Byronic potatoes

I dedicate my lunch today to Lord Byron. One look at the photo above, and you may think that is an insult - either to Lord Byron or to the carapau assado, a typical Portuguese dish, depending on your opinions regarding either or both. Before I explain, and since I am talking about Byron, I... 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 →

Brainstorming solo

Sketches in ink - 14–33 Most of what I have written in the nineteen days since my last blog has been handwritten in flashes of inspiration with an urgent intensity to capture the thought before it skitters off again and gets lost in some pressing domestic chore or other. I spent almost a month enjoying... Continue Reading →

Three strikes and you’re human

I have just had to prove I am human once again. I thought I did that every day. Today, I did was unable to manage it to satisfaction. Twice. Someone on a translation mailing list which I first joined in the previous millennium posted a link to her blog. I felt moved to post a... Continue Reading →

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