I wrote this story on the train, the same day that it happened at the end of May 2014. Here it is, typed up ten months later: On this mild but quite sunny afternoon the bench on the railway platform is vacant. Vacant, except for a large dog lying down on the ground near a... Continue Reading →
Strawberry Exchange
Sketches in ink - 43 My grandfather, born this week in 1908, retired from his position as underground manager at one of the copper mines on the Copperbelt, Zambia at the age of 45. He spent some time thereafter as a caretaker of an apartment block, for which pleasure he and my grandmother got to... Continue Reading →
This too, is sky
Sketches in ink - 41 When first they fell on the concrete at my kitchen door the pale pink and white petals of the almond blossoms danced as I passed and fluttered about as the wind gathered up its gustiness. Is spring on its way? Now rain-sodden and forlorn, they are nothing more than a... Continue Reading →
Old things
Sketches in ink - 39 My sheepskin slippers are an essential part of my translation toolkit. Occasionally, they wear out. Invariably, I take months to replace them, despite a gaping hole in the toe of one, and the resultant lack of warmth. I suppose I should be embarrassed, but I am not. I was, however,... Continue Reading →
Almost there
Sketches in ink -38 It has been 28 years since I did exercises of any kind in a group. I kid you not. If you are a gym junkie and good at mental arithmetic and historical trivia, you will realise that I am making vague references to Jane Fonda workout tapes, and similar. The warm-up... Continue Reading →
Looking out
Sketches in ink - 37 The first few hours of this day constituted what I call a perfect morning: rising early without the aid of the alarm, immediately followed by several hours of work in utter peace and quiet while my partner sleeps. This brings on - as if it were the most natural thing... Continue Reading →
Making my own
Sketches in ink - 36 After six years of practice, I am no stranger to hacking through an overgrowth of weeds during winter in the Algarve. In fact, doing just that was an integral part of my embarking upon the journey of learning the Portuguese language; a kind of grassroots approach, if you like. Our... Continue Reading →
Looking in
Sketches in ink 34-35 Days pass too swiftly into night but there is little rest; no snug hearth nor the bed of yesteryear with warm arms to enfold me as I drift into dreams. It is cold and already dark, yet I have chores outside to complete, and shutters to close. I look inside as... Continue Reading →
A new perspective
Sketches in ink - 6-13 I am cheating. I am not going to sketch the last few days today. I fly back home to Portugal tomorrow. This is my last night in Brisbane with my parents, my sister and her family. My holiday is almost over. My sister, the artist and art teacher for many... Continue Reading →
Conversation in the car
... some years ago he planted "sap-free" pine trees from Japan, and now makes flat-pack coffins...
That elusive pair of jeans 