Blog#83: Assisting Maria
In the previous post I outlined most briefly the plight of Maria - which, as it happens, is the plight of all of us. She is trapped in an enclosed system, and most likely does not even realise it. She sees her 'way out' or her 'salvation' through rising up to 'God' - again, for other people it could be other trusted figures or dearly loved . . .
Blog#82: Maria and the Great Escape
Part One
I have successfully navigated my way to the top of a hundred of the highest and often most remote mountain peaks in the northern part of Scotland. However, getting to the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari in the S. Polo district of Venice beat me....
We are greeted by an onrush of warm, friendly air as . . .
Blog#81: South of the Alps
Prologue
Something which I forgot to develop from the previous post, very important: the kiwi fruit.
It was my wife who noticed it at the Treviso hotel we were staying in. Breakfast. The table of fruit consisted of a mountain of apples, kiwi fruit, and a solitary banana balanced on top. We had noticed kiwi around . . .
Blog#80: Going Home?
Part One
As in anywhere else on Earth, the mass of people now go about their day glued to their hand-held devices. Where once the skyline boasted medieval towers and noble Renaissance church domes, now it is raked with cellphone towers and 5G masts. And kiwi fruits are everywhere. Otherwise, Italy and Italians remain . . .
Blog#79: Small Fry...
Part One
I don't know a lot about what happens in London these days. It is almost twenty years since I moved away from the Big City into the Highlands of Scotland, and London seems far far away. This is both physically - amazingly, the distance between London and Inverness is almost the same as that between London and Bordeaux - and also . . .
Blog#78: The Worst Year of my Life, Part Two
Part One
It was, quite possibly, January 1991, a couple of months into my New Zealand sojourn. The phone rang one morning; it was my girlfriend, calling from London (I'd left her behind there).
It was a strange time to get a call from her, since it would have been around midnight in England. And her voice was very . . .
Blog#77: The Worst Year of my Life, Part One
There have been a few contenders for the grand accolade of 'Worst year of my life'. However, I once used it for this particular period, and the title has stuck. So read on, but be very afraid.....
Part One
For hours the plane flew high over vast, empty wastelands. I had flown quite a few times, but never . . .
