A scattalogical story

A coffee in the park. Breakfast in the garden. The tomatoes are beginning to turn red. The dawter is cooking dinner. The old git’s car is still in the garage, it’ll cost the same as a fleet of Skoda Karoq’s. I walked the orchard and found a golden delicious windfall, sweet and crunchy. But there’s … Read more

Happy Jewish New Year 5781.

It takes one hour and thirty six minutes to travel twenty miles from Crawley to our local Waitrose. Every Friday, come rain or shine, Anna makes that journey to stand outside the back doors of Waitrose – used to be the front doors but Covid closed them – and wearing her headscarf and an engaging … Read more


I have come to the conclusion that I am lazy. Indolence, of course, is the prevaricators excuse for fear. I do loads of things but they’re all displacement activities. I meditate, on rising, and put any thoughts of anything out of my head. I listen to Deepak Chopra and imagine that my world is unutterably … Read more


I’ve talked to my nephew and niece, I’ve talked to my oldest girlfriends, I’ve talked to the old git and I’ve just come in from sitting in the sun, on a bench in the garden talking to my next door neighbour about confusion. Are we not all confused? Are we not victims of governmental decisions … Read more


My little golden Maneki-neko is waving her arm backwards and forwards. I always thought she was Chinese but I’ve since learnt that Maneki-neko is Japanese in origin, at any rate she sits on the left speaker on the shelf in front of the window. She’s meant to wave in good luck. At the moment she’s … Read more


The blueberry bush, of thirty years, was singed by the hot sun as was my ancient camellia, their leaves papery and curled. There are brown patches on the lawn and my two new rose clippings that were doing so well have turned a deeper shade of pale. The blackberries are now shrivelled, the spinach wan … Read more