Theresa’s Writing

It was the usual private view shindig with wine, whiskey, canapes and a herd of people who would have looked at home at an event in Dalston, complete with slightly too short trousers and big boots, though with an added splash of wool ( in particular a splendid gentleman with a gorgeous orange guernsey style…

So yesterday was the 40th birthday of the An Lanntair ( Arts centre) in Stornaway. This was  celebrated with an exhibition of forty pieces from local artists who had previously shown their work throughout the years.  It was the usual private view shindig with wine, whiskey, canapes and a herd of people who would have…

So, as many of you know ( as I have been banging on about it for ages) I am on a three week residency ( writing, poetry, collage, all things sea weed) in the outer Hebrides ,on the isle of Lewis. I am staying in the Otter Bunkhouse, which is perched right on a sea…

There is an air of mild panicon the airport busas everyone tries to cramsuitcases and bags into a rack that is too smallwearing coats and and bootsthat do not suit the sweltering heatthe rails shiny with other peoples sweatI have the same feelingthat reminds me of the driveback to boarding schoola draining anxiety in my…

His back gave waywhile he was picking peasas the summer sunturned towards eveningand as he fellamongst the plantsgreen peas scattered like a broken necklaceacross the warm earth

Hi folksHow’s your day beenCan I get you a drinkOreo milk extra thickTango Pepsi Dr pepperA Grimace shake even betterIf you are in a hurryMake a date with a Mc FlurryStrips of chickenNice and leanIn Canada you can have poutineIf you’re brave take a chanceOn chicken and avocado ranchHappy meals or fillet of fishLook at…

The pine needles smell of summerdried fig leavessticking to my dusty feetgrey porridge skythick with the promise of rainI remember as a childwaiting for the skies to openon a stifling Tokyo morningthe sizzle and hissof scorched earthgasping with reliefreleasing a hundred tiny frogswho streamedthrough the French windowsinto our sitting room

In January she would put on her apronthe one with sunflowers on the pocketsand go into the larder to find the pansbig wide pans with handlesscrubbed and shinyput away on the top shelfamong the pickle jarsand a Christmas puddingon bone cold slate shelvesthe smell of cooking apples and vinegarshe had a special knife to scrape…

The blossom is outdespite the coldthat numbs your fingersas you stand in thequeueat the Turkish marketfor fat steaming loavesolives and clementineswith bright green leavesand stalls piled high with datesZaatar, lemons and Turkish delightwith a dusting of sugarthick chunks of feta in brinefresh mint tea, alpaca socksladies pants and slip on shoesLadles, spoons and cutleryLemon squeezers,…