Thanks for reading. This blog is an opportunity for me to capture some of the diversity of my writing interests. My muse tend to appear on my shoulder as I board an international flight although not all of my writing is inspired by travel and foreign places. These blogs have been the basis of a novel (Flowers of Baghdad) but there are a few other writing projects in progress besides. Please feel free to leave a comment. Or two.

Ladybird or Ladybug?

Seems that everyone around me is turning into a photographer with outstanding skills. This from one of my work colleagues. Ladybug if you are in North America. But did you know there are more than 5000 species of these things? No, nor did I. All you want to know about these Lady Cows (apparently so…

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Loconic Soldiering

It is a point of (perverse?) pride that our soldiering tradition is marked by extreme laconic perspectives, attitudes and general disposition. Where that disposition irritated British officers the pleasure is refined. But Australian volunteer soldiers are not the owners of the laconic voice – I suspect that volunteer soldiers down through the ages have owned…

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Storm Flowers

The Jacaranda flower rains, especially in the rain. After a couple of weeks in the sun and gently falling in a slow shower in their own slow time the flowers get to a point where rain brings them down more easily. Or so it seems. I fancy they are our storm flowers, arriving at the…

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The Hot Spot

Early hours of the morning. My online Scrabble opponent has retreated. The novel is being tweaked. The silver music of Miles Davis supported by the driving blues of  John Lee Hooker has me begging for more. Thanks Clyde for swearing on a stack of Bibles that this was the best sound track of any movie.…

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India is not…

…a country of poverty and perverse Victorian customs lost in time and place. It is not Mother Teresa or slums, cholera or cyclones, terrorists or dodgy airlines. It is first and foremost a country of the senses. India is felt on the skin, tasted in all the mouth, heard through every pore, and smelt even…

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In the Hands of Providence

There is something very mystical about the Gettysburg battlefield which is hard to explain. There is a very powerful sense of uniformed men still there, lingering over the heartache, savagery, the mundane and the heroic. That is, provided you do not arrive there on a day when thousands of boy scouts are running all over…

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