Are we nearly there yet?

Things have certainly changed over the past few months and I admit to a certain naivety when it came to my expectation of returning to pre-Covid 19 life. I’m still taken by surprise when new restrictions are announced, such as the recent requirement to wear face-masks in my little local bakery and butchers. So as…

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The emergence

Writing was always a therapeutic experience for me as a child, it was an opportunity to express my emotion quietly. I would write letters to my father who passed away when I was twelve, or pour my feelings into terribly cliched poems. I stopped when a box of letters and poetry were discovered and I…

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Campo Santo – 49 pages.

49 pages. Black words on soft off-white paper. The book nestles in my hands, the cover smooth, cool and unobtrusive. Unfamiliar prose, I navigate sentences and paragraphs clumsily, seeking connection. I recognise cynicism and scepticism. Perhaps this is a Rorschach test. Perhaps on a different day I would feel carefree and at ease like the…

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The transformation

We call it the ‘Sleeping Giant’s Toes’. It’s actually one of the first landmarks that you spot as you drive onto Dartmoor from Bovey Tracey. One of the busiest tourist areas, with many visitors never venturing further than the calloused granite rocks of Haytor. The children believe the formation looks like toes peeping out of…

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The local tourist

Am I a tourist if the destination is forty minutes from my home? I sat on the warm cobbled ground of the boat slipway and pondered the question for a short while, watching my two youngest children dip their toes in the cold ocean with squeals of delight. The furthest we had travelled since before…

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23rd May 2020: An introduction pt5

My husband suggested travel writing and I scoffed at him, I can’t write! It’s not just something I can do, I blasted. I started to half-heartedly look at post-graduate marketing courses offered by Plymouth University, where I’d studied for my History degree. I craved learning, I longed for the library and new knowledge. One evening…

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