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Poem: January

on December 29, 2019

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new year poem

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Haibun: What's written on the other side of the sign

I imagine the man crunching gears into reverse, side-swiping the bramble hedge then raising a wave of gravel as he hurtles back into someone’s drive to let another car pass, had a bad start to his day. A row with his wife, the kids playing up, the shock of an unpaid bill, perhaps his mother is ill, or just a string of small exasperations over days or weeks that unravel now on this narrow lane. I understand how our lives can sometimes buckle with the unexpected, the road we thought we knew suddenly fraught with obstacles we are not equipped for. ‘Take a moment’ I wrote on the cover of a journal at the beginning of the year. Some days it’s as if I have never even heard those words. Others, I remember to breathe. As I hope this man may be doing now, before slipping quietly into first gear, the woman in the passenger seat glancing sideways at him with a glimmer of light in her eyes as they slowly move forward. salad fields what's written on the other side

I won a Stylish Blogger Award...

... from the inspiring Angela Hirst at the good soup . I've been following Angela's blog since I first started The Hungry Writer project in October 2010. She's a cook, writer, researcher and teacher who completed her PhD, Eating the Other, Levinas's Ethical Encounter , in 2005. She says this about herself : I love to write. It feels like dragging myself out of bed from a very very deep sleep each time I do it, but once I start, I don’t want to stop. I love it when people cut through the romantic illusions of what makes a writer and tell it as it is. And I love writers who love to cook and eat! Because blogging is all about learning and sharing The Stylish Blogger Award requires me to pass on the award to 15 other blogs I admire (and because, as Angela says, my blog stands at the edge of an almost dimensionless sea of food blogs there will be a few blogs that are rather more loosely linked to food) and to share 7 things about myself. So: I hated to eat when I

Lessons: Mam's Vegetable Soup

for Mammy It has never been in your nature to give up, not even at catering college when the head chef put you to peeling and chopping onions every day for weeks in a row. You were there to learn and you would take something from every task, every day in that professional kitchen; you would show yourself determined and willing, unable to be beaten. At home you astonished us, unwrapping the knives you kept sheathed in a drawer, that we were forbidden to touch, and transforming a topside of beef into ‘Olives’, a shoulder of lamb into Navarin . You were suddenly more than the wife and mother we knew: a woman carrying the noises and scents of other countries into our south Wales home, your fingers scented with garlic; al dente you said as if the words had always belonged to you. And here I am, forty years later, astonished again by this bowl of soup you carry into the conservatory and place before me in a patch of sunlight: the simplicity of parsnip, onion, carrot, potato, simm

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