Garden Work Clears The Mind.

Everything Comes Home, My Mother Used To Say; Every Word Spoken, Every Shadow Cast, Every Footprint In The Sand. It Can't Be Helped; It's Part Of What Makes Us Who We Are.

Wine Talks; Ask Anyone. The Oracle At The Street Corner; The Uninvited Guest At The Wedding Feast; The Holy Fool. It Ventriloquizes. It Has A Million Voices. It Unleashes The Tongue, Teasing Out Secrets You Never Meant To Tell, Secrets You Never Even Knew. It Shouts, Rants, Whispers. It Speaks Of Great Plans, Tragic Loves, And Terrible Betrayals. It Screams With Laughter. It Chuckles Softly To Itself. It Weeps In Front Of Its Own Reflection. It Revives Summers Long Past And Memories Best Forgotten. Every Bottle A Whiff Of Other Times, Other Places, Everyone...a Humble Miracle

As Authors, We All Expect Criticism From Time To Time, And We All Have Our Ways Of Coping With Unfriendly Reviews.

The Battle Of Good And Evil Reduced To A Fat Woman Standing In Front Of A Chocolate Shop, Saying, Will I? Won’t I? In Pitiful Indecision.

I Dream A Lot, In Colour And In Sound And Scent. Quite A Few Of My Stories Have Come From Dreams.