Salisbury Journal
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Rachel Morgan »
Rachel Morgan »
Why wearing a Thermal Vest is really cool.
Posted on 3:30pm Thursday 11th February 2010
It’s interesting, isn’t it … when one watches an ALL-TIME CULT classic (such as Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry), some people, mentioning no names, except of course, myself, have the tendency to latch onto certain quotations. Notting Hill is no exception.
Rachel Morgan »
Rachel Morgan »
So, it's the Christmas thing ........
Posted on 6:05pm Tuesday 15th December 2009
You see, I was feeling extremely guilty.
Rachel Morgan »
Prologue
Posted on 12:38pm Friday 6th November 2009
This is a story. Well, to be precise about the matter, it is my story.
Rachel Morgan »
Rachel Morgan »
Something More.
Posted on 2:18pm Friday 16th October 2009
Do you ever leave a meeting, event, activity or ‘purpose’ (for want of another word) feeling a little frustrated?
Rachel Morgan »
Homes
Posted on 1:11pm Thursday 25th June 2009
I think that I am going home this week-end. I write ‘think’ because I am not sure. I am not sure whether I will feel at ease, retracing steps in time or indeed, whether my old home will remember me. I’ve not been back for years … I’ve lived in some pretty interesting places. I wish that I could write that I’ve lived in a cave, a boat or on the top of a tree-house. I pretended to build copious ‘camps’ as a child akin ‘Stig of the Dump’. Stig was an aboriginal boy who lived in England, out of a dwelling, built of glass jam jars. (Please correct me if I am wrong). I was never that inventive but drove my poor mother mad through turning her linen cupboard upside down.
Author Unknown »
Being right ... being right and wrong ... or just being wrong.
Posted on 2:57pm Tuesday 5th May 2009
I don’t know how many people out there believe that they are right or wrong.
Rachel Morgan »
One Sunny Island ...
Posted on 3:30pm Tuesday 21st April 2009
I am on my island. Yes, I am on island on a Tuesday afternoon. This island is fairly small, by most people’s standards, shorter than my current height and probably the width of a Labrador. (Please note the total inability in the previous sentence to estimate sizes in centimetres or inches or anything mathematical. I had maths’ coaching, aged 11, by an amazing man … he turned out to work for MI6. No wonder he was able to fix my illogical brain for those few months whilst in his company …) Back to my island. I haven’t quite named it, not yet. It’s too special and private to advertise as such but I am seated on it, with legs revealing Denis the Menace pink and black knee socks (currently, wrinkled to my ankles, due to the SUN which is shining today in this country, the English one), amongst a crowd of dandelions and circles of daisies. (Don’t you think that gardeners are relatively cruel people? I always feel so sorry for the aforementioned flowers/weeds being regularly beheaded as summer approaches.) I’ve decided not to move from my spot as, with the sun on my back, I am feeling quite serene. Yes, I have been named a Drama Queen but today, I am not. I am serene as I’ve given up trying to be a D.G. What is that? A Domestic Goddess.
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