Scales of Justice

High above the Central Court of England and Wales, commonly known as The Old Bailey, standing tall and straight, a sword pointing to the heavens in her right hand, a pair of scales hanging from her left, her feet resting on the globe beneath them, her spiky crown...

A Fair COP?

My childhood was spent in rural East Anglia: the 1950s and early 60s when the post-war push for food production encouraged arable farmers to invest in bigger machines to harvest bigger crops; and bigger fields meant the removal of hedges. ‘Grubbing out’, thus...

A Woman’s Voice

A child early to walking and talking and, it could be said, early to finding my writer’s voice, in that I wrote my first short story collection when I was five or six – see On the Shelf podcast – my need to express myself creatively has continued throughout my life,...

Melting Pot

I had hoped to write this if not before then during Refugee Week, which the UNHCR package I received prior to it, informed me was June 17-23, but family commitments prevented me from doing so. Though I did display the enclosed poster on my sitting-room window, were it...

From the cradle to the grave

Last year brought 75th birthday ‘celebrations’ for the NHS, the state of Israel, and for me. The last British troops left Haifa four days after I almost killed my mother, the home-birth of her second child suddenly a medical emergency, our hospital discharge coming a...

A cold coming…

Christmas almost upon us, the cold snap coming to an end, shopping for spices in the fabulous market of this fine city, the friendly stallholder asked me how I was. A dangerous question to a writer partial to telling it like it is. A bit down, I answered… voice...

We are not afraid of death . . .

While football-crazy folks spend large amounts of money flying to Doha to watch super-rich footballers kick a ball about a stadium (built by poor immigrant workers, some dying in the process), I’d like to take you back to the Qatari capital and February 29th 2020....

The Dogs of War

There’s a girl, her curly ginger hair pulled to one side with a turquoise slide, wailing in the cloakroom, tears trailing down her freckled flushed cheeks. Beyond distraught, she’s on the verge of hysteria. A year older, having clocked up my fourteenth year that May,...

Lies, damned lies and…

Lies, damned lies and statistics. For some reason, these words came into my mind, and since, politically-speaking, they summed up January 2022, they are the theme for this blog. The full phrase, There are three kinds of lies – lies, damned lies and statistics, was...