Four green olives

She said: ‘four green olives’. Try to put this sentence into some kind of context. It might be about a martini. It might be about a garnish. Or nibbles during drinks. But it is very specific, isn’t it? It’s something about the colour and the quantity that makes it memorable. And something more than perhaps … More Four green olives

The Art of Trams

We live in Melbourne, which is a town of trams. And trams are their own special space. The thing about trams is they are eccentric to look at. They are train-like, but they are shorter, they run in the middle of roads, they are connected to the tracks they run on, they make squealing, grinding … More The Art of Trams

Bag of Bones

This is a story about a serial killer I met once. He was old, with a dog, living in a little white house at the end of our street. He was that neighbour who knew everyone and everyone knew him by some weird circumstance or coincidence and he was kinder than so many other killers I’ve met. … More Bag of Bones

Pot of magic

Yes. It’s slightly depressing to hear about pots of magic when we are talking about food. There is so much nonsense written about food now – I blame the cooking shows that speak of ‘perfection’ and offer scores rather than thanks for dishes. We have fetishised food to the point of meaninglessness. I’m not immune. … More Pot of magic

Box Towers

Layers of blankets, stacked on top of each other threatened to topple over as our tiny white car toddled along unfamiliar streets. The last time we had seen the house was when it was still in construction or at least, when I had last seen it, making my expectations of a wooden frame with generic … More Box Towers