Drostan’s Tears

Some way past Ellon, following the now muddy path which the Formartine and Buchan Way had become after a night and a day of successive bands of thunder storms, I asked her: “So, this walk of ours, from Aberdeen to Mill of Aden, if it’s something of a pilgrimage as you suggest, then why are … More Drostan’s Tears

A good meal

My father was of the generation of WASP men for whom cooking was decidedly a woman’s task. He could make a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich and could even make you believe it was a feast, but beyond that he never learned to prepare any food at all. Being my father’s son, I left … More A good meal


We live just around the corner from a barber shop, where I have my hair cut about every 6 weeks.  It’s one of those old-fashioned places which operates without appointments; as you wait your turn you can help yourself to coffee and the daily newspaper.  No donuts though. I’ve been a regular customer for five … More Haircut


Thirty years ago, a set of unexpected family circumstances conspired to force my departure from Brazil when I was 17, in the summer of 1979.  I’ve never been back.   It was, however,  a good idea to leave before my 18th birthday: at the time there was still a military government and military draft in … More Rio


Cycling back from church today I saw a billboard advertising Magnum ice cream on a  stick.  The really expensive ones, which I’ve never bought, filled with all kinds of delicious chocolate goo and nuts and stuff. I still feel guilty every time I see one of those. Andrew and I were messing around with firecrackers. … More Firecracker