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My mum keeps sending me photos of my childhood but they’re all wrong.  In one of them, the angle I was sitting is not quite the one I remembered. The feeling associated with the moment does not seem to be represented this time. I start searching inside. I do remember sitting on the roadside, yes. Waiting for the bus, yes but I don’t remember my neighbour’s little sister would be in the picture as she was too young yet to go to school. Actually, when I think about it, I only ever remember that one time when I was the only one in my group catching the bus home and the bus driver was decisive enough not to bother driving me down my road to my bus stop. This time, I got off.. and started shouting and swearing uncontrollably at him, for dissing me. But really, it wasn’t such a long walk home and in my rage of entitlement, considering I had access to international standard education in a 3 rd World Country, I should have really, just put my head down and just said: “Thank you”. My rose-
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I AM - for the stressed child

Image courtesy of Clipart I AM - positive thoughts

This is not a post about anti-vaxxers

For my birthday, I got vaccinated and I feel privileged. No of course I don’t like taking needles. And yes, I would prefer for my immune system to be strong enough to fight a virus. That is why I try to keep healthy, exercise regularly, eat nutritious food, maintain a good work-life balance, take vitamins, reduce the things that stress me, and take care of myself. I am lucky enough to live in a society where I can choose to do these things. Unfortunately, it has transpired that Covid-19 and its variants are not selective. We all live in danger, so I find my self in the position where I seek to take care of myself, my family, my community and in doing so, my part of the planet. As masks were an uncomfortable option, I had to suck in my pride, ignore the awkward and just put one on. For the good of my children, to start with. My son, an asthmatic, may have complications if he were to be exposed to the virus. He already is quite susceptible to viruses. My daughter, a Type 1 diabetic, for



My Country Is Burning - with @theopencollab for the Cheltenham Literature Festival 2020

The Great Rock

  The Great Rock   - I - Nothing is sacred, When you see a long queue to the peak of Mt Everest. When the mystique of the Himalayan Range can’t simply be admired for its grandeur. When humans push themselves so far, the force of ambition takes over In the next prosperous step, to strike off our list: that we “climbed that cliff!” When the queue of traffic means people can’t listen to their bodies, And instead, fall dead.   - II -   Nothing is sacred When rivers worldwide, polluted by antibiotics. Where wildlife swims in the thick water streams, Which exceed environmentally safe standards by over 300 times. When, from the deepest depths, we trawl out plastics Idly strewn at Family picnics.     - III - Nothing is sacred When gas pipelines, built over significant sites. Lands which hold a different wealth. Half-baked assumptions that modern infrastructure, fit entire populations, Do not take in, for our consideration… First world standards placed firmly on third world conditions.     The

Inspiration bubbles

  Inspiration always flattens when pressure places its firm hand upon your special place. So many networks and once again,   I am remote.  ‘The cool group’, ‘the ones in the know’. I would have had, at some point, to be on location, to get known and befriended and make real-time connections but as always,  I’m on the outskirts of every single one of them. So here I sit wondering: how I can make my next piece so punchy I get heard, invited, asked back. The truth is, is that it takes an enormous amount of energy and writing and faith from other people and yourself in you, to make it on the circuit, and then once you’re on, it is so short lived, even if your work is powerful. Artists I admir e most are actually those who allow hibernation to take place, who are comfortable enough to settle into that space between.. the quiet of the mind where no-one sees. Where the wistful open thought dives deep and waits, bubbles blopping up to the surface at a gentle rate, heart slowing down and