In the middle of Thursday night when I couldn’t sleep, I got out of bed and went downstairs, made a cup of tea and repaired to the jigsaw we’re currently working on. It’s set out on the kitchen table and the picture is that famous one by the American artist, Edward Hopper – Night Hawks and on Thursday night this felt very appropriate except that, unlike in the painting, I was the only person in this immediate vicinity who was awake. Paul as normal was fast asleep.

Whatever is it that accounts for a bad night? Some people I know have lots of them. I generally don’t. But when I do – and, alas, I think they’ve become more frequent both with chemotherapy treatment and getting older – my mind fills up with all kinds of stuff.  Things I might write, jobs I might do, people I must phone … the list becomes quite endless because on these occasions my mind also begins filling with memories. (more…)

The rag-and-bone man regularly came round the streets of Fishguard where I grew up. We kids would be playing Jacks on the front doorstep or What’s the Time, Mister Wolf? round on Victoria Avenue and we’d hear the rumble of his cart, look up and see his tired-looking horse and hear his echoing cry as he went on up the street. ‘Any old rags?’

The rag-and-bone man was a small, thin man as if he was nothing but bones himself. I suppose he did collect bones as well as rags. But I have no memory of that. However, I do have a special memory of bones from later, probably my young twenties, when Paul and I were in Corfu, staying in a house we’d rented out in the sticks. (more…)

To each and every person who reads this blog, best wishes from me and husband Paul for Christmas, New Year and 2019.  Best wishes for stories in your life and in your telling and best wishes for doing such good things as valuing your family and friends, enjoying and protecting the natural world and keeping as busy as you wish to be but not too busy to keep you from times of just being at peace.

To help carry these wishes to you, here below is the lovely swallow I photographed in Corfu earlier this year. Already a friend has kindly improved my nature-knowledge by letting me know that it’s a red-rumped swallow. I like to think it has paused for that moment of peace and will soon again take flight.

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It sounds odd to say it. But it was so. In the early days of what became the Storytelling Revival in the UK, there was a distinct whiff of opposition to writing. Storytelling was, and is, very different from reading aloud and different too from writing: we storytellers felt at that time that, in public at least, we had to proclaim, reveal and uphold the differences.

By now, a good number of well-known storytellers in the UK – Hugh Lupton, Sally Pomme Clayton, Daniel Morden among them – have published books. I’ve published books too, nine in all, and I feel I can now admit to enjoying both the differences and similarities between the two forms. (more…)

Back from Corfu this afternoon, I sat in our kitchen mentally numbering, in no particular order, the most memorable things about the week.

1. The sun – not too, too hot, so wonderful
2. The sea – gentle and warm and ideal for numerous swims
3. Two huge storms with prolonged sheet lightning and much noise of thunder
4. The reading – four excellent novels
5. The delightful, friendly taverna right next to our apartment
6. The relaxing except for much concentrated observation of the comings and goings of the pair of swallows whose nest was high up on our patio.

And so much else besides. But it’s those swallows that, for me, became the  most fascinating feature of our week. I spent hours never quite succeeding in getting the photos I wanted. The one above will have to do. See you again, I hope, next week. (more…)

“We never thought of telling him a story”: the comment came from a smiling young couple with a boy in a pushchair after a talk I’d given at a nursery school. It will always ring in my mind. Stories, memories, family tales: they are not always happy but they are always important.

Going on holiday

As for actual events … well, by the time you read this blog, dear reader, I will be in Corfu. Hooray! A whole week’s holiday, hopefully in lovely warm sun. The weather forecast for Corfu seems pretty confident it’s going to be glorious there. But whatever the weather it’ll be time to read, swim, lie about, be reminded of the taste of ouzo and perhaps make one or two forays to admire the scenery.  (more…)