In which I recall how I was forced to face up to my fear of the dark.
In which I dream about my ideal space for sitting and writing.
In which I think about the global God who wants local action.
In which I invent a useful meaning for a made-up word.
In which I reveal where my sense of security rests.
In which I list eight songs that I might take to a desert island.
A short story about cheese, set in a disused holiday resort.
In which I write about travelling light.
In which I write about Simeon, a bloke from the Bible who had an item on his bucket list and ticked it off.
In which I write about new year’s resolutions, and why Jonathan Edwards is a misery-guts.