a collection of short literary or philosophical extracts
Not all ideas fit neatly into the pages of a book. When I see, hear or read something that moves me—a news story, a snippet of conversation, a musical phrase, a storyline or cityscape—I capture the thoughts it provokes by jotting them down. From art and sports—whether Wimbledon or the World Cup—to politics, love and war, all topics have the potential to spark my imagination.
The Romantic Grocery and Gift Emporium stood on a pedestal of steps, four feet above the ground, in the heart of Pyla, a tiny fishing village on the coast of Cyprus. The Emporium would have had a...
Having written the first chapter of my book Chasing Aphrodite, I now searched for an editor. Two answered my call. The first was a 30-year-old blond, lissome beauty. She lived in the area and could...
Wes was the most charming client in my menagerie of accounting clients—a great charm causing me the utmost stress and anxiety. Accounting records were not handed over until almost the very last day...
Finally, I was free… at least for the summer. Laura had taken the boys home with her to the Philippines. I was left a bachelor. On my first Thursday evening alone, I rushed to my Scrabble club—a...
Talking of restaurants, Europe isn’t like back home in Calgary. Despite being branded “Cowtown”, you can find whatever cuisine your heart desires, from Uzbek to Indonesian. In Spain, it seems every...
Come what may, Team 2 of Collins Barrow, Chartered Accountants met religiously each Monday morning at 8.30 a.m. sharp. No one arrived late. On that morning, during my first winter in Calgary,...
Christmas in Calgary is not always full of cheer. Relying on its oil industry, the city suffers intense cycles of boom and bust. One year, I lost both my business and family home. I had been...
“Son,” she said. “Stop dreaming of becoming a writer. Be an accountant. You’ll always have a job and pay your bills.” At the tender age of 60, I decided to rebel. Now I’m miserable and broke. Why?...
Joel died today of a drug overdose. Or, to be politically correct, from “substance abuse”. How can you remain “politically correct” over the death of a twenty-six-year-old due to horrendous choices?...
As a child in England, every Sunday afternoon, I was sat at a table by my foster mum to pen a letter to my divorced dad in Africa. “Dear Father, I hope this letter finds you in good health.” In...
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Emil Rem, an eccentric accountant becomes a writer of eccentric characters, in exotic locales—each chapter taking us on a trip into his fascinating twisted world. Born to a close knit, middle class Muslim East Indian family in Dar-es-Salam, Africa in the 50’s, he is then moved to Maidenhead England at the age of five. The next twenty years are spent shuttling between England and East Africa, wearing a St. Christopher’s cross one minute and attending church, to wearing a green armband and attending Muslim religious classes in Africa the next. Moving to Canada, marrying a woman from the Philippines and having two boys only adds further texture to his stories.
