A Slice of Fried Gold

It’s Monday, it’s belting down and I worked a 48hr shift across the weekend, but I am stupidly happy.

After eighteen months of rejections, no-replies and scams I finally got some love from a publisher! They want to see the rest of my manuscript and, yes I know it’s no guarantee of anything, but damnit if I don’t feel like I’m finally getting somewhere with this! They described my chapters as “captivating” and I’m sure they say that to all the girls but I’m still bouncing about it. 

Add to that the 24hrs I got to spend lounging in the arms of the beardy-guy who inspires my best poetry but has never successfully beaten me in a tickle-fight, the cat currently on my lap and the lilies that sprouted yesterday and I’m disgustingly content. Screw you Monday, you have no power over me! 




Rusted, weather-beaten houses emerge from the landscape in tiny pockets of colour. Muted, primary-coloured flowers in its otherwise bleak wasteland. Remote farmhouses stand with their backs stoically towards the endless grey ocean and tin-roofed, two story, chocolate box homes rest alongside industrial estates and dual carriageways. Then behind it all, the mountains. Rolling,snow-capped and postcard perfect. If Wes Anderson had specially commissioned an alien planet to be colonised and terra-formed he would have ended up with Reykjavik. 

Stand in the middle of a field and turn 360o and you’ll see every kind of weather and, by the time you complete the circle will be putting up a brolly..or taking off a layer..or both. 
The wind slips down to us fresh from a glacier, colder than the season and a reminder of how close we are to icy nothingness. 
Yet the city buzzes with life. Three hours of sunset and no real darkness give the people 

“All the energy to do everything”

 a taxi driver confides. Walk around at midnight and you’ll find small pockets of people, bundled in sweaters, sitting by the ocean as the otherworldly orange light bathes them. Laughing, loving, reading and enjoying the summer for all it’s worth. Storing up the sunlight in their souls to keep them warmed through the endless darkness that winter will bring. 
Here we are remote. Removed. Yet revitalised and alive. 

Home Again

Floating in the underwater spaces occupied by extreme tiredness. The sleep dep cradling us as we drift by one another, exchanging sleepypassionate kisses, dreamy promises of the evening to come. The empty-for-a-week house now filled with steam and food smells. Alive and loved. Our space, our place, our home again.