Reading at Waterstones
A Reading of Spirit Release, 28/6/23
Holding Lightly - BBC Radio Bristol
A reading of Holding Lightly featured on Upload, BBC Radio Bristol, Evening, 23/6/20
Tracks I Pack - Destinations and Music - A Tour Manager's Podcast
A talk with Giacomo Gambone of ACIS (the American Council of International Study) about travel, with music I associate with destinations and memories, 30/6/2020
Rat
9/6/2020
The bright cadmium yellow leaves of the little acer had suddenly turned brown, and in the space of 3 days had all fallen to the ground. They formed a thick blanket over the earth, beneath the acrobatic splay of branches. The tree looked like a naked mannequin with its arms held in the air, its flapper dress fluttered all the way to the floor.
I went out to clear the fall. The leaves were small, light and feathery and filled my hands softly as I scooped them up and dropped them into my wooden hoop-handled tray. As I worked my way around the tree, I spread my fingers wide and curled them under. I had managed to pick up a particularly large handful when I got a little shock: I had revealed an unexpected sight. Startled, I recoiled, froze, and then leant forward. I had exposed a foot, a narrow, angular, oriental-looking, miniature foot.
The body it was attached to was still shrouded beneath the cover of leaves, allowing the extremity to draw the attention quietly and offer itself up for admiration. The long toes rested closely together, neatly formed with tiny brown elongated claws, the diminutive bone structure evident and exquisite in its detail. I sat hunched on my haunches and observed it for a while in stillness, feeling the same wonder as when ladybirds landed on my hands as a child or when I spotted a stick insect in a tub full of branches, drawn in without the need for any story: observing the tiny, the detail, the refined craftsmanship was adventure in itself.
I went out to clear the fall. The leaves were small, light and feathery and filled my hands softly as I scooped them up and dropped them into my wooden hoop-handled tray. As I worked my way around the tree, I spread my fingers wide and curled them under. I had managed to pick up a particularly large handful when I got a little shock: I had revealed an unexpected sight. Startled, I recoiled, froze, and then leant forward. I had exposed a foot, a narrow, angular, oriental-looking, miniature foot.
The body it was attached to was still shrouded beneath the cover of leaves, allowing the extremity to draw the attention quietly and offer itself up for admiration. The long toes rested closely together, neatly formed with tiny brown elongated claws, the diminutive bone structure evident and exquisite in its detail. I sat hunched on my haunches and observed it for a while in stillness, feeling the same wonder as when ladybirds landed on my hands as a child or when I spotted a stick insect in a tub full of branches, drawn in without the need for any story: observing the tiny, the detail, the refined craftsmanship was adventure in itself.
Reiki
1/3/2019
Sometimes people still ask me: what exactly is Reiki?
Reiki is healing.
It is a hands-on healing practice.
But Reiki means more than this to me.
Reiki is a best friend.
Reiki is first and foremost for me.
Reiki is something I can turn to any day, at any time.
It is somewhere I can go and be with myself again and find a parenthesis of peace and grounding.
Reiki is inspiration.
I am inspired by how the founder Dr Usui devoted his life to discovering and sharing Reiki, and by the dedication of his successors Dr Hayashi and Mrs Takata in developing the practice.
I am inspired by how Reiki has spread across the world, and is an international language of touch, energy and understanding.
Reiki is simplicity.
It reminds me to look after myself by simplifying and enjoying the simple things in life.
Reiki is trust.
Trust in the wisdom of healing, in the ability to heal.
Trust in our innate knowledge of wholeness and wellbeing.
Reiki is surrender.
To give and not to judge the outcome.
To be at one with the mystery of healing. It is the self that heals.
Reiki is effort.
It does not happen by thinking about it. The doing needs to be done.
Reiki demands action.
Reiki is challenge, a constant new year’s resolution.
The challenge to let go of worry, let go of anger, let go of resistance.
The challenge of emotions rising before they wash away on waves of coloured light.
The challenge to allow myself to feel good!
Reiki is a space for gratitude.
Reiki is a space for prayer.
Reiki is a path to the plump broad grin of the abundant Buddha.
When I practice Reiki, I stand in the company of Angels.
Reiki is honour. Reiki is humility.
I am the conduit and not the source of the life-force energy.
Reiki is to take time, to slow down, to give the body space, to listen.
In stillness we notice, we digest and process.
Reiki is a steadying hand through life, bringing me back to the breath, to the present moment, to balance.
Reiki is power, it means there is always something I can do.
Reiki is so versatile. It carries on the ether far and wide.
I love being able to send it to everything and anyone, person, animal, and circumstance.
Reiki is sharing, community, touch.
The softness of honouring all living things.
Reiki is awareness.
Reiki connects my mind, heart, body and soul.
Reiki brings me spiritual clarity.
Reiki is faithful and steadfast.
Reiki is a friend for life.
Reiki is healing.
It is a hands-on healing practice.
But Reiki means more than this to me.
Reiki is a best friend.
Reiki is first and foremost for me.
Reiki is something I can turn to any day, at any time.
It is somewhere I can go and be with myself again and find a parenthesis of peace and grounding.
Reiki is inspiration.
I am inspired by how the founder Dr Usui devoted his life to discovering and sharing Reiki, and by the dedication of his successors Dr Hayashi and Mrs Takata in developing the practice.
I am inspired by how Reiki has spread across the world, and is an international language of touch, energy and understanding.
Reiki is simplicity.
