On Google Maps the world looks flat. Believe me, it's not.

In hot and very humid Numéa we rise early, wandering from place to interesting place (not all of which have joined the 21st Century).

There is a song called Caledonia written by a Scottish guy called Dougie. Not me. Obviously It's maudlin, mawkish, sickly-sweet and sentimental. Very, very blokey. The sort of thing drunks put on a juke box when they're a long, long way from home. Ibiza, maybe. It's about loving a mythical Scotland that never existed. Which is why, years ago, it was used perfectly as the backing music for a no-less maudlin television advert for Tennents lager. The chorus goes: Oh and let me

Air travel ... a never-ending tale of surprising moments in the life of most disabled travellers.

Travel, as always for us, starts with the slow, slow train to Sydney.

A melancholic piece today. Because sometimes we are. Read it here. Buy my book online.

The Einstein-Rosen Bridge we all possess (if we choose to use it): if we want a better future, we must not repeat mistakes from the past. Lessons from old witch hunts.

"He lifted up his gown and everyone kissed his arse. The men were turned nine times about and the women six times."

We Of Nagasaki (1951) by Takashi Nagai & And All The Trumpets (1955) by Donald Smith. Both books were written by survivors of war time atrocities.

First sign of spring (not too far off)?

A nobody from nowhere (in literary terms) enters a catalogue somewhere with real somebodies.

Spike Deane's glass art goddess Aine meets the ruler of our universe

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike Deane.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike Deane.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike Deane.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

A poem from my first book, Something That Comes Close. Illustration by Spike.

The spoken word. A friend recites the title poem from my book: Something That Comes Close.

"It could not be dangerous to be living in a town like this, of simple people," Marianne Moore, 1921