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To the land of daffodils and roses

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What do you think? Give it a go? Yes - we did have a ride on a double decker. Of course! After doing our apprenticeship on the Metro, the London underground was a cinch! My Auntie Doreen - Hannah's great Aunt! - loves teddies. Guess how long she's had this one! This bear had us in stitches. It does an hysterical foot-tapping rendition of Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head. An unusual and poignant reminder of what the women did. Liz - my cousin, well - second cousin actually - and Hannah. So is she Hannah's third cousin? Does anybody know how this family stuff works? Looks like some got the punch line and some didn't. Come on Uncle Haydn, where's that Welsh sense of humour? The river Cothi in Wales where my uncle catches salmon - though, sadly, not as many these days. The Black Lion in Abergorlech serves up a pretty hearty Wednesday lunch. Did you know the Welsh have never heard of a 'lemon, lime and bitters'? I ordered one in a pub in Aberaeron and w
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Black Saturday

It’s the same story told over and over and over. Same horrific details. Same descriptions. Same turns of phrase – It was like a hurricane – a hurricane of fire You could feel the oxygen being sucked out of the air The roar was like a thousand jet aircraft – I’ll never forget the roar I saw the fire come in the smallest crack – like a blow-torch – searching for oxygen The tops of the trees were snapped off – not by the fire – by the wind – by the force of the wind We had no warning We only had seconds The house was on fire and so was the car We lost everything – everything The whole town is gone – it’s all gone The whole family has gone It’s a wasteland of death It’s like Hiroshima I haven’t been able to cry yet This morning he was here — The same story. But always a different story teller. So many story tellers. Too many story tellers. Not enough story tellers. It is Wednesday and five minutes before the end of the music lesson. Twenty five eight-year-olds have been happily engaged in
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The Fall

Last week I fell over in our back yard. One minute I was climbing over the little fence that stops my marauding chooks from demolishing the garden beds, the next I was sprawled on the brown summer grass, ready for a game of dead ants. I’d been planting pittosporums and native grasses in our newly mulched back corner, feeling chuffed I’d worked a miracle in enlisting help from my reluctant teenage son and that what had been the messiest part of our garden was starting to look aesthetically very pleasing. When we’d nearly done, I stepped over the fence to fetch the rake so we could smooth out the mulch and finish up. But my foot caught in the wire mesh. As soon as my shoe hooked the top of the wire, I knew the fall would be a bad one. And though the whole sorry event was over in an instant, that instant seemed interminable. As if it were happening in slow motion… Nothing can stop this. I don’t have time to waggle my foot out. I’m already on my way down and I’m on a really awkwar
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