The Threshold in a traditional Maltese townhouse

In traditional Maltese town houses there is a wide threshold defined by the main door, antiporta, lace curtains, door-steps and chairs on the street outside. This blurs the boundary between the interior and the exterior of a house, between the public realm and private realm.

It's difficult to define the moment of entering a person's private space. Is it when you look into their hallway from across the road? When you wind around them as they sit on a chair on the pavement? When you place one foot on their doorstep to ring their bell? When you talk to them through the lace curtains? When you enter the space between the wooden door and antiporta? Or when you walk in through the antiporta and curtain and take off your coat?


The private space doesn't end at the front door, just as the public space extends into the hallway, and so the threshold space gives people a sense of ownership and pride of their 2 meters squared of pavement (this is reflected in the custom of washing one's section of pavement when one washes their house).

current back up plan #1

I don't have a plan, I never do, and when I fool myself into thinking that I do I never stick to it. There are, of course, exceptions - I have a back-up plans, countless back-up plans, I invariably do. And so, the exceptions prove the rule.


My current back-up plan is inspired by a tiny, remote volcanic island.

Every 15 minutes the volcano erupts leaving a beacon of black smoke overhead. Occasionally it roars to remind its inhabitants of its power. Half the island is covered in molten lava, unreachable, uninhabitable, whilst the other half is extremely fertile, inhabited by a tiny population of madmen - people who chose to live on a tiny island volcano, surrounded by deep rough seas (especially deep and rough because the volcano extends down into the depths of the sea) and shores of black sand.

On this strange place of unstable, ephemeral beauty, beautiful piano playing fills the streets. A man sits in a bookshop playing the piano, the back door half open behind him.

A few paces away in the backyard of the bookshop sits a screen and chairs. An outdoor cinema screen with a volcano looming, erupting every 15 minutes, behind it.


And so I dream of going back to the island, on a one way journey. Working in the bookstore, listening to the piano playing, watching outdoor movies interrupted every 15 minutes by volcanic eruptions. Feeling the presence of the volcano, the sea, the wind. Making black sand-castles on sunny days.

Autumn in London

My daily cycle route takes me through Highbury Fields and these last few weeks this pretty little park has been glowing in autumnal oranges and yellows against its bright green grass - beautiful! This part of my cycle has been the best part of every day.