Sunday, 31 July 2016

Insect Mini-Series - STICK INSECT

You might ask what he was doing climbing a car. 
Like all adventurous mountaineers before him, he might answer, ‘Because it was there.’

Stick Insect, Fiji

After all, with compound eyes which allowed him to see well during his largely nocturnal activities, he couldn’t use the excuse that he had mistaken the car for a tree... or could he?

Because, while out foraging, this dedicated herbivore had indeed climbed up a car and was now perched somewhat precariously on the wing mirror. Only he knew why he came to be there, a stick insect enigma, surveying his world from his unusual vantage point.  

Aware of his vulnerability, he rocked gently, mimicking a twig moving in the breeze. 

In the normal course of events this behaviour might fool predators, but stuck out on the wing mirror in broad daylight meant he was stretching his luck. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the sort of stick insect who could, chameleon-like, change colour to blend in with his surroundings.

If a predator did approach, he could drop to the ground and play dead, thus fooling the enemy into thinking he was nothing more than an indigestible twig. And if that didn’t work, he could unleash his pièce de résistance and vomit up the contents of his stomach. That should do the trick.

Do let me know if you're enjoying this insect mini-series.

See you next week.

Sunday, 24 July 2016


Having lived in Spain and then Fiji since I became seriously interested in writing, I’ve never had the opportunity to attend a Literary Festival before. Years ago I was invited to attend the Oxford Literary Festival because I had been short-listed in a travel writing competition. Sadly, it was impossible to fly to the UK from Fiji at short notice to attend.

Now, glory be, a Literary Festival is held annually where I live. I pre-booked several events and I was also fortunate to be offered a chance to read at the Festival through the medium of my Writers Group.


John Banville read extracts from his latest book: The Blue Guitar. He impressed me with his intelligence. I was left thinking that if I found myself at a dinner table with him I would find his intellect rather formidable. I would eat my food in silence, doing my utmost not to attract his attention because anything that came out of my mouth would probably sound giddy.

I went to a musical event: Joni Mitchell songs translated into Irish. I thought the idea was interesting, but, given that I don’t understand Irish, the reality soon became rather boring. The singer had a gorgeous voice – well suited to Joni Mitchell’s style, but I quickly found myself wishing she’d just sing the songs in English.

The workshop I chose was The Art of Memoir because I’m working (floundering?) on a book about my years in Fiji.

The tutor, Michael Harding, is an accomplished writer of plays, novels, articles and – importantly - memoirs.

So, feeling that I was in safe hands, I attended his workshop in the hope that he might have some useful insights and advice to share.

It took four days of patient explanation by him on the single most important aspect of memoir for the penny to drop. This was on the day I was to read my travel essay at the festival.

Now that I understood the basic elements of what elevates a piece of writing from bad to good, I was in a panic. Was I about to blithely read a load of crap in front of a knowledgeable audience?

But it was too late for me to back out of the reading. Fearing the worst, I re-read my essay, scant hours before I was due on stage.
And there it was: the ‘device’ Mr Harding had been discussing all week. To my great astonishment, I had already been instinctively using the tools described by him. 

It is hard to describe my euphoria.

So, did I really gain from the workshop?

Yes, absolutely, because I now understand the mechanics of how I’ve been doing it and I now understand how to structure my book.

At the end of the workshop I told Mr Harding that if I ever succeed in getting the book published, I will name him in the acknowledgements!

p.s. I almost forgot – my first experience of reading at a literary festival was fine. I didn’t trip on the way to the podium, I didn’t stumble over my words, the audience laughed in the right places, and they applauded at the end.

Have you been to a literary festival? Have you experienced a lightbulb moment in your life - not necessarily related to writing?
I'd love to hear about it.

See you next week.

Sunday, 17 July 2016

Insect Mini-Series : CARPENTER BEE

I'm preparing for the Cork Literary Festival which kicks off this weekend and I'm short of time, so here's a post from last year which most of you won't have seen.

Carpenter Bee, Morocco
It was his nature to be solitary. 

