Rummaging through the attic of an old tea office in the mountains, the children followed me around calling out in the local dialect. I don't know what they were saying but their voices made the cobwebs on the cups tremor.
January 28, 2017
January 25, 2017
A Weekend Walk #18
I think this is the first memory I have of writing a 'poem', when I was six. It went something like.. 'Snow snow, nobo...
January 14, 2017
Scallop & Gin Ceviche | Celia's Saucer
I often forget how much I like ceviche. Not just because of its fresh, punchy flavours, but because it's just so very easy to make ...
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