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About Stuttgart

So this bird, she’s called somethin’ like Ruby—prolly fake, who cares? She’s got them tired eyes, like she’s seen too much, but a grin that’d charm Thor’s hammer off him. I’m sawin’ wood, splinters flyin’, and she’s leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag, tellin’ me how she once nicked a punter’s watch mid-shag. Laughed my arse off—crafty minx! “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” I says, wavin’ my chisel like a scepter, “and you’re out here stealin’ time!”

Writer. Editor. Literary critic. Publisher.

It isn't about moths, but about a young woman who studies them (her sister, tellingly enough, studies stones), as her research brings her to an isolated South.

I’ve seen the evolution in some corners—like near Neugasse, where ambitious new art installations pop up and debate flows out of the shadows of old brick walls. I love stoppin’ there, feelin’ the rush of change in the air. It’s like my personal journey as a counselor, each new beam in the art is a reminder: “Remember… every scar is a lesson learned!”

Camping with conservationists in Botswana's Okavango Delta