The story so far
I'm from Adelaide, but I'm living in Abu Dhabi right now. One day, I saw a gold leaf four wheel drive. It made me cry.
My first novel, Black Dust Dancing, was published by Wakefield Press in March 2009. It looks like this:
Tag Archives: expat wife
Five suitcases between the three of us
Unpacking. So strange, looking at the things which only a few hours ago I obviously thought I could not, above all other things, live without. For example, this woollen blanket that went on first one lad’s cot and then the … Continue reading
Posted in Blogopera
Tagged expat wife, on being 42, on being a mother (good bad indifferent), packing
1 Comment
I knew it would happen, but I hoped it would not
That’s that then. Holiday over. And what a way to end a holiday, with a twenty hour trip either squeezed into a seat that’s too small even for someone who barely hits five foot two, or sitting around an airport … Continue reading
And you can be fairly sure, the mister is vacuuming the apartment at our destination
One of the things about the life that I’m currently leading is that I’m always cleaning the house for someone else. I do like to live and work in a tidy space, but a few of my personality traits (a … Continue reading
Maybe it’s the pollen going to my head already
Okay, this is going to make me sound like a person I never knew I’d be, but I’m thinking of registering for the Ras al Kaimah half marathon. I just now sent the mister an email which said, ‘My love, … Continue reading
Posted in Blogopera
Tagged doctor's wife, expat wife, fitness, marathon, on being 42, running
9 Comments
This should clarify things
It was cryptic I suppose, that last post, and no, being my friend on facebook wouldn’t help because it’s things to which I don’t have the public right, but that’s a further symptom of the broader issue. That is, most … Continue reading
Posted in Blogopera
Tagged abu dhabi, adelaide, being a mother (good-bad-indifferent), expat wife, on being 42
2 Comments
Summer
Summer, she has arrived. Every day, the temperatures reach at least forty, and they never fall below thirty. The mister finally said jhallas Continue reading
