clinging to the wreckage

The things that happen in the secret dark corners of miles away are often unbelievable. Out there, across the ocean, over a fence, behind a hedge, on a bench, in a park, fuelled by wine, a friend might kiss the one you love and it always all means nothing. The one you love might already be married and the friend might have a girlfriend or a boyfriend and it always means nothing and everyone is always looking for the next thrill but there is something in the back of the mind that says ‘be faithful, strive for the traditional relationship… the same one that your parents and your grandparents and every generation since the dawn of mankind has had.’ And it always means nothing. We spend our time worrying… ‘Will they leave me? Will they fall in love with someone else? Will they get bored and cheat on me?’ The answer is yes. Stop worrying. It happens, always, everywhere, to everyone and, guess what, it always means nothing. I sometimes hate myself a little bit these

It was mid-winter in Miami. I was there for a mixture of business and pleasure… the pleasure being primarily a company party that meant I’d be spending the weekend there. On Sunday, the day after the party, I met up with my colleague who was over from France and with whom I had worked for several years in Europe. We went to the beach and ended up on Ocean Drive. We walked the length of Ocean Drive, bewildered by what we were witnessing… two Europeans lost in an American fantasy land of loud music, bright lights, remarkable outfits, glamourous cars, palm trees, winter heat and a beautiful beach. The street is lined with bars and restaurants and outside of each is someone, or more than one, trying to convince passers by to enter and part with some of their cash. It was difficult to do anything else other than laugh or feel irritated by constantly having to say ‘no, thanks’ whilst trying to enjoy the stroll. Then, from nowhere, appeared one of the promoters… but she

I realised only tonight, or captured for the first time, that I have a love for things that are unnecessary. Things such as a little paved path to a door leading from a pavement, enveloped in railings, designed simply for aesthetic beauty. This describes my love of literature and art and why I occasionally fail to see something considered deadly serious in the corporate world as serious… things such as wearing shoes or producing a report that will not feed the hungry masses, that will not save the whales, that will not do away with air pollution and most certainly will not enlighten nor enrich the masses. And yet, as I arrive home, having walked through snow and icy winds, have a shower, slip into shorts and flip flops, it does not escape me how many of my dreams I have achieved in recent years and how grateful I am for the life that I have. First, I moved back to my home, England. Then, the opportunity to move to Madrid and live a magical three years came. I travelled

The true love in my life has always been, and still is, literature. The creative arts, the freedom to create something of beauty for the sake of expression, this has been the shining light of my life. Pens, pencils, paper, books, journals, libraries, bookstores, stationery shops, words, sentences, paragraphs, stories, thoughts, theories… the joys, the promise, the potential of an escape into the realm of thought and magic and mystery in a world where people are obsessed with power and wealth and competition in business, this is the pleasure of life. I see art as a purpose in my life, it brings meaning to a meaningless existence without purpose. Two centuries ago it was frowned upon for women to write and, even though this has changed, there has been a continuous war on the humanities as far as I can remember. So many people write my masters degree off as invalid because it is a Master of Arts and not one of science or business. In 2017, the humanities are under a greater