When I was young, my favourite authors were those I felt I knew. I lived and breathed the Famous Five and Tracey Beaker, wanted desperately to become a dancer in Ballet Shoes,…
Browsing Tag
writing
-
-
When I first meet the poet Inua Ellams, he is standing beside Nelson Mandela’s statue. Our little group of strangers is huddled in the doorway of London’s Southbank Centre, right beside…
-
“The day the compass spun…” Eleanor’s eyes were bright, her knife and fork abandoned at either side of her china plate. “It was when we skied along that frozen river – Bob, you remember?”…
-
“Ooh, look! A partridge!” “… A pheasant, you mean?” Gill looked at me quizzically from the driver’s seat. On the grassy kerb beside my window, the long-tail-feathered bird twitched his bright…
-
“You always start with the senses.” I try my best to suffocate the sound of my growling stomach. There’s a Marks and Spencers sandwich hiding in my bag, but I don’t want…
-
Coming to Medellin was always supposed to be the final push on my Spanish skill levels. I would live and work in the Colombian city for four months, emerging with not…
-
We met in a bar in Bolivia. I'd been in the city of Sucre just under a week, living in an apartment with a couple of guys who were due to…
-
My decision to move to Medellin was three-fold. First, I wanted to improve my Spanish, to learn more about Colombia by living here, and to take my first steps in journalism.…
-
One of the worst things about travelling is having to say goodbye. Whether it’s to friends and family when you first start a trip, or to the people you meet on…
-
Those who know me well are probably a bit confused by this title. In my normal London life, I am not known as a high heel wearer, and am certainly not…