Stories for when you're not where you thought you'd be

I don’t recall exactly when I first stumbled upon this wonderful Theodore Roosevelt quote in an old library book. What I do remember is...

I flicked through the pages intrigued, a bemused smile of disbelief creeping across my face. Who WAS this girl? She worked convivially...

(Aka: Provence part one) I painted this picture many many years ago, sometime in the months after I first lived in southern France and,...

We practically lived at the Lido that summer. Every Saturday morning, we paid our 30p and clicked through the silver turnstile, bags...

Some things are hard to talk about. Like lichen. I mean, I love it, but how exactly do you say it? Do you ‘like liken’ or ‘itch for...

Things a cold water swim can teach you about life I felt it in my toes first. The cold slipway underneath my bare feet showed no mercy...

I hesitated. I’d planned to do a walk. All day, rain had clattered at the windows but now the sun had burst through and I had 40 minutes...

Smug. That’s what I was. The water swirled and fizzed around my feet but I was completely dry. While others played ‘chicken’, running for...

Stories from the heart for older generations by Olusola Sophia Anyanwu I have always loved short stories – the way you can dip in and out...

A few reflections as we amble contentedly towards the end of our 10,000 steps a day Walk for Water challenge*: 1) It’s actually pretty...

When my children were small, a trip to the beach always meant coming home with heavy coat pockets: pebbles and shells scraping and...

There’s a woman waiting in the doorway of the Amnesty bookshop. At first I think she’s queuing so, obediently, I stand myself and my son...

‘Avignon, aller-retour’ my friend pronounced clearly as we got on the bus. She took her ticket and moved on. My turn. ‘Le même, s’il vous...

I have wanted to make Frittelle di Carnevale, or at least to eat them again, ever since a brisk bright February morning in Venice nearly...

When people ask me where my love of language came from I say it all began in foreign kitchens. One in particular. In a pretty white...

One of the first linocuts I ever made, dabbling in a college art course way back in my twenties, was this African weaver and her baby. I...

If I had the chance again, I maybe would have said one more thing. Five years ago, I had mere days to write a eulogy, to summarise a...

Fiesta at Els Àngels (2nd August 2015) It was the satnav - or rather our disdain for it - that took us to Els Àngels. Scoffing at its...

There are few things I love more than buying art and writing materials: vibrant inks, chunky cartridge paper, pencils, shiny new...

The sea was Mediterranean aqua this weekend, blatantly masquerading as somewhere far more exotic than the south coast of England. They...