|Posted by Cindy-Lou Dale on October 2, 2011 at 12:45 PM||comments (0)|
‘Anger becomes like old leather,’ he said, ‘the longer you carry it around with you, the more comfortable it becomes, eventually you don’t know any other feeling.’
Lushly scenic hills sprinkled with white sheep, lazily merged with towering mountains. Ancient forts, which had been frowning over the valleys for centuries, punctuated the hills and stood guard over much of the regions history. I was driving through Bosnia-...Read Full Post »
|Posted by Cindy-Lou Dale on July 17, 2011 at 11:30 AM||comments (0)|
I just found this article I wrote in 2009 but never got around to publishing it...
In 1996 the then British Prime Minister, Tony Blair said, ‘Losing control of public finance is not ridicule, it’s reckless, and we will not do it.’ He went on to introduce Gordon Brown, as the Iron Chancellor (of the Exchequer), who’s catchword famously became ‘prudence’.
But the public spending figures suggested his pru...Read Full Post »
|Posted by Cindy-Lou Dale on June 12, 2011 at 11:41 AM||comments (1)|
Like most of us, I like to travel. But current financial trends have made spur of the moment shopping trips to France, be they via Eurotunnel or ferry, far too costly. The alternative, a girlfriend helpfully suggested, was to fly. After I stopped laughing, it got me thinking – I could have Jonathan, my husband, fly me there!
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|Posted by Cindy-Lou Dale on May 18, 2011 at 9:00 AM||comments (0)|
It was my last night in San Francisco and it was too hot to sleep so I took myself for a drive. In the mist smudged darkness of first light I headed towards one of the hills overlooking San Francisco Bay. On route I stopped at a steamy diner for coffee where huddled clusters of night workers were bundled into the booths. I sat at the counter beside a lone man under a cowboy hat, lost in daydreams with a cup of coffee and an unli...Read Full Post »
|Posted by Cindy-Lou Dale on May 2, 2011 at 5:44 AM||comments (0)|
When the shadows lengthened and the light softened Foster, my ranger, and I made our way to a waterhole. The sun caught itself on a tree on the far bank and bled red and gold across the water, Foster presented me with a biscuit tin containing Grandma's Buttermilk Rusk's, these were an accompaniment to the Rooibos tea he offered. I cupped my hands in the African manner to receive then, having sufficiently softened a chunk of the cheerless rocklike scone in the steaming liquid I took in a mouth...Read Full Post »