Work in progress
Previous | Contents | Next Sunday mornings, however, preceded Sunday afternoons, and my younger brother Angus and I (the “wee boys” as we were known to all and sundry) would begin our day racing down the six flights of stairs, (we lads slept in the attics) one hand on the bannister-rail and the ... Read more
Heather asked me to record an audio version of her uncle Douglas Sharpe’s “little book of reminiscences”, Wind of Dreams — as if anybody would want to listen to a Kiwi read a Londoner’s stories about his childhood, over a hundred years ago now! Nevertheless, here it is — and ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next In retrospect I have often thought it somewhat surprising that, at any rate on some occasions, the Fire Brigade was never alerted by some zealous passer-by on Sunday afternoons to the old Victorian semi-detached in south London which served as our family home when I ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next To me, one of the wonderments of memory is the sometimes quite random triggering, by seemingly unconnected phenomena, of a particular train of recall dredged up from the long flooded depths of the subconscious. A picture here, a poem or a song there, a word, a book, possibly a ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next The fact that for the next few years I earned very little, gave me a bit more insight into the fragile male psyche, as if any more was needed. Whenever conversation came close to what I might be doing personally — “Gidday, what’re you up to?” — I always ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next Our houseIs a very, very, very fine houseWith two cats in the yardLife used to be so hardNow everything is easy ’cause of you — Graham Nash / Crosby, Stills and Nash § In the summer of 1971-2 we were ready to start boat building, but there ... Read more