Don Bentley was so engrossed in his book on journalism and that he didn’t notice the young woman looking at him. Not at first. She sat facing him on the Basingstoke semi-fast and her eyes shifted from the cover of Bentley's book, and its title, How to be a Journalist, to Bentley and back to the cover again. After a while, looking up as the carriage rocked and swayed as it crossed the points at Clapham Junction, Bentley sensed that he had attracted someone's attention. He … [Read more...] about All the world’s a stage
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Beauty in black and white
A pair of black swans with three cygnets splashed about a wet paddock bordering the Huon River, oblivious of my interest in them. The paddock was coated in frost after a cold snap at the start of spring had dumped snow on the distant Mt Wellington. The swan family did not seem to mind, however. There was plenty of new-growth grass to chew on, and the rising sun was burning off the frost. Soon summer would be here. Black swans are some of the most beautiful, elegant birds on … [Read more...] about Beauty in black and white
A natural attraction
I scattered the berries of native cheery in my garden at the start of winter in the hope they would grow, not realising at the time that I was making a fashion statement of sorts. Gardens come in many shapes and sizes – or should I say styles – and I have never set out to make radical change to the ones I have inherited over the years when I have changed homes. I’ve been content to leave things as they are. All the same I have made a study of the history of gardening, and … [Read more...] about A natural attraction
A flight through psychedelic skies
Pigeons frighten me. They are the stuff of nightmares. They don’t come in the dead of night, pecking, cooing and fluttering, bobbing their heads; waking me. The spectre of the pigeon comes by day in Hobart, strutting in the shopping mall, in alleyways and lanes. I’ve been a bird-watcher all my life but the feral pigeon is one bird I can’t get to grips with. When I see pigeons in the city, I wonder why I am a bird lover at all, they make me recoil in horror. Perhaps it’s the … [Read more...] about A flight through psychedelic skies
Birds-eye view of history
The rising sun had painted the sky in hues of pinks and blues, and I was walking a beach thinking of another time, if not another place. It was the year of 1832, and a fearsome dog called Jowler was tugging at its chains, trying to chase a hooded plover straying a little too close to its kennel. My thoughts had wandered like my footprints in the wet sand at Eaglehawk Neck’s sweeping beach, where I had gone in search of Tasmania’s convict history, putting … [Read more...] about Birds-eye view of history