Writer and photographer living in Glasgow, Scotland. Feedback always welcome - @werewegian1 on Twitter
Lost for words
The sunlight streamed down from the domed roof. Susan loved this time of the day when the library was quiet. The floor remained clean of any debris brought in by the public, the heating was on, and the radiators were beginning to tick as they expanded. She tidied the information desk, laid out fresh copies of the lending rules, arranged the children's shelves. It was a job that she enjoyed, everything in order, chaos averted each day, watching the readers misplace items and quietly following behind to reorder according to subject, author, and title.
Night Owl - A Scottish Halloween Playlist
Did you know the word halloween or more correctly hallowe'en is of Scottish origin? Contracted in Scots from All Hallows Eve, the name signifies the evening before All Saints Day. Trick or Treating may be a recent import from the US, but the tradition in Scotland is to go Guising or to dress up and go around the neighbourhood and collect coins or cakes in return for singing a song or doing a party trick.
Five Ways Postcrossing Makes Me A Better Person
I'm a postcrosser and proud of it I joined postcrossing in 2012 where I am known as werewegian and since then I've sent over 13500 postcards to people all over the globe and received a similar number back. It's a great hobby that is ideal for a serial collector like me: postcards and stamps arrive almost every day. But I've found it's not just about collecting. There are subtle things about the postcrossing experience that help me grow to be a better person.
I am lying on the back seat of the car, casually thumping my tail off the cushioned back, enjoying the air-conditioning when Mum first mentions it.
Somebody Else's Memories
The train curved along the coast, the puffing engine and the rattle of the train's carriages noisy. The approaching town felt familiar, the lighthouse on the rocky promontory, the long sandy beach, the little multi-coloured huts, the whites and greys of the houses and the church. The woman checked her bag. The photos were safe. In her State there were only freight trains. Public transport was the greyhound bus. Even the poor went everywhere by car. Not that she and Bill had been poor. Her father had handed the business over to them a long time ago. He hadn’t taken to Bill straight away, had been unsure of his credentials, but hard work and an easy manner had won Pop over in the end.
Changing The Code
The doctor is turning the screen away. You don't know why. He isn't abrupt about it. It's not like he saw you come in and then pulled the screen to one side. He waits until you are seated, and you are having a conversation. Each time he speaks he reaches over and touches the edge of the screen, as if he is tilting it because of the reflections, or pressing on a touch screen to input an answer but every time he does, he moves it subtly away, pretending he isn't doing it on purpose. And all the time he is asking you the same questions. Do you feel anxious today? Could you pinpoint why you are anxious? Are you more or less anxious than last week?
The clock ticked on the mantle-piece beside the porcelain children and the glass clowns. A special bed had been placed in the centre of the room, with a view out of the bay window. There was a faint mix of smells, the sweet scent of perfume and the bitterness of sweat.
The birds in the harbour swooped and dived as if flight was something new, a skill they had invented only this morning. Boats bobbed on the water as boats invariably bob on water. It was sunny, not too hot yet, but with the few clouds thinning, the day was losing the battle against the summer heat.