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I leave the supermarket with two loaded bags of groceries; I’ve just spent 15 minutes in a checkout queue and glad to leave the noisy, chaotic
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Despite the punishing mid-day sun we decide to walk up into hills of Isola Maggiore.
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Winter is upon us; it is now often dark when I leave the office to ride home …
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The storm has been raging for two days; the autumn leaves that had been lying on the ground like damp confetti
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For a fleeting moment I allow myself to close my eyes…
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As a child I would sometimes stand in front the 70’s styled fireplace and gaze into the face of the wooden wind-up clock
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It’s 1985, it’s winter, I am 21 years old and living in a small cottage that I share with my brother and two friends.
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I once stood at the very end of a sun bleached pier.
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I leave the house for the first time in three days…
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I nervously board the tube train; I am on edge.
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I have come to the conclusion that urban rail travel produces a different set of behaviours to non-urban travel.
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I am sitting in front the computer, locked in my office; I am working flat-out to meet a client deadline.
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I have been cycling to work along the same route for about five years
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I woke up early on Monday morning, and after breakfast I stood in the garden to drink my first cup of coffee of the day.
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7.30AM. I wake, rub my eyes, and get out of bed; I begin the daily ritual of preparing breakfast, bathing, and getting myself ready for work.
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I sometimes have a dream, a recurring dream I suppose
