my son

My son turned into a real person the other day. Up until then, he had been a baby, someone who needed care and constant attention, someone who could and would pick up anything from the ground and put it into his delicate little mouth.

Then, just shy of his third birthday, he apologised for the first time. ”Sorry daddy,” he said after an act of particular naughtiness. Two simple words, but there was something shattering in his tone. It took me ages to realise that he was expressing actual remorse, that although he had probably been taught to say sorry after doing the wrong thing and this was mostly a learned response, there was also hiding in that tone a feeling of genuine regret. I wasn’t sure whether to be proud, or devastated that the world had already taken the first little piece of his innocence away.

Bill Hicks once said that a person wasn’t really a person until they were in his phone book. I think a child becomes a person when they first learn the meaning of sorry.

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A beautiful creation

It would be impossible for me to do justice, in words, to the beauty and wonder of Milk Fever.

I had written down some thoughts and feelings before I read the stunning final chapter, but then when I was finished I realised, behind many tears and a thickening chest and throat, that I would have to write down how it made me feel first, then maybe try to express any thoughts or feelings about the writing.

It has been a long time since I wondered what life could possibly mean if there was no God. Finishing Milk Fever, I feel like someone has pushed me down the pathway towards understanding. I realise that the feelings, confusion and disjointed thoughts I have had for a long time about life’s energy and the awe-inspiring magic of the world have finally been put into words, laid out for me like a map to my own heart. In this amazing, profound book. And for that I can only express my gratitude to the universe. And to Lisa.

Milk Fever is elegant, painfully insightful and aware. It is filled with dazzling and effortless imagery that takes your breath away with its acuity. Almost every sentence is like a jewel waiting to be discovered and savoured, whether it be about a decrepit country supermarket or the intricate workings of the human heart and soul.

It pulses with life and wonderfully drawn characters.

It is moving, poignant and funny.

I feel privileged to, I hope, call its creator my friend.

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immobilised

She stands centimetres away, eyes flashing. Champagne dress hugs her figure. We are in a fairground of movement, light and noise, but there is nobody.

I am in a dream. I take her fingers in my palm, edge closer. She radiates loveliness. Our bodies not quite touching, but nothing in the world could separate them.

Electricity.

Cardamom.

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a breadcrumb

If you were stranded on a desert island and you knew no one would ever read anything you wrote, would you go on writing?

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an intriguing stranger

Someone has come into my life. She says mysterious things, then is gone. She is intriguing.

She is also exquisitely talented, in so many parts of life. A beautiful writer (her debut novel, Milk Fever, is published next week), an accomplished musician, a poised and intelligent human being. Which begs the question: how could she ever be remotely interested in a world weary news editor?

In my work, I read thousands of words every day, words describing chaos and pain. They overwhelm me, cloud my judgement. Can I find the words for joy and love and beauty to conquer that outside world? Are they still inside me? I hope so…

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on beauty

She presses the last petals of her beauty between the pages of her days

Never seeing that the poison she absorbs is swathing the inner child within.

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an optimistic austen

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of an optimistic heart must be in want of a woman who loves to watch Jane Austen adaptations on television.

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When history repeats

Fortune doesn’t smile on the Land of Smiles.

Eighteen years ago, almost to the day, hundreds of Thais were killed when Army troops opened fire on pro-democracy protesters in downtown Bangkok. Officially, 52 people died, but there were numerous eyewitness accounts of bodies being loaded onto trucks in the dead of night and driven away to the countryside. Lists of the names of people who never returned to their loved ones after the protest ran to well over 300.

Even in 1992, it would have been unthinkable in the Western world for soldiers to fire on their fellow nationals. Almost 20 years later, in another century, it is happening again in Thailand. Why?

The Thai Prime Minister, Abhisit Vejjajiva – an urbane, well-educated man who is well aware of the image Thailand is currently projecting to the rest of the world and the nation’s biggest source of income, tourists – said this week that the soldiers were only using live ammunition in self-defence. How then does he explain the shooting of a protest leader and former army general as he was being interviewed for a foreign television report? It is difficult to imagine how he was posing a threat to the safety of soldiers at the time.

The reality is that poorly educated soldiers are currently shooting down poorly educated protesters, most of them from the country, because they have been ordered to do so, because the violent and inflammatory actions of a minority among the protesters has convinced them that they are in some kind of a battle and – possibly – because they simply want to end the impasse and go home.

The protesters want the government turned out and, ostensibly, the return of a former prime minister, Thaksin Shinawatra, who multiplied the billions of dollars he was making in the telecoms industry many times over while in government. Largely they support him because he doled out the most money to buy votes in rural areas in order to get into power, and spent vast amounts of money on those same constituents when he was in power. The irony is not necessarily lost on these political pawns that dozens of them – the country’s poorest people – are now dying in the streets in support of one of its richest, a corrupt politician.

Tragically, most Thais accept a corrupt polity and a politically powerful military as part of the country’s landscape. Until that part of the culture changes dramatically and the people are given the democracy they crave, they are condemned to seeing history repeat itself.

And the ripples of grief that resonate throughout the community from every death will torment another generation of smiling Thais.

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