I’m a little bleary eyed as I write this. It’s gone 02:00am. I have just returned from a nocturnal expedition. Not the planned sort. I must have cut quite a figure, shuffling along the road in my pyjamas. Fortunately, not
Moondance
Remembering the Whale
I reach out and give it another push. It spins idly, in slow rotations on the desk. Dentine against toughened plastic makes an empty, clinical sound. The enamel coated tip is whiter. Sharper. The business end (a thickly curved point)
Sand in My Pockets
In the middle of some humdrum daily activity, I’ll shove my hands into my coat pockets and be met with an unmistakably gritty sensation. I can’t complain; it’s my own fault. The bits of sand that infiltrate all pocket-based items
Blow-Ins
Our migrant birds are returning, and with them, came the first guests of the season. After months of relative quiet, it felt strange to watch Clansman disgorge a line of glinting vehicles and smiling faces. Surf boards and bicycles wobbled
A Mermaid’s Purse
The expression “Mermaid’s Purse” is slightly euphemistic. It conjures up images of Ariel and Sebastian, belting out another steel drum standard in Trident’s underwater kingdom. Personally, I like to imagine the mermaids leaving their purses in a pile on the
Sea People
The water came almost to the rim of my wellington boots… and that was all it took to make them feel bold. Under the milky surface, shadows slipped between drifting knots of weed. They ventured close to where I stood,