The Spaniards who first colonised these islands in the 15th Century were so enamoured with their discovery that they named them The Fortunate Islands … More The Calima
Here in the House of the Fat Cat once you close the big wooden front doors you enter an oasis of coolness away from the heat of the day, the thick stone walls offer shade and muffle the sounds of the street, here you enter a different world. Il Casa del gato gordo is currently … More Pedro Denise & Me.
Lockdown has provided months of time, all be it unsolicited for quiet reflection & introspection. It has also brought me many nights filled with dreams and the time to look at them. The latest of these I now feel compelled to write about, I apologise in advance for doing so. Me and dreams go back … More Dream Detective
La Casa Del Gato Gordo, Canary Islands, April 4th 2020. Dear Son, Well it’s morning on day 22 of my lockdown. I just had my breakfast. Yesterday afternoon was glorious, the first really warm day where I managed to get up on the roof terrace and soak in the sun for a couple of hours. … More Writing Home 2
La Casa Del Gato Gordo, Canary Islands, March 26th 2020. Dear Son, So this lockdown business, what a fucker isn’t it, I had plans, lots of plans & they’ve all gone tits up. It galls me somewhat that instead of being in India I’m 9244 kilometres away from where I intended to be & am … More Writing Home.
The real boss of the house comes to introduce himself. Cesare, the Cat, a beast of truly epic proportions. … More The House of the Fat Cat
The first time I remember seeing padlocks on a bridge was in Paris, on the Pont Des Arts, which straddles the Seine close by Notre Dame. When I got there I was amazed, this bridge was covered in thousands and thousands of padlocks. … More Love Locks
“You men have it easy” she said … More Three Wishes
An August evening in Edinburgh & three Englishmen step into a black cab on Princes Street. I pull the door closed behind me with a resounding clunk & ask the cabbie if he can drop us at decent Bar in the Old Town. He cogitates and after a lengthy pause replies wth a single word in an accent as thick as a bowl of lumpy porridge: Aye.
… More Sassenach @ The Festival
I pedal away from the beach, away from the pasty skinned holiday makers from Northern Europe, the temporary migrants in search of vitamin D, past the kiosks and the shops selling knock off sunglasses and gaudy beach towels, past the boutiques selling dresses that will never be worn back home, soon I am on the … More Yannis’ Bar