I suppose to him I Iooked like working class trash. With my broad features and dark, tired eyes maybe I came across as just another insignificant middle-aged foreign worker heading home from the night shift. And I admit, I hadn’t tried very hard that morning. It was my day off and, focused on getting Renata … More London Tube Fracas
I lower the black plastic rubbish bag onto the rail platform and hear the familiar clink of glass, thinking how the other passengers must wonder at the strange visage of a well-dressed middle aged man carrying a large bag full of bottles. It’s past 11:00 in the evening and the good people of Windsor are … More Windsor
Everyone knows the metaphor of ripples on a pond, of the multiple and ever-widening influences of a single event, but no one ever spares a thought for the poor bit of rock sinking slowly into the dark, wet abyss. I think we’ve all been that individual at times, the consequences of our actions, good or … More Ripples on a Pond
Her body suddenly pushed up against me as she took her place in the empty seat and the gentle nudge made me open my eyes. I’ve grown accustomed to spending some of my morning and afternoon commute, eyes closed, in prayerful thought about the people and tasks of the day ahead – or the day … More Despair on the Express Bus
Anyone who takes the time to survey the world of airport chaplaincy with anything more than a passing interest will soon discover that there are as many different varieties of chaplaincy as there are airports. Every airport has a unique set of characteristics: its physical location, size, the nature of local businesses, passenger & cargo … More For people of all faiths…and those of none.
Uxbridge bus station exchange: Three women animatedly speaking Polish. A young man has had enough and approaches them: “Speak f*cking English!” he says loudly. The women stop, quietly sizing him up together. Then they turn back to each other and one says to the others, but loud enough for all to hear: “F*cking English.” They … More Random II
When the wind blows from the North we can hear the train. Not the thump-a-thump, thump-a-thump we heard as the carriages crossed the viaduct at the end of the street in the Czar Peter neighbourhood of Amsterdam, when the bedroom windows stood futilely open on hot summer nights; nor even the vague and distant rumble … More Travel Notes