Tag Archives: travelling

Writing isn’t just about having an idea – you have to know what to do with it

I’m sitting at the bar of a coffeeshop in Amsterdam, scribbling away. A man, standing next to me, gestures at my notebook and says: what do you write? I’m actually writing about my notebook, I tell him. Some people who … Continue reading

Posted in Essay, Fiction, Memoir, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

What’s the problem with being up a mountain with no phone signal or orienteering skills?

It has begun to rain. The wind comes in cycles – building, building – so that at its peak my body wobbles and I contemplate the steepness below me: images of tumbling headfirst down lumps and bumps, through sharp grass. … Continue reading

Posted in Essay, Memoir, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 31 Comments

All a writer can ask

The first Christmas I remember, I was four. My dad was working on a project in Malawi to develop coffee production for those with smallholdings. My mother took me and my brother out to Africa for the holidays. (This is … Continue reading

Posted in Essay, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 32 Comments

A bus is at its best when it’s a taxi

Dan and I are walking over the bridge to the bus stop. It’s not yet six o’clock, but the winter darkness has the river hidden. Only the streetlights can cut through the black, casting golden beams across the sodden streets. … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , | 24 Comments

When you find yourself in a room with two strangers, having to fake an orgasm, it’s best to leave the country and change your life

I’m in the upper gallery of the Sheldonian Theatre, watching a graduation ceremony take place in Latin. Ad honorem Domini nostri Jesu Christi, the Vice-Chancellor intones, but I’m distracted by the fact that a few hours earlier I had to … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

The magical act of returning

The sky is beginning to drop its heavy white. Clumps of fog tumble down from the mountaintops into the valley where the cottage is. I stand by the window with my dad. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to … Continue reading

Posted in History, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 25 Comments