the journey of a budding author


1976. My first doll house, made from a grocery box and the figures made from clothes pins and the furniture made from found objects and cardboard.


country kitchen made from a wooden wine box, my collection of miniatures has grown over the years. I find tiny objects irresistible!


The study of an early 20th century explorer. Each tiny diorama tells a story as I have let my imagination go .


Christmas Eve afternoon tea. I love the tiny tea-set!


The scale of all of these room boxes is 1″ in 12″ some of the contents are charms from Christmas crackers,  some are from junk shops. For the trophy heads I bought a packet of plastic animals, cut off the heads and stuck them to wooden discs. Such fun! I don’t think I have really grown up!



These photos were published in response to the weeks Photo Challenge

Please click on each image to get larger picture.

Camie painting her nails

8-year old Camie painting her nails with one of her Christmas presents

Making sure the nail varnish is on properly!

Making sure the nail varnish is on properly!



In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Careful.”

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Warmth

I can’t help myself. This week’s challenge is Warmth and while the Northern hemisphere is freezing, I thought I’d post a photo of something to encourage you to look to the future. SUMMER IS COMING!

Mad Dogs and Englishmen (and women)go out in the midday sun

Mad Dogs and Englishmen (and women)go out in the midday sun

This was taken at Brighton Pier England a couple of years ago. The mercury reached up to 40 degrees centigrade that summer! I often wonder about the woman in the front. And all the other crazies in the deck chairs soaking up the sun. Were they hospitalised for severe sunstroke?
I live in the Southern Hemisphere and we know that the sun isn’t the friend it used to be. But the English… All they need is a brushing with a tasty baste!

Warmth indeed! Take care when the snow melts and the freeze is forgotten and you are off on your vacation.

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2014 in review

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here's an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 950 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 16 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Well, there you are. At least some results for a lazy blogger!



And now for our traffic report. . .
A pedestrian knocked down at the corner of. . .

Traffic slows as people stop to gape
And then drive on
Untouched, uncaring.
All they feel is anger
And frustration;

This death, this tragic
Passing of a fellow human being, is
Just a hindrance that
Has made them late.

Late for another round of pointless nothings,
Increasing speed in a heedless
Head-long dash towards their own transition
From this life.

Not a thought for
The dead man’s
Loved ones
Who wait in vain
And weep.

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Impressions of a Summer Evening

The full moon just risen, calls me from my hot and airless room to sit and marvel at the drama of approaching nightfall.
Bats rejoicing in the freedom of the dusk, flitting in the fading light like eager children unconfined by lessons.
Bird mothers murmur their blessings to drowsy chicks, as night birds startle awake to join the bats at catching dinner.
I sit on sun-warmed bricks and watch as large-bosomed clouds are softly kissed adieu by fading day, while crickets strike up their endless one-note serenade.
Lights stream from the house, and curtains swish across the windows. Shall I go in? I feel remote and loath to return to mundane things like supper and the seven o’clock news.
I turn away to watch again. Shadows grow and friendly corners of the garden are a bit unsettling now; I cringe at the thought of treading the familiar stepping stones to sit on that now mysterious bench. I dare not disturb the creatures of the darkness, the wiggly, bitey, ghosty things that may just lurk there.
Distant voices from next-door houses are tranquil sounds, like sleepy birds, settling in the safety of four walls that shelter them against the night.
From quite close by I hear the croaky call of the newly-woken Dikkop in the veld across the way, and the panicked cries of Plovers wheeling in the sky above to warn away some predator from babies in their nests.

The sun has gone and left to itself, the moonlight bathes the garden in an eerie silver twilight.

Chilly, I creep in to fetch a shawl and hoping to elude detection I tiptoe out once more to tryst with night.
But then,’Oh, is that where you were? We were wondering where you’d got to?
What’s for supper?’
The spell is broken,
and humdrum duty encircles me once more.