Tag Archives: scribe doll
London Book Fair 2014
After a warm spell, there’s an icy wind blowing through my jacket as hundreds of us are queuing to get into Earl’s Court exhibition centre. Plastic badge cases are handed out at the entrance. We’ve been instructed to download our … Continue reading
Trying Out a New City (Again!)*
Eclectic, dirty, quirky and – for a European capital – surprisingly scruffy. This city reminds me of a bric-à-brac shop, where a precious artefact, a piece of useless junk, an item of modern tat and a neglected masterpiece lie side … Continue reading
A Translator’s Point of View…*
* Please see Part One of this story, last week, A Bookshop for Free Thinkers …. Last Thursday, 27th February 2014. “Eat. You need sustenance,” says Barbara, my publisher, as the tray with canapés comes towards us. But I can’t … Continue reading
A Bookshop for Free Thinkers
It was advertised through Twitter as a book launch cum Charles Dickens’ birthday party, two years ago. I decided it was the only way to spend a snowy February evening. Trying to keep my balance on the icy Chelsea street, … Continue reading
Picking Up The Pen Again
Just start. Take that first – hard – step. “I haven’t written since before Christmas,” I say to H. “If we stay at home, I’ll just keep working. I really want to write something – anything – today. Besides, we both need fresh … Continue reading
Winter and the Art of Waiting – and Trusting
One of my recurring nightmares is missing Christmas. When I am under intense stress and feel like I am losing control of my life, I start dreaming that, somehow or other, I’ve overslept, miscalculated the dates, forgot to look at … Continue reading
Chatting to Peter O’Toole in Kit Marlowe’s Theatre
We happened to find ourselves in the same corner of the room, looking at a print on the wall, sipping our drinks. We gave each other a polite nod. I was trying not to look too starstruck. Ordinarily, I am … Continue reading
“I feel guilty, it’s all my fault, I’m a bad person” – a Cop-Out?*
I’ve been thinking about the guilt emotion. Wondering if guilt can sometimes provide a secure – albeit uncomfortable – hiding place. Guilt gnaws at our insides. It pinches so hard at the bottom of our lungs, that we cannot take a … Continue reading
Yes
A sea of people rushes forth as soon as the traffic lights turn green. A faceless crowd all looking down as they stride. I dodge them to avoid collision. I try in vain to catch someone – anyone’s – eye. A man’s … Continue reading
Sisters
My sister and I first met nine years ago. Half-sisters, technically. Just two of the numerous offspring scattered around Europe by a father who was – it would appear – irresistible to women. V. and I studied each-other across the table … Continue reading