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    <title>Salisbury Journal | Rachel Morgan</title>
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    <pubDate>Mon, 21 May 2012 18:39:36 +0100</pubDate>
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           <title>Investigating a life.</title>
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  I’m going to write a short story.
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           <pubDate>Thu, 20 May 2010 15:37:35 +0100</pubDate>
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           <title>Why wearing a Thermal Vest is really cool.</title>
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  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.
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           <pubDate>Thu, 11 Feb 2010 15:30:22 +0000</pubDate>
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           <title>The Real Deal.</title>
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  This is all very strange.
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           <pubDate>Thu, 14 Jan 2010 15:40:08 +0000</pubDate>
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           <title>So, it's the Christmas thing ........</title>
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  You see, I was feeling extremely guilty.
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           <pubDate>Tue, 15 Dec 2009 18:05:27 +0000</pubDate>
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           <title>Prologue</title>
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  This is a story. Well, to be precise about the matter, it is my story.
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           <pubDate>Fri, 06 Nov 2009 12:38:00 +0000</pubDate>
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           <title>Being Alone on the Planet</title>
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           <description><![CDATA[
  This is rather strange.
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           <pubDate>Thu, 29 Oct 2009 19:03:12 +0000</pubDate>
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           <title>Something More.</title>
           <link>http://www.salisburyjournal.co.uk/blogs/rachel_morgan/4687247.Something_More_/?ref=rss</link>
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  Do you ever leave a meeting, event, activity or ‘purpose’ (for want of another word) feeling a little frustrated?
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           <pubDate>Fri, 16 Oct 2009 14:18:13 +0100</pubDate>
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           <title>Homes</title>
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  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.
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           <pubDate>Thu, 25 Jun 2009 13:11:38 +0100</pubDate>
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           <title>Being right ... being right and wrong ... or just being wrong.</title>
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  I don’t know how many people out there believe that they are right or wrong.
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           <pubDate>Tue, 05 May 2009 14:57:05 +0100</pubDate>
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           <title>One Sunny Island ...</title>
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  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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           <pubDate>Tue, 21 Apr 2009 15:30:31 +0100</pubDate>
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