America
The Biggest Little City in the World
More than a century and a half ago, westbound gold rush settlers had to cross the Truckee River, a few miles to the east of the California / Nevada state line. Ahead of them lay [more…]
Articles by Always Worth Saying
Arts
The Swaling, Part Fifteen
After breakfast, myself and Tammy addressed the world beyond the comfort of the Royal Maroc Hotel. We were rewarded by being mobbed, pulled at and tugged. They wanted to take us to shops, the Casbah, [more…]
America
Where the Surf Meets the Turf
In their 1963 hit single, the Beach Boys sang that if everybody had an ocean (across the USA) then they’d all be surfing, like in Cal-if-orn-i-a. In the first line of the chorus, they went [more…]
Arts
The Swaling, Part Fourteen
Rather than being in a nun’s hostel, or a train compartment (with the Spanish army sleeping in the luggage racks), we’re on a balcony at the Royal Maroc hotel in Tangiers, thanks to Tammy and [more…]
America
Why is Portland Like Portland?
If Chicago is “The Windy City”, New York, “The Big Apple”, New Orleans, “The Big Easy” and Reno, Nevada, “The Biggest Little City in the World”, then Portland, Oregon, is “A Big Retirement Home for [more…]
Arts
The Swaling, Part Thirteen
Sitting on the dockside at Algeciras, myself and Tammy dangle our dirty feet over the Eastern Mediterranean, next to a giant but idle Transmediterranea roll-on roll-off ferry. The ship’s company are enjoying their late afternoon [more…]
Arts
The Swaling, Part Twelve
If you’d visited Madrid’s Prado Gallery in the early 1980s, about a decade previous to (contrary to the artist’s wishes), it’s star attraction Picasso’s Guernica being moved to its own museum, you may have noticed [more…]
Arts
The Northern Ireland Housing Trust & Rathcoole estate (1945-1971)
Between the wars, a big public housing build in other parts of the United Kingdom was not replicated in