The name of this blog was originally contrived from a comment by someone (oh I couldn’t possibly say who, but it was an afternoon in the countryside before all the cider).  The comment: ‘You’re so funny, stuck in yr bubble with all yr books’ still holds true, but the original bubble (an attic above my parents’ house in Somerset) has now been vacated, leaving me with the need to update this information.

The new bubble (which is also full of books) is at the top of Clifton, Bristol with a front view onto a garden Frances Hodgson Burnett would be proud of and a back view of onto some buildings which look confusingly French.  The bubble has also collided with and combined with that of another, who comes complete with a great number of his own books and good taste in tea.

The premise, though, is the same.  Many of the posts are re-prints of articles I write for a selection of publications, particularly Exeunt, and mainly to do with THE ARTS.  I am very open to discussions of new projects, similar to ones I have participated in with IBT and the Arnolfini or other discussions relating, but not limited, to how we write about arts and theatre.

Aside from all that arty stuff, I am also increasingly found either covered in soil, frequenting the Botanic Gardens, knitting or dress-making. And when time permits, I am hoping to gradually include these earthy interests in my writing henceforth.

(Or I’ll just head to the Old Vic with the pocket of my homemade dress full of homegrown strawberries to snack on. Either way, we’ll get there in the end.)


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