Cait O'Connor

Dear Diary, War does not determine who is right - only who is left.  Bertrand Russell Hell, it is a week since my last post, I re...

Time Passing By The artist - Gyuri Lohmuller Dear Diary, fear less, hope more; eat less, chew more; whine less, breathe more; talk less, say...

Flowers and afternoon sunlight at St Mary's. Dear Diary, Just a short one today as I am rather busy - Monday chores to do and I...

You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul George Bernard Shaw 1856-1950 Self Portrait Who is this...

Dear Diary, “The real dividing line between things we call work and the things we call leisure is that in leisure, however active we ...

Dear Diary, Sunflower Vincent Van Gogh It is the artist's business to create sunshine when the sun fails Romain Rolland French...

Before Summer Rain Suddenly, from all the green around you, something-you don't know what-has disappeared; you feel it creeping closer...

A Memory Tree Each item, each ornament, each bauble, bangle, a memory a special moment in our lives remembered each year in the decorating t...

A favourite picture by Monet, a favourite artist Dear Diary, My heart? that's my second favourite organ. Woody Allen, I promised to do ...

Dear Johnny Walker played this the other morning and had me in fits. I hope it will brighten your day.

Dear Diary, Yes, there are kind angels here in cyberland and though they may be relative strangers they still perform miracles. If you have ...

It's like buses, you don't get one piece of music from me, you get three in a row. I heard this track on the radio today as I stood ...

I can't believe it is a week since my last posting. It's Friday again and I have another song for you, one that my son asked me to l...

I caught this old tune on an advert recently and it brought back memories of sunny, happy days when I was a young woman. I loved the sim...

At Castle Combe - Thomas Hunn Dear Diary, Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up. Pablo Picasso...

Roofless now, she is dressed just in a cloud that is gentle; wispy, billowing like soft smoke. She does not stand, she nestles, cwched in th...

Dear Diary, We live at the level of our language. Whatever we can articulate we can imagine or explore. All you have to do to educate a chil...

Dear Diary, It is perhaps a more fortunate destiny to have a taste for collecting shells than to be born a millionaire   Ro...