Brutalism

I love Brutalist Architecture. I love it. I love the size and the shape and the colours (or lack of colours) of it. I feel strongly about it. To me, it is anything but brutal. It is sublime and sculptural, and makes me feel immediately fascinated yet humbled whenever I see it. As an appreciator … More Brutalism

Sylvan

Even here, deep in suburbia, It is wild tonight. Everything gilded in Silver. Sharp silhouettes softly shadowed yet lights fan out, sharp as a blade. Slipping out, no sound carries. I feel in the deep Sea or darkest space. The chill calms me. Soothes my teeming mind. Yet also excites it, for even though I … More Sylvan

Night Sea

Porthgwidden, that most welcoming of sands. Blue in the sapphire moonlight. At moonrise, the waves are amplified. Becoming the soft breathing of sleeping giants. Gulls glide ghostly above the midnight black waters as the surf draws contoured hills on the sloping tideline.   Busy ships twinkle: stars in a velvet sky, with no horizon. All … More Night Sea

Seas Of St Ives

Cerulean. Aquamarine. Cobalt. Sage. Sorrel. All undulating in shimmering bars. Matt and impenetrable in cloud, yet translucent and brilliant when brought to life by light. A spectrum of water colours swirling langorously and loyally around an achingly beautiful enclave. Surrounded almost entirely by tides, that have sulpted the deeply loved land as they do driftwood, all … More Seas Of St Ives

Improvising

To become a snail, when human, is quite a thing. To make one’s home mobile, and transport it to a new place, is yet another. To convey one’s family in the same frail shell is yet another permutation. One which I undertook in August, along with my wife and Four Year Old son. We went … More Improvising

À Mon Retour

It is all so very familiar: From a certain light at sunset to the sudden fresh breeze. Dusty warmth to the air caressing lithe beach bodies, both male and female. In fragrant supermarkets the strong, open-faced women with Work-worn hands. Their denim-clad husbands. Family dinners with all eating together. Fireworks after dark, and the sensuality of everything. … More À Mon Retour

Lifelong Loves

I always write about familiar, often achingly familiar subjects. So this one has proved a challenge. I have begun asking people for writing requests, with complete freedom of choice, and the latest is Robin Hood’s Bay. I have never been there, but thanks to my Uncle Pete who is approaching awesome  nonagenarian status, I now … More Lifelong Loves

When I Grow Up

When I was growing up, my bedroom was in the loft of my parents house. I had to ascend a steel ladder, and If I so wished could shut a hinged trapdoor against the rest of the house. Hermetically sealed and Ten years old, I would read Arthur C Clarke novels and listen to Mike … More When I Grow Up

Under the Counter

Despite the sharp chill blowing from the mountains, the boy was sweating. He’d been watching the door of the Skyland restaurant for over an hour now, and looked on in dismay as it got busier and busier. He checked the barrel of his Grandfather’s Webley revolver one last time, then stowed it behind him, tucking … More Under the Counter