When I was small, before my  father died,  I believed in fairies. But only when I was

in Hastings. Because in Hastings the air was different. The musty damp smell of

the lavender house staircase switched on my inner vision. My sense of smell was

linked to the old fish and rotting ropes of the beach old town fishing boats. And

this smell produced magic in my mind.

My inner peace heard bells and music in the fresh air, the

gorse bushes on the east hill whispered with the voices of the bogyman and his

victims. And I would pretend I didn’t hear them then suddenly turn and point,

to let them know that I did know they were there all along. And all the stories

told and picture books I looked at blew more oxygen into the fire of my

imagination where skeletons danced, ghosts hooted, and fairies lived in small

communities in the holes of trees and danced in the dappled light of Fairlight

woods and we had an understanding.

These other beings were my company, my background, my inner music,

I spent my time dreaming safely, composing music in my mind where they became even

more real.

That is the mind of a child free of humiliation and fear.

And despite the perceived surface  meanness and frugality of living my fathers rules our inner world was rich and abundant.

Self-perception   a

set of questions into my experience of being in the world

“Everyone knows

that a place exists which is not economically or practically indebted to all

the vileness and compromise. That is not obliged to reproduce the system.

That is writing.


there is somewhere else that can escape the infernal repetition, it lies in

that direction, where it writes itself, where it dreams, where it invents new



Cixous, A Tarantella of a theory


I copied this quote down a few years ago and knew its relevance to me as

a creative...

5th Aug 2019 kings college hospital, Oliver


On being

a daughter


Daughter of an artist’s model

My mother worked as a model for my father, she also looked

after his children from his second marriage.

They met when she was about 15, in 1948. camber sands

I am

The daughter of a free woman

Daughter of a pregnant woman

Daughter of a battered woman

Daughter of an alcoholic

of a shoplifter

Second-hand dealer, toffee apple maker gambling casino

mental health patient dementia patient dying woman


Small talk

is difficult apparently it relieves the anxiety of the dying, so I am playing

al Jolson...