“I Nazar 72”
When Nazar met our coddled cat, he fell in love. He adores animals, but the few ragamuffin moggies you see in India are tiny. To him Millie was an exotic sleek-coated giant.
The brawling sea: storm sailing the Indian Ocean
Esper’s bow disappeared under water, shooting the sea into the cockpit. I was astonished at how warm it was. Jamie released the sails, then furled them, to give the wind a smaller target. His hands bled from rope burns, and the din of whipping lines and snapping canvas made me flinch. But we were upright.
Who says cats can’t swim?
Esper came equipped with a swimming platform on the stern. Even so, it’s still a struggle to haul yourself up. For humans, there is a fold-down ladder. But cats don’t have our dexterity, so we added a rope ladder to make the job easier. The next question was would Millie be able to find and use the rope?
100% Cok: life on Rubbish Island
“This isn’t as bad as I expected,” I said to Jamie, as we sat on Esper in the slipway, waiting to be hauled out.
He didn’t bother to reply. We were coming to a rolling boil in the midday heat, and any attempt at conversation or movement was painful. Millie lay on the floor in the saloon with ears twitching. She began to pant and stared up at me through the hatch. What hell-hole have you brought me to now? she seemed to be saying.
My first book, sort of
I am thrilled to announce that my story, Nazar 72, has been published in Foreign Encounters, the third anthology from Writers Abroad, an online group of ex-pat writers.
Writers Abroad received 231 submissions of which they selected 95 for the anthology. And five of those contributions came from our very own Itinerant Writers Club. Well done to HelenM, HelenW, Bex and Jean for having their pieces published in the anthology too.
Searching for mermaids: Bradt Travel Writing Competition 2011
Dolphins peel off into the navy blue sea, and a hitch-hiking tern flies away. Balancing high up on the boom, Jamie peers into the now crystal water, navigating by sight – and the seat of his pants.
My first time at the end of a barrel: World First Travel Writing Competition 2011
I emerge through layers of sleep to the sound of shouting and something metallic rat-a-tat-tatting against our hull. It’s just after dawn, and we are anchored in the Red Sea near the border between Eritrea and Djibouti.