He flitted from flower to flower. Always searching, always feeding, always alone. No hive for the likes of him.


He paused between the flowers, testing the air for intruders.

Uncertain, he hovered, turning first one way, then the other. A vibration ruffled his iridescent navy blue wings. It was barely perceptible, yet it sparked a need, a longing, an imperative.

He turned a full circle, perplexed. The vibration receded.

A scent distracted his attention. He descended to land on the thistle’s purple flower head. He crawled into position and probed until his proboscis found the channel leading to the nectar.

Now the vibration interrupted his feeding again, so subtle he almost missed it. The imperative strengthened.


He lifted away from the thistle and turned to face the disturbance. A distant shape was coming towards him. The imperative overcame his instinct to flee. Instead he flew directly towards the shape, his body humming and pulsing in bewilderment and excitement.

The shape coalesced into another Carpenter bee and when he reached her his confusion dissolved.

Their tiny bodies briefly joined in fleeting harmony, the imperative to mate overcoming their shy dispositions.

She immediately began to search for suitable wood in which to drill and lay her eggs. He dutifully followed. Soon he would have a nest to guard.


Do let me know if you've enjoyed this and whether you'd like to read more from my Insect Mini-Series. See you next week.

Sunday, 10 July 2016


It was 5.30 in the morning. I could hear melodic singing. That I may be hallucinating after around thirty hours of travelling didn't seem too surprising. 

My husband and I traipsed wearily towards the Passport Control queue at Nadi International Airport. It was no hallucination: three men in colourful shirts were softly playing guitars and a ukulele. Their gentle harmonies soothed us like a lullaby. We smiled in wonder. I would soon learn that this was my introduction to all things quintessentially Fijian.

We flew from the international airport to Savusavu on Fiji’s second largest island. This tiny local airport consists of one landing strip for small aircraft and a little communal area for arrivals and departures.

If Fiji hadn’t already won my heart, the simplicity of the departure gate at Savusavu’s airport certainly did.

I found so much to delight me in Savusavu that I knew we had found a place where I wanted to live… at least for a time.

Paradise Handling? A courier service perhaps? No… it was a carpentry business which made tool handles to order.

A roadside canteen declared itself open 24 hours a day for travellers: I never tested that claim!

We supported the local hospital through Rotary. Fortunately, I didn't ever have occasion to use the hospital personally.

Although the decision to leave Fiji was voluntary, I left a piece of my heart behind. I have so many articles, stories and anecdotes from when I lived there, I'm currently working to turn them into a book. I'm a long way from the finish line, but I'll give a shout if I achieve my aim.

See you next week for something completely different.

Sunday, 3 July 2016


This series is not called On the road Surprises for nothing. When I see something that tweaks my sense of humour, I just have to take a photograph, if at all possible.

Namibian Road Sign

I'm staying in Namibia this week to give you a few more tasters of this wonderful country. The following is an edited extract from one of my travel articles:

Any feature you see on Namibia will generally have a photograph of the apricot coloured sand dunes of the Namib Desert.   

The most popular and accessible area is Sossusvlei via Sesriem. At Sesriem we stocked up on refreshments because there are no facilities at Sossusvlei. 

From Sesriem we drove a further 60 kms on a badly tarmacked road to what is called The Two Wheel Drive Car Park. 

This road took us through a broad valley flanked with massive dunes up to 300 metres high.  We were compelled to stop frequently to photograph these fabulous natural sculptures which looked like part of a Star Wars landscape.

At Sossusvlei we climbed a monster dune, then jumped and slithered back down again like a couple of kids.

After emptying the sand from our boots we walked across the silvery crackle-glazed vlei - or pan - to take the shuttle back to the dusty car park.  The only facilities at the car park are three individual toilet huts that look like the privies you see in old Westerns. 


Ostriches are ubiquitous in Namibia. I was delighted to see a lone bird strutting its stuff in the Namib.

Do let me know if you've enjoyed this post.

Next week I'll be taking you to the South Pacific for more On the Road Surprises.