clinging to the wreckage

  In 2013, when I moved to Madrid, Spain, my friend and I decided not only to commit ourselves to excellence and continuous improvement in the workplace, but also to create a social community that would bring people from diverse backgrounds together. One night, whilst sitting outside of a bar at 4am, still drinking (I discovered that many places in Spain will actually remain open until you decide to leave) we took a little catchphrase that my friend always used and converted it into a name for the community. It was Yooo H ooo (he used to say it fast and brief in a high-pitched voice, almost like a whistle). We specifically enforced that it must have three o’s either side of a bold upper-case H . The regular meeting would be ‘Yooo H ooo Thursday’ because, my friend stated, ‘if you are going to be hungover, better to waste Friday than a day of your weekend.’ Yooo H ooo grew and became a monster – something that we would say frequently in later months and years: ‘we have

  It has been a life of moving and change. I have lived in four different countries and in some cases, different parts of those countries. Nevertheless, it never gets easier to make a decision to move or stay. It never gets easier saying goodbye to friends and lovers. And, in spite of the fact that I have lived in different countries, it is also true that, within those countries, I have typically settled into a home and stayed on one place. Essentially, I love to travel, I love to experience new things, but I do not like to move. I hate packing up, I hate saying goodbye. Now, it seems, a change is upon me once more. After four years living in Cambridge, Massachusetts, it is most probable that I will move to Dallas, Texas towards the end of the year. I spent last week and weekend in Dallas and I am uncertain to say the least. I was unfortunate in that it rained most days I was there. Such was the extent that I began to ask people if they ever had clear blue skies. Lat

Train at Boston’s South Station New York Bryant Park Central Park In the midst of the pandemic, desperate to get away from home for at least a couple of days, I took the opportunity to book a train journey from Boston to New York. I’d met an architect on a dating app just before the pandemic set in and we had become friends in spite of not being able to meet due to lockdowns. Also, she had met someone locally in New York during the pandemic and was now in a relationship. Nevertheless, she suggested that we meet anyway as we had been chatting for almost a year. Thus, on Saturday morning, the 19 th  of December, I awoke at 6am, had a shower, dressed, and walked to the station at the end of my street where I took the metro to Boston’s South Station. We had experienced a snowstorm that Wednesday and, as a result, everything was covered in snow. It seemed to be the case each time I was travelling to New York.             At South Station I had a short wait before boarding the beautiful Amtr

  We had met a few weeks before, during a fire alarm and evacuation of the building. During the evacuation, we were standing outside next to one of the fire engines when some random guy, shirtless and maskless, started to shout at the firemen, asking them if they thought they were heroes for rushing to a building that had no fire. Fortunately for him, they ignored him. ‘Did you see that guy?’ she asked me? I felt self-conscious because I was wearing soccer shorts without underwear and a tight grey t-shirt (I had just showered a few moments before the alarm went off.) ‘Yes, I can’t believe his behaviour. And, of course, he was wearing no mask.’ ‘I feel a bit stupid too,’ she said, ‘I left my cat alone inside.’ I responded, ‘It will be fine, just deaf.’ She laughed. At that moment, a British couple heard me and, detecting my British accent, started to chat to me… the beautiful lady was lost as she walked up the stairs beyond my floor towards her apartment, wherever that was. As I thought

There is a pain that comes with parties. It has nothing to do with age necessarily, it evolves throughout life, it stems from primitive instincts such as desire, competition, mating and strength. It surprises me, in my forties, to see people still playing the mating game at parties. I am not sure if they even recognise it. I’m also not quite sure if people sincerely believe themselves when they say things such as ‘oh, he is married, he is not interested in her.’ I am guessing that those who say such things have never read the great literary works of the past two or three centuries.             So, the morning after the party, I awake with a headache… a hangover. Getting out of bed, I grab a bottle of coca cola from the fridge, my sunglasses and facemask from the breakfast bar, and slowly make my way down to the swimming pool. At the pool, I laze in the shade of the hot day and dive into the cool water to alleviate the hangover. Sipping the coca cola and slowly feeling life return, I no

They lay side by side, basking in sinful glory. The unrelenting sun beating down upon their black bikinis, providing sharp contrast to their pale and yet browning skin. Around them, men glance in desirous torment. The world is blossoming, and life is returning in all of its forms. People speak of 2020 like it is a failure and is already over. Yes, many people have suffered, and many are scared, but it has been an opportunity to reflect and consider and change. We are about to open up in a way we have never done before… and we will no longer take things for granted. It is like being healthy again after a long sickness or finally completing your exams and being free from study and restriction. Everything that had become boring and routine will now be treated with reverence. Life is painful… but to feel pain is to be alive. From pain we are able to create. And, somehow, we must try to find the strength to carry on, no matter what. There are so many grand levellers. There is nature. P

I’d cycled to the nearby square to buy wine and a few groceries. It was a stifling hot June day in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and all the young people were out protesting the recent killing of George Floyd by a police officer in Minneapolis. Cars passed through the protest, hooting in appreciation, and probably terrified of having their cars damaged if they acted any other way. When I emerged from the liquor store there was a commotion in the street. I’d been expecting it. Someone had walked through the protestors shouting and screaming at them. Of course, there was retaliation, and everyone was angry… as people so often seem to be. I took a longer route back to my bicycle and cycled towards my apartment. Arriving at the small reservation pond across from my building, I stopped to see the Canadian Geese and their Goslings as they gathered around the area between the pond and the bike path. After a few minutes I made my way back onto the path and started to cross next