Acclaimed writer Sally Bayley lives on a narrowboat, surrounded by the sights and sounds of nature,
‘Enid’s hands are always kept busy caring for other people…’ This week, Sally continues her theme of
‘His straw hat hurt him, it pinched his forehead and started a dull ache in the two bones just over
For Emilie: may you always sing. We return this week, for a special micro-episode, to Mrs Dalloway’s
‘Now it was time to move, and, as a woman gathers her things together, her cloak, her gloves, her op
‘Sightlines produce a story, an avenue, a walkway, a space to move through…’ This week, we join Sall
‘I try to live my life as though I were stitching together a book of songs.’ This week, Sally offers
‘I see that she is thinking most of her canvas, and how she will get there…’ This week, we join Sall
‘Blithe came to me, not in flashing red or pink neon, but in pastels… in soft, painterly tones…’ Thi
‘Rhythm seems to be the first or formal relation of part to part in any whole…’ This week, Sally has
This week, Sally has been reflecting on her ‘orphan power’, a phrase once applied to her by Will Sel
This week, we join Sally at home, on a sunny autumn day. Listen for a meditation on play, weather, a
‘Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, / Yet now they fright me.’ This week, we join Sally in the ear
‘I hate walking, it seems so pointless to me…’ This week, Sally has been musing on the importance of
This week, Sally offers us a series of vignettes from her travels, both past and present. Follow her
‘A gift, a love gift / Utterly unasked for / By a sky’ This week, Sally has been reading Sylvia Plat
‘There’s always hope where there’s poetry…’ This week, Sally is preparing for her narrowboat, Ceri
‘Silence, quietness, that’s a way of living…’ This week, we join Sally in the attic room of her fami
‘But the darkness is a kind of blanket, and she comforts me…’ This week, we join Sally on a sleeples
‘London. Michaelmas Term lately over and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall…’ This we
