Nomadic Emma

March is traditionally the time when you start to have those exciting moments of: 'am I now putting my scarf away for good?', 'i...

Where I can, I try to take the bus. It is altogether a more pleasant ride. But there are always those occasions when going underground is un...

Last night I was lucky enough to have ninety minutes with my most favourite novellist. Not that he calls himself a novellist. He believes he...

We've had a visitor in our kitchen of late. A lovely amaryllis has been bringing the spring that has yet to arrive outside, inside for u...

My first appearance in something bound arrived in yesterday's post. I've had stuff in newsprint before, and a stapled magazine, but ...

Dear Niamh, I remember so vividly that morning you first came into my life. By text message. Spring was showing her sleepy face, with the mo...

"Just around the next corner" Now days into March, it's still cold. That kind of cold where your gloved hands are jammed into ...

It seems like every time I return to London from somewhere outside the M25, I end up sitting next to a fairly 'eclectic' person or p...

I was sitting on a bench in the middle of the afternoon, at a railway station somewhere in Manchester the other day, when I saw an abandoned...

Our garden was so alive this morning. Amidst the rain, Mr. Fox was leaping over backyard fences like an equestrian horse; our big fat pigeon...