I am much better suited to the city life. Where I lived in Uzbekistan wasn’t exactly rural, but certainly in comparison to London – definitely. For a start I hear you aren’t supposed to name your chickens as they aren’t meant to be your pets, but how else could I tell them apart? Sheryl, named after my sister who growing up was nicknamed by family members as ‘mother hen’ seemed a natural choice. Evidently when I was very small she felt like I was her baby and therefore coddled to ...
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This is a little bit of an experiment! I have been told recently that I should write some of my memoirs of my life. My first immediate comment was, "Who would be interested in my ilfe?" Well, I have written two short stories and am placing one of them out here. If you think I should write more, please let me know. I have lived an exciting life and enjoy the thought of others reliving some of my experiences with me. So, if you read this and think I should write more, please send me a note. I a...
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As I was drinking oolong tea and wearing my karakul hat,
I recalled a time of years gone by when I bought my first water rat.
I was ignorant then of its importance and thought it a mere covering for hair.
I soon realised that when choosing a hat, one must take the greatest of care.

To sport a water rat, when you should clearly be wearing a mink,
is to announce to the world and for all to see that you simply cannot think.
The measure of man isn’t his penis, his muscles or hair on his chest.
But the...
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“Islambek has fallen…has fallen.”
Like an album stuck in the groove, over, over and over.
“Islambek has fallen…has fallen…fallen…off the roof.”

The shrill became louder behind the tall sea-green gate.
Rushing down my pomegranate-stained path,
I pushed open the heavy door to see her ashen face.

Shh. Quiet.
Calm.
Slowly.

My words had no effect on the distraught mother.
Only my ability to follow with similar hysteria
seemed to provide any sense of comfort.

Neighbourhood children, the famil...
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Having lived in a number of countries and traveled extensively through many years, people often have asked what my favourite place was. This, of course is impossible to answer. Each one has wonderful memories, intermingled with difficult and painful memories. Each place led me to a new depth in discovering myself. Each place has a myriad of emotion attached to them.

Shodieva Street, is in reference to my home in Uzbekistan, where I lived for a number of years. Due to illness I had to fly back...
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