It reminds me to look after myself by simplifying and enjoying the simple things in life.
Reiki is trust.
Trust in the wisdom of healing, in the ability to heal.
Trust in our innate knowledge of wholeness and wellbeing.
Reiki is surrender.
To give and not to judge the outcome.
To be at one with the mystery of healing. It is the self that heals.
Reiki is effort.
It does not happen by thinking about it. The doing needs to be done.
Reiki demands action.
Reiki is challenge, a constant new year’s resolution.
The challenge to let go of worry, let go of anger, let go of resistance.
The challenge of emotions rising before they wash away on waves of coloured light.
The challenge to allow myself to feel good!
Reiki is a space for gratitude.
Reiki is a space for prayer.
Reiki is a path to the plump broad grin of the abundant Buddha.
When I practice Reiki, I stand in the company of Angels.
Reiki is honour. Reiki is humility.
I am the conduit and not the source of the life-force energy.
Reiki is to take time, to slow down, to give the body space, to listen.
In stillness we notice, we digest and process.
Reiki is a steadying hand through life, bringing me back to the breath, to the present moment, to balance.
Reiki is power, it means there is always something I can do.
Reiki is so versatile. It carries on the ether far and wide.
I love being able to send it to everything and anyone, person, animal, and circumstance.
Reiki is sharing, community, touch.
The softness of honouring all living things.
Reiki is awareness.
Reiki connects my mind, heart, body and soul.
Reiki brings me spiritual clarity.
Reiki is faithful and steadfast.
Reiki is a friend for life.
The Giants in Liverpool
1/2/2019
It is 4pm. I don't like the early nights of winter, but at times like these, as I sit still on my bed, the lights off, looking out at the lit windows of the neighbouring houses and the graphite coloured sky, I feel like I am snug under the soft belly of my black cat, who is curled in the crook of my crossed legs.
The quiet in the early dimness, the creaking and cracking and tapping of the central heating pipes, the gentle fuzz of the boiler, and a cosy, wrapped-up, hibernating, soft sleepiness enfolds me like a winter's coat, thick and protecting. And it is good to be home.
And yet it is mid-November, and I have only seen my breath on the night air once this autumn, and that was in Liverpool at the start of October.
I had found out on the Wednesday that the Giants were going to be in Liverpool that weekend. "There won't be anywhere left to stay" I was told. "Oh, yes, there's got to be!" I replied, and thought positively.
A google, a booking, a little bit of persuasion and 32 hours later, I bundled a bag, a friend and lunch in a tupperware box, into the car and started up the M5.
We arrived in Liverpool early afternoon. I had heard about the Giants last year and had watched videos of their performances in Canada with big, child eyes and a mouth that wouldn't close for saying 'wow' so many times.
The Giants are puppets, huge puppets made by a company called Royal de Luxe from Nantes, in France. The puppets move across their stage, the streets of a city.
When I was about 6, my family and I went to stay with friends of my parents and their children in Devon. They had a house with a double-height sitting-room with an upstairs balustrade running along a corridor. All of us children banded together and made a giant puppet that we hung over the balustrade and manipulated from above in a play we devised. I don't think there was much to the play, but I was alight inside with the fun and excitement, and my imagination rose and travelled with the giant and the idea of his story.
When I read about the Giants from Nantes, I really, really wanted to see them. As we ran around the streets of Liverpool looking for them, one of them rounded a corner.
The quiet in the early dimness, the creaking and cracking and tapping of the central heating pipes, the gentle fuzz of the boiler, and a cosy, wrapped-up, hibernating, soft sleepiness enfolds me like a winter's coat, thick and protecting. And it is good to be home.
And yet it is mid-November, and I have only seen my breath on the night air once this autumn, and that was in Liverpool at the start of October.
I had found out on the Wednesday that the Giants were going to be in Liverpool that weekend. "There won't be anywhere left to stay" I was told. "Oh, yes, there's got to be!" I replied, and thought positively.
A google, a booking, a little bit of persuasion and 32 hours later, I bundled a bag, a friend and lunch in a tupperware box, into the car and started up the M5.
We arrived in Liverpool early afternoon. I had heard about the Giants last year and had watched videos of their performances in Canada with big, child eyes and a mouth that wouldn't close for saying 'wow' so many times.
The Giants are puppets, huge puppets made by a company called Royal de Luxe from Nantes, in France. The puppets move across their stage, the streets of a city.
When I was about 6, my family and I went to stay with friends of my parents and their children in Devon. They had a house with a double-height sitting-room with an upstairs balustrade running along a corridor. All of us children banded together and made a giant puppet that we hung over the balustrade and manipulated from above in a play we devised. I don't think there was much to the play, but I was alight inside with the fun and excitement, and my imagination rose and travelled with the giant and the idea of his story.
When I read about the Giants from Nantes, I really, really wanted to see them. As we ran around the streets of Liverpool looking for them, one of them rounded a corner.
Artistic Director Jean-Luc Courcoult and his multi-disciplinary team of technicians, artists and innovators have travelled the world, sharing a wondrous dream, leaving a trail of magic and mystery, and the excitement that the extraordinary is possible. I came away from the weekend thinking people can be amazing, and how wonderful it was that someone had such a vision and put their energy into making it come true, and enchanting millions of us around the world. How wonderful it would be if more of the people who seek power used their energy instead in childlike imagination and inspiring creativity.
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A touch of Gulliver's Travels...
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