Hopheads
Some time ago my uncle bought me a hop vine for my birthday. It arrived through the post in a small wooden box, and in the years since I planted…
The Calanques
At Suginot the water swarms around the rock fall, Turquoise and empty. The round power of tides grasps like a pulse. The bending pine branches are green hands Cupping water,…
Sweet tooth
The fellow who usually devises my recipes was busy on another article for the latest magazine, so I used one that a reader sent in. I think it sounds rather…
Miles per gallon
‘Trouble with taking this car out,’ declared a large man with a strong West Yorkshire accent, ‘is that it’s an hour on the road and two hours to clean.’ I…
We should have been together
We should have been together, here, where the water is not natural, where there is a dark pool on the beach. A tank of black water which absorbs light, even…
The tough life
I have just returned from a week in the jasmine-scented surroundings of Fornells Bay, Minorca, with most activity revolving around the sea. I spent my days wobbling and scudding across…
Tit for tat
Christian, my brother, is currently working as an artist-in-residence at a small boarding school in Essex. He lives an implausible existence in a flat above the boys’ boarding house, sparingly…
The King of the High Chaparral
Shuffling brushes like a clenched mikado, mixing the ingredients for paint; earth and iris, and horse-piss, spring water, whiskey, potash and salt, pestled stamens like virgin’s sleep, and arsenic for…
