Vanishing Points

A friend, a true wandering minstrel, travels around Europe on his bike with a guitar strapped to his back. He … Continue reading Vanishing Points

Collecting the Eggs

It’s early, still before nine, and I’m driving. The sun is bright and low, forcing me to squint, and the … Continue reading Collecting the Eggs

A mid afternoon meeting is scheduled in the city centre, meaning a mad bike ride to be there on time, … Continue reading Twittens and Nooks

My name is Eric Wark and I am a booksniffer. It is a simple and habitual pleasure, almost unconscious and … Continue reading Booksniffing

It may have been 1997, but this was the Russia of the seventies. Soviet and grey. No snow to lift … Continue reading Почта

Not far from here there is an old cinder track. It follows a line of trees between the railway and … Continue reading Cow Tree