Heads in the sand

BRUSHING wind-whipped hair from her eyes, Catriona crouched, scanning the colourful smorgasbord of stones, seaweed and shells on the shoreline. There! Half-hidden under an empty limpet. A cowrie. Gent

ICY sleet hit the restaurant window, making me glad I was in the warmth of the restaurant, until Luca appeared from the kitchen, wearing a frown. “Sorry, bella Bella, we’ve another order for delivery,

It was one of those cool misty mornings when Lucy had no firm idea how she wanted to spend her day. Nothing had leapt to the top of her to-do list when today’s planned coffee morning with her daughter

MORNINGS at the Coffee Pod officially began the moment Primrose flipped the laminated sign from Sorry We’re Closed to the inviting We’re Open! Come On In! Unofficially, of course, they began a good sp

Twenty six years ago, Italian writer and gardener Umberto Pasti fell asleep beneath a remote fig tree on a stony hillside facing the Atlantic Ocean, 40 miles south of Tangier. When he awoke, he knew t

I t was yet another night when ...