This is an odd time of year. It’s odd every single year, yet every. single. year I am surprised by it. I can feel the spring moving beneath my feet, feel her stirring and shifting the heavens and the earth, yet we are ice bound, cold and wintery for yet another month. As I begin to look at the calendar I feel the panic, I start to feel for certain that there is no way, no way there is enough…
Dear Mr Pratchett, I have been thinking of writing to you for some time now, writing to tell you how much your books mean to me and my family; but it seems like the hourglass ran out on us. I’m not sure what the communications are like where you are (is there broadband in the silver desert?) but I will write this anyway, and hope it makes its way to you somehow. I remember distinctly the first time I read…
Today. Today was a big day. A momentous day. A day of riotous joy. And also laundry. But mostly riotous joy. Today…I saw grass. The temperatures rose to a might +6c today, which felt like a balmy beach in the Bahamas compared to the -39 we were experiencing just a couple of weeks ago. The snow, which had begun to take on that flopped over look it gets as it begins to melt, is in full retreat. We can see…
Sometimes there is so much to say it is paralysing. The last couple of weeks have been like that, so full and intense that I don’t really know where to begin in recording it. But it would seem strange to not write about something that has been quite transformative, in my mind at least. I’ll have a stab and see how I do. First of all, thank you to everyone who wrote such nice things about my last post, it…