A forgotten history…

Once a year, I like to make a pilgrimage up north to Carlisle. It’s due North. A straight shot up the M6. A temporary migration to the homeland. Part of my desire to head ‘up country’ could be explained by cynefin – a sense of being amongst one’s folks – that I’ve explored elsewhere (The…

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St Zita and the Exploding Watermelon

I’d like to offer this post up to the patron saint of household chores, Saint Zita, in the hope that she smiles on me and my efforts to keep the (fricking) house clean.

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The Nostalgia of Blackberries

On the nostalgia of blackberries, beautiful words to describe feelings – and a pissing devil!

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