Writings

Tina has been a lot on my mind this week. The Queen of Rock ‘n Roll has certainly packed a life, and her death was peaceful, and yet, her loss felt like a punch in the gut, disproportionately upsetting.

To be called ‘a dreamer’ is an insult that implies that you are infantile, out of touch with reality and foolish. It is a derogatory word deployed by people who consider themselves intellectually superior, but whose eyes are drained of the light fuelled by the pursuit of a worthwhile cause, a meaning, a purpose.

I have found my felicità in a bowl of spaghetti alla carbonara. I am in Rome with my mother and we have stumbled upon this cozy brewery in one of Rome’s narrow streets, about a four-minute walk from fontana di Trevi.

Magic. That is what my daughter says I am capable of doing when I show her a picture of the ruin in the south of Italy that I am dreaming of turning into a writing/yoga centre.

“Don’t worry, be happy,” may make a catchy song, but as an attitude to life, it is naïve in assuming that you can simply wish worries away with artificially induced happiness.

When you announce your engagement, it is natural for people to congratulate you with great excitement and immediately glare at your ring. When you tell people that you have just separated, however, the acceptable etiquette is to produce a piteous sad face, accompanied...