they don’t believe me. I was brought to Norwich by a sheet of paper, a pen, and a china mug. It was winter 2013, and I was at odds with my life. There appeared to be … Continue reading
– and that’s Jazz.
It’s 7.45 and all the tables are already occupied. The staff are carrying in more chairs. Drinks are sipped. The hubbub of chatter hovers over the room, an evocation of the cigarette smoke of yesteryear. The jam session is advertised … Continue reading
Welcoming In The New Year*
Raid all the cupboards and drawers. Throw into the charity shop bag anything you no longer want, toss into the bin liner anything nobody would want. Make room for the beautiful, the useful, the new. Vacuum the carpets, remove the … Continue reading
There’s no Santa Claus but…
Tamsin wrote the letter with her favourite pen. The blue and gold one she had got for her birthday. She formed all the letters carefully, so Santa Claus would be able to read her handwriting. Her grandmother said good children … Continue reading
Socially Impaired
I am brusquely jolted from my mellow, Sunday morning slumber. I’ve just remembered. I have to go to a party this afternoon. Oh, heck. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” I tell H. over a plateful of French toast. … Continue reading
Advent Carols at Norwich Cathedral
“We should get there at least half an hour earlier to get a decent seat.” “Half an hour!” “Bring a book.” “I don’t know… reading a book in church?” “Other people chat before the service, which I find infuriating. At … Continue reading