Olive, Again

by Elizabeth Strout

I read My Name is Lucy Barton a while back and enjoyed the voice, the contemporary feel of it and the way that relationships were explored without having the point thrust on you, so strangely it’s taken me a couple of years to return to reading Elizabeth Strout, for she’s truly a fine, fine, fine, fine writer.

Olive Kitteridge is a remarkable character, meeting her in fiction has been a ride.  Just imagine meeting her in person? Just think if she was your next door neighbour…

She’s forthright and challenging and an absolute hoot.

Olive, Again I believe is Strout’s second book focusing on Olive Kitteridge (though I haven’t fact checked with google), the former Olive Kitteridge – I can’t wait to embrace.

Every page of Olive, Again is full of so much information.  It’s not weighing you down, or crowding you, but stimulates the story flow.

It’s interesting, weaved together in an impressive collection of need to read on and learn, but also stay here and experience the moment.

I was halfway through and realised that this collection could be almost experienced as a selection of stand-alone short stories, with Olive the thread.

Strout expertly dissects relationships. She takes the pressure of you to wish to conform, for all the characters are ‘normal’ though may have had dysfunctional upbringings and/or dysfunctional themselves. And that’s okay…I think…well that was my take home from it.

I was thinking that I’d explore the chapters with you, but now realise not only would that flatten your reading, but it would also trample on the joy of experiencing this book.

So, with no intention to spoil, the chapter titles fit perfectly with their tale and what is revealed is not just personal, but also a lesson for us all.

Experience moulds us and sometimes we need to learn to adapt, though this might not be part of our nature.

We also need to be a little Olive Kitteridge. Be more direct, ask tough questions and speak our mind. There are a lot of people feeling isolated and without that kind of interference, potentially they will struggle further.

We could all also benefit from speaking the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable and not the norm, for by doing so we can all reach a clearer, better understanding of each other and how to live in harmony.

Enjoy reading.


Ned needs a swim

I love swimming.

I’m not a great swimmer, but when I’m in the pool doing lengths, I become a happier and healthier form of me, so that’s why when I’m travelling I seek out the pool.

So today, just moments after my first swim in a new location, I’m thinking it’s time to share my limited knowledge of pools in different spots around the globe, where you can be guaranteed a decent to excellent session in the water.

I’ll structure it by country and attempt to add sufficient information including website, so you can check on price and/or restrictions.

Please also consider this page as guide under continual construction.


  • Sydney – centre – 1C Mrs Macquaries Road – next to the Botanical Gardens

Andrew ‘Boy’ Charlton Pool


It’s outdoor, 50 metres and all lanes are ‘roped’ and you decide which is yours according to your speed. Slow, Medium, Fast.

Opens usually in September for the summer months.

Incredible location.

I swim in the mornings, early, generally as a response to jet-lag.  It’s a great time to go though, as you have a lot of squad-swimmers training (and not just young ones, majority of swimmers appear to be between 30-50 years, getting a dip in before work).

You feel motivated and part of really happy party.

Also, an incredible café. The food, drinks and view are top-shelf.

I’ve been swimming here for a few years, last being September 2020.

  • Sydney – Manly Aquatic Centre

Manly Andrew ‘Boy’ Charlton Swim Centre


A few pools in this complex. I only swam in the 50 metre outdoor pool, though there’s also a 25 metre outdoor and 25 metre indoor pool.

Great again for swimming in the early morning – I’d leave beaming and then head to a local café for a flat white and brekkie.

I swam here late December 2018 and New Year’s Day 2019.



Athens – Hilton Hotel – https://www3.hilton.com/en/hotels/greece/hilton-athens-ATHHITW/index.html

Best pool I’ve ever swam in – that’s the outdoor one.

Deep, up to 3.5m in the deep end. 25 metres.

Open currently from 8.00hr-20.00hr daily – May-October.

Open to hotel guests and non-residents.

I’ve been swimming here for years, last being July 2020.

United States of America

Great 50 metre indoor pool.

I swam two sessions over a three day period.

If memory serves me correct, there were 10 lanes in the pool and only about half a dozen swimmers in the pool, each visit.

I swam late morning and not only embraced the water but also the kick from doing it from inside of one of the top academic establishments in the world.

I swam here May 2019.

  • New Orleans – University of New Orleans Aquatic Centre


I swam in the 50 metre indoor pool – which at the time was broken into 25 metres sections.

It was just before noon and there was only one other swimmer. It was a weekday.

A little bit dated and out of town, but an absolute joy to catch the bus to.  I’m not recommending it, but my one hour each way, with the same bus driver looking out for me, and thinking I was probably less than bright, only enhanced the trip.

Staff were great and the music playing whilst I swam brought back memories of being at a NHL game.

I swam here November 2018.


Frikes, Ithaca


I’m usually a drinker and not an eater…but then I ate the menu.

Team Family – minus one, have just resurfaced after two and half days, read five meals, consumed in this paradise of outstanding food indulgence.

After dining here just once, there was little reason to venture elsewhere.

Poppy and Nektarios are reviving traditional plates and adding the bit which was missing.

For instance, the Butter Bean Bake – something I would normally think ‘That’s over there, leave it over there’.  Thank the Lord, it called and we answered.


By just adding a little carrot and chilli this dish has not just become a new friend, but has improved my world.

And the Goat Stew. Yes…I haven’t eaten meat for quite a while…but when we eyed it on another consumer’s table and smelt it, I knew my pescatarian days were numbered, in fact I have vanquished them.

Every single mouthful devoured was supreme. The cod fish cakes, the chargrilled octopus, the salads and the Savoro – a fried fish cooked with currants – unusual to consider, but a meal that could turn your life around.

And the location. Ideal.


Leave Lockdown and escape to this incredible part of the world and have a meal you’ll never forget.

To see more about this restaurant go to:


And here’s a photo of a beach really close by.


Don McCullin

Tate Britain

Don McCullin gets you thinking, he also doesn’t hold back.

You’re forced to examine. Question why. Be confronted. Ask how the hell. And recognise that though we are humans and surely share traits like compassion – we are also humans who can clearly turn our backs on compassion.

We also have a tremendous ability to allow suffering.

McCullin has an extraordinary talent for capturing the moment. He’s not preaching at you, rather providing you with the teaching material and you do the independent learning.

It’s a cleverly drawn together retrospective (I hope I’ve used the term correctly…). Starting with his early works in the late 50s and early 60s, with I believe the last shot of the exhibition being one taken in Homs in 2018.

The shots are sobering and at times harrowing. And the subject matter varied.

Even with nine days distance from viewing to posting, the images are still crystal clear and I continue thinking about the Homeless; the Malnourished; the Tormented; the Impoverished; those seeking forgiveness; the destruction; the former grandeur of Palymra; and the respite and beauty of the landscapes.

It’s on until 6 May 2019 and important.


Kunene and the King

by John Kani
at The Swan Theatre
Royal Shakespeare Company
Stratford upon Avon

Since last reporting in on my theatre adventures, I’ve seen some great plays and I’ve left some un-great plays.

Kunene and the King is an exceptional play. The kind you know will be discussed in decades to come. Like when someone brings up Jess Butterworth’s Jerusalem with Mark Rylance, that you (okay maybe I), disappointedly missed. Thankfully dear reader, this one is still playing.

It ticks all the boxes. There’s no interval (thank you); two actors; shown in a small theatre; the chemistry between the actors supreme, the dialogue – authentic, accessible, as if you’d said/thought it yourself (but you didn’t), and perfectly character pitched…but I think I already said that.

The relationship between the two is loving and uncomfortable and thoughtful and at times prejudiced and constructed by their unshared/shared history.

This is twenty five years since the end of apartheid but there’s still so much undiscussed, unexplored, and unresolved. There are also some beautiful high moments, like when they are discussing King Lear. Not only reading and practising the text, but talking about it – in everyday terms, placing it very much in our understanding of it in society today.

If I could present every young person with a seat in the audience I would. Shakespeare is not just honoured, but also understood.  But I think my enjoyment of the play was more than this.

It was listening to the experience of being in a ‘taxi’ in Soweto; it was the gratefulness to the playwright (John Kani, who is also one of the actors) for gifting us with such a thoughtful representation of South Africa today; it was watching two great actors – perform; it was the triggering of memories of visiting such a tough and strong nation in my younger and not so younger years.

My pleasure also came from attempting to understand the issues from a distance, even with my own perceptions and ideas of older age, illness and politics.

Did I mention the actors?….The dynamic between both John Kani and Antony Sher is feast-filled.  They are not just great actors, but together sublime.

It’s playing in Stratford until 23 April and then in Cape Town from 30 April

Rubyfruit Jungle

By Rita Mae Brown

This book is an absolute joy.

Molly Bolt is not just a gift to the reader, but a bequest to women and men globally.

She’s forthright, sharp, uncompromising, unwavering and chock-full of integrity. Sexually active and aware, I couldn’t stop admiring her determination and resolve in every aspect of her life.

From page one, I was laughing in-loud for the best part of novel. She’s bright and learning as she grows. At times, she might be a little more outspoken to her elders then you’d wish your own children to be, but she does have a point.

Published in 1973, the subject matter rings true 46 years later.

It’s a great exploration into relationships, not just Molly’s; social expectations (sorry I should have written ‘sad, foolish, ridiculously narrow-minded social expectations’); and the role of women in the bedroom and beyond.

It’s also so much more than that. It’s a social narrative, a credit to Ms Brown, a serious examination of how we see others and our prejudices and a novel that if I was a Novel Physician, I’d prescribe to all my patients.

As we are dragged towards disaster – we find our feet

Today I shan’t be saying much, but sharing some pretty great footage. Not my photos, I lack the skill, however thankfully I married someone who is accomplished. He not only knows how to use a smartphone, but moonlights as a photo journalist…of family adventures.

Yesterday, People’s Vote March was a force and a call.

The clever slogans; the community; the standing for what you believe in and the chanting. A throng of optimism even though we’re unwillingly being driven at top speed towards stupid.

And not just the people who were there, I’ve been reading the feed – so many others, who couldn’t make it, showing support…and their feet.

I love being European and having a huge mass of brothers and sisters and it’s great to see how many other people feel the same.

Girls & Boys

by Dennis Kelly
at the Royal Court Theatre, London

I’m hoping that this doesn’t sound creepy…but I have a thing for Carey Mulligan.

I’m no stalker – rather super fan, so when opportunity knocked in the guise of a new play she was performing in at the Royal Court Theatre, I pounced on it.

It’s roughly 18 hours since I abandoned my seat, however I’m still entirely consumed by it.

Sadly I’d be exposing you to a clear injustice by examining the plot, for this is key to the performance, however I can screech this, CAREY MULLIGAN WAS CLEARLY BORN TO PERFORM. I can’t honestly remember a time in my life that I haven’t been so captivated by a single performance, something she maintains for approximately 90 minutes, with no other actors to spar with, it’s just you the audience (whom she knows how to work), and her phenomenal talents.

She confides in you; she shares with a glint, scandalously amusing encounters; and she shows you her parental side. She keeps you so close. You trust her, you’re with her, her emotions and shock and pain become yours. And then the play is over and you are left with her experience and this needs to be processed, that’s where I am now. I’m disturbed but also elated.

Dennis Kelly gives you the material: the words, the laughs, the story, the terror, he doesn’t hold back. He forces you sit up and take note. Mulligan makes it terrifyingly real.

The War on Women: And The Brave Ones Who Fight Back

By Sue Lloyd-Roberts

Nine days ago I wrote to my dearling friend Chrissie that I never wished to pick up another book after completing the outstanding The Standing Chandelier by Lionel Shriver, so I’m rather relieved I caved in on this decision and headed off to collect an offering from my non-fiction pile.

The War on Women: And The Brave Ones Who Fight Back is tough and informative. An education, a challenge and a book that demands reading. It’s not enjoyable, but it’s very good.

Blowing my cover of naïvety, I wasn’t familiar with Sue Lloyd-Roberts’s work. I could plead not having a TV (but I did when her work was being aired), or I lived in another solar system (yet another fabrication), but the truth is…I have a sick preference for brain numbing on-demand itvBe programmes, so hard hitting truths I’ve tended to tread softly around.

You’ll be delighted to note – that’s about to change.

I’m not going on a crusade, rather thanks to a Blackwell’s event on the 6 February which acquainted me with this book and her daughter (as sadly the multi award winning journalist who authored this publication died in 2015), my comprehension of the injustices that the female of the species confront globally has been increased ten-fold.  It’s poo, putting it mildly for my junior readers, but by no means should we feel defeated.

From ‘The Cruellest Cut’, Chapter 1, you know that it’s not going to be light and fluffy, but knowledge and discussing the dreadful, the uncomfortable, the unjust, help address the issue.

I really learnt. Ashamed by my lack of knowledge as I turned the pages. I’m now not just better informed and alarmed, I can also appreciate that horrid cruelty needs to be ‘outed’ and become part of our everyday conversation. We need to be outraged and have it as front page news. The more people made aware of the issue, the greater the likelihood that people will fight for what’s right and protect those whom have no voice. We need to teach respect. Not just of women, but of all people, so it becomes part of our nature.

The book couldn’t have been assembled better. Each chapter has a different focus. You’ll learn about the laundries run by the nuns in Ireland; the Dirty Wars in Argentina, the sexual abuse of women protestors in Egypt; Forced Marriages; Sex Trafficking; and the sad reality that where the UN Peacekeepers head, the sex trade follows. But that’s not all. Sue Lloyd-Roberts provides you with the facts, she interviews both the abused and the perpetuators and it’s up to us to decide what we’ll do with the information.


Abstract Expressionism

At the Royal Academy


When the Oxford English Dictionary defined perfect they clearly had this exhibition in mind.  From the pieces, to who’s on show, to the fabulous assembling of the collection, this latest offering from the RA doesn’t just delight, it excites and gets you re-thinking the decorating at home.

I struggled to even leave the first room because of its eye-popping pleasures, and there are approximately thirteen rooms exhibiting, so I’m not downplaying the value of your investment in a ticket. Even if you don’t think this is your thing…it’s your thing. It’s huge, happy and educationally perfect.


Educational you ask…well, I was familiar with Pollock and de Kooning but wasn’t acquainted with Clyfford Still, but WOW spend just four minutes with his work, (though I’d suggest at least ten), and you get the drift.  He’s talented too and perhaps you’ll make a note to google him later and if you are anything like me, you’ll also think seriously about moving in and turning Room 11 into your new, better living room. Oh and Sam Francis, another chap I wasn’t aware of and upon arriving in Room 4, I was considering taking-out a couple of floors at home just so I could re-home Untitled, painted in 1956.


Not only will you experience room enjoyment, you’ll also marvel at the way that you can glimpse through the rooms and spy masterpieces, making the impact bonus-fold. For you can absorb a magnificent Rothko, look to your left beyond Rothko room and see another equally talented artist and this somehow breaks it up, anchors you and also provides with a fix (all simultaneously), enabling you to return and admire Rothko for a little longer.


There are just so many pieces I could rave on about…or steal, but it’s probably best I leave you with a treasure hunt instead.

Head to the exhibition and find The Hero, a sculpture by David Smith and imagine where it would fit best in your home (or garden). Check out Pollock and find the pieces that look a little ‘Pollock Dreaming’. And find the Rothko in the first room.

It’s on until 2 January 2017