On lying about being the outdoor type

Sunday Blog 127 – 17th March 2024 The incomparable Joan Didion wrote, “I’ve lost track of a few people I used to be.” It sounds witty and funny and kind of relatable until its profound truth smacked me in the face from my old journal. My words from August 2002 stare back at me from …

Meditations on Perkins Paste

Sunday Blog 126 – 10th March 2024 In 1972, my world was a bit of a shit-show. I was 6, going on 7, in a small Grade 2 classroom in suburban Perth, under the expert tutelage of a psychopathic nun. She meted out regular duff-ups to a few of us in the class—there was never …

Sydney with Taylor

Sunday Blog 124 – 25th Feb 2024 The last time I was in Sydney was before Covid. Finally I’m back, travelling for work, accidentally coinciding my visit with Taylor Swift. As I wait at the Artisan Hotel off Pitt Street for my dinner companion I think about it all. The Sydney streets had become smudged …

Swanbourne Nostalgia

Sunday Blog 123 – 18th February 2024 This year I promised myself I would attend more workshops at Mattie Furphy’s House, the Fellowship of Writers WA base in Swanbourne. Mattie was part of the Arts and Craft movement in Perth. The home she and her husband created has been moved a short distance away from …

It’s complex

Sunday Blog 122 – 11th February 2023 Trauma, that is. I’ve waded through the entirety of the tiny print, very dense The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van der Kolk in the last week. Because I need to have this seminal text under the belt. Before I get too far into reviewing my single …

Reflections on editing

Sunday Blog 121 – 4th February 2024 For a brief period while in London I flirted with acting and improvisation classes. Once I had to try my hand at playing an East Ender talking things over with a mate. I was supposed to be poor, in trouble with the law, in a tight corner.“Stop!” The …

Seeing sepia in colour

Sunday Blog 120 – 28 January 2024 Old photo albums marinade us in the difficult truth that everything passes. A picture from the late 1920s of my mother as a toddler, smiling in front of the rose garden her father created from the heat and dust in the small town of Winchester in mid-west Western …