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When I was a young kid, I guess I would have been around ten years old, I saw Peter O’Toole for the first time. Piercing blue eyes under a shock of angelic golden hair. He was clad in white robes and was involved in some extremely adventurous escapades in the desert. Lawrence of Arabia, of
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All is quiet in the Annie M.G. Schmidt theatre. No small achievement considering there are forty small kids packed into the small space. But the tiny faces sitting on their red cushions are already rapt and filled with wonder. Before us the authors and illustrators Dieter and Ingrid Schubert are getting ready to present their
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“Twenty dollars for a carriage. Just twenty dollars. For the little one. For your daughter. It’s a long walk.” We have barely managed to pass the entrance gate before the onslaught begins. Our first impression of Petra, is a shoddy scramble for business. It will get worse than this as we proceed further into the
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Many years ago, I had the pleasure of meeting David McTaggart, founder of Greenpeace. David was a charismatic and charming man and his company was easy and friendly and very entertaining. Our conversation that day, however, did not, as you may imagine, hang on the perilous state of planet earth. Rather, David was more intrigued
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June feels more like November. I’m drenched after walking the dog and to make matters worse I have a hairdressers appointment. Anyone that knows me will understand this last point. Getting me into a salon is no easy matter. Getting me into a salon when I’m bedraggled and battered and all scruffed up should be
