Tag Archives: writing

Tallis versus Byrd – when you lack the appropriate vocabulary

Posted on March 15, 2015 by Scribe Doll

“You can really tell if it’s Byrd or Tallis from the first few bars?” H. likes some Early and 16th Century music, but is more of a Romantic and 20th Century man.  He likes passion in music.  I like post-white-ruff … Continue reading →

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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 →

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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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The Busker

Posted on November 2, 2014 by Scribe Doll

It was a voice carried by the wind through the semi-deserted streets of a Norwich Sunday afternoon. A voice that sang not into your ear but into your heart. I started walking towards it. He was standing outside NatWest Bank, … 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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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 →

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Pictures of Saint-Gilles

Posted on June 9, 2014 by Scribe Doll

In the heart of bas Saint-Gilles, the cobbles of Le Parvis are lined on both sides with cafés, brasseries and a couple of Moroccan cake shops.  Tables are put outside at the first glimmer of elusive  Brussels sunshine.  People sit … Continue reading →

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Place de Bethléem

Posted on June 1, 2014 by Scribe Doll

The early evening light bathing Place de Bethléem carries flecks of sunlight.  Since moving to Brussels, I’ve had to arrange my timetable according to the sun.  In other words, as soon as I glimpse a rare hint of a sunbeam, … Continue reading →

Posted in Travel | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments