I’m on a roll with these transliterated bird sounds, so have a drink with me at six of an October evening and I’ll give you another. At this time of year the ritual pouring comes just as day is turning into night: the violet hour. For most birds it’s getting late and they’re already… [Read More]

           James Joyce would have known how to write the sound. If all he had ever done was to fit letters to sounds we’d know him as a genius. In the pages of Ulysses Mr Bloom’s cat says mkgnao, mrkgnao and gurrhr, while the sea sloshing over the rocks on Sandymount Strand says seeso, hrss,… [Read More]

I’ve been feeling rotten. You’ll know the kind of rotten I mean. I was perfectly capable of getting on with life and researching my current book and even writing some stuff about the nature of the feather, but there wasn’t much fun to be had. I wasn’t exactly miserable. Just a little short of joy…. [Read More]