When writing this last week I was somewhere in the North Sea, which was its usual shade of sullen grey. White flecks on the waves told me that it was windy and cold out there, but I was warm and comfortable in the drawing room of Cunard’s Queen Anne. I don’t make a habit of continue reading »
The wind was rising and the Captain called for the t’gallants to be furled. Two of us ran down the leeward deck to get buntlines and clewlines ready. At the shout of ‘Heave away!’ we pulled hard; the sail was full of wind so I took a turn around the pin and leaned my weight continue reading »
Almost two years ago I was standing on our station platform, nervous and masked, heading for eight days quarantine in Yorkshire before starting on my five week artist’s residency on board HMS Protector in Antarctica. Now finally my book ‘Antarctic Sketchbook’ has arrived, and it brings back all those vivid memories. The day after the continue reading »
Forgive me if I have told this tale before. Life is not a straight line progression. It’s more like a driver with no map or satnav. The track of our years meanders, falters, takes wrong turnings and goes round in circles then heads straight for a while… .occasionally it crosses a previous path and you continue reading »
The older you get, the more robust your inner critic becomes – you’d think it would back off a little by the time you have chugged through a few more decades with a reasonable amount of competence, but no, it learns as many new tricks as you do. The latest is that nagging feeling that continue reading »