In introducing today’s FOMM about Hydra by She Whose Pen-Name used to be Mrs W, I need to explain how often, when travelling in Southern Europe, I was mis-identified as a local. Perhaps it was the Celtic complexion, infused with Spanish blood. Or the faux fisherman’s cap. Either way, I’d get something like this: Greek cafe owner: “Welcome! Where are you from?” BW: “Australia” (café guy looks at colleague and chortles) “No, no, where are…
Just thinking about how much we love to travel (re: last week’s mention of Japan), got me thinking about how much we are missing being able to scratch our itchy feet. We are not the only ones. When it comes to having family or close friends living overseas, not being able to visit is particularly hard. We all know someone who has not yet met their new grandchild (in London or New York). We appeased…
After seeing a photo on a tourism brochure of a fruit cocktail with a banana posed like a dolphin with its mouth open, eating one will never be the same. I decided to write about bananas after spending two weeks in north Queensland, where 94% of the fruit is grown. I had also recently learned of the re-emergence of Panama disease, coined ‘Bananageddon’ by some droll headline writer. The threat of disease not withstanding, Australian banana…
Two days into a five-week pilgrimage to far North Queensland and back, I ran out of suitable reading material. I’d rapidly consumed two of the three crime thrillers acquired for the journey and gave up on the Jonathan Kellerman when the body count reached four in the first dozen pages. She Who Reads Literature meanwhile snaffled the collection of short stories by Annie Proulx I borrowed from the library. When I discover a new writer,…