You know how, in movies or novels about private detectives, the grizzled, shopworn gumshoe or cop says, "There's no such thing as coincidences, kid," or, more sophisticatedly, "if we assume it's a coincidence, kid, that leaves us nowhere to go"? This is something a bit along those lines. Without the involvement of anyone you could …
It's ANZAC Day again and with it comes the annual stew of conflicting feelings you get when you have the kind of complicated background someone like me has. On the one hand, there's the sadness and loss you feel for young people, whatever army they found themselves in, for whatever reason, who died young, possibly …
Sitting here in my 'studio' on a rare sunny Friday, I've been interrupted in my critical creative pursuits by a series of cartons of wine, arriving as if by magic on the Corner Cottage doorstep. It's like Bacchus took over Santa's job for a day and hijacked his sleigh for the purposes of transporting booze. …
It may be that you have gained an impression from all this Braidwood-centric content that the raptor obsession is a new thing. You would be wrong! In fact, birds of prey have long fascinated me, and once or twice over the years have been the subject of my probing lens. Possibly the first time the …
Idly musing as Archie and I wended our way down the Commonwood path the other day, I had a minor epiphany. That's a way of saying I realised something I hadn't realised before and felt a bit silly that it hadn't occurred to me earlier as it should have been obvious. This can happen when …
The other day Archie and I were going for walkies through Braidwood, taking in the essential Australianness of our our surroundings: the gum trees, the Kookaburras, the utes chugging by on the King's Highway. And then something popped into this scenario that caused a bit of a jolt -- a reminder of a different time, …
Thinking a bit about the various variations of my chosen profession, writing, had me reminiscing a bit about a man I spent a lot of time with in the late ‘80s. Out of choice, initially, and then because he’d kind of moved in and couldn’t be evicted. The man was American poet E. E. Cummings …
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