Thursday afternoon we headed into town to catch the Tacita Dean film Craneway Event at the Frith Street Gallery before it closed this weekend. A warm, rather drowsy afternoon, London teeming with tourists, and just about every pub bedecked with national flags and World Cup 2010 posters. From Piccadilly, we wandered up to Golden Square, …
Author: Hilaire
I am a writer of poetry and prose. I was born and brought up in Melbourne but have lived in London most of my adult life.
a year of my life
If, on average, I spend an hour a day writing in my journal (a rough, but sadly fairly accurate, estimate), and there are 24 hours in a day (incontrovertible), and I have been keeping a journal for 25 years (a bit longer, in fact, since the first journal entry is dated 28.11.84); then over those …
come, been and gone
Cultural highlight of the weekend: seeing Michael Clark Company at the Barbican performing come, been and gone. The phrase 'jolie laide' (pretty-ugly) came to mind when I was trying to pinpoint why his work appeals to me so much. The punk aesthetic is still firmly there, in the bizarre costumes, the poking of fun at …
first swim of the summer
8:00 a.m., Tooting Bec Lido. It couldn't be a better morning. A ridiculously blue sky, the sun already warm, the trees surrounding the lido in full resplendent leaf. No dipping my toes this morning, I'm straight down the steps and into the water. It's cold, but not that gasping-takes-your-breath-away cold. I push off and begin …
moonstruck
I watched mesmerised on Thursday night as a blood-red nearly-full moon rose above the railway bridge opposite my Battersea flat. A beautiful, primal sight. As transfixing as the sea or a flickering fire or the shimmering ever-changing surface of the Thames.
On Margate Sands
From Eliot to Emin, or Emin to Eliot, is just a short stroll across the broad stretch of Margate Sands. Here we were, on our short trip out of London, the mercury rocketing into the 20s (celsius, obviously), and enjoying most of what Margate has to offer. Adorning Droit House, on Margate Harbour Arm, is …
RIP
As I've been trawling through my (worryingly?) comprehensive CV this afternoon to update the Short Stories page, it's reminded me of so many great little magazines which have fallen by the wayside. R.I.P. PROP (which stood for Poetry, Reviews, Opinions, Prose - a good and interesting balance); em one (writing and music - it came …
dipping my toe
We could start with a quote from John Cage: "I have nothing to say and I am saying it and that is poetry." 'Lecture on nothing' (1961)
Hilaire 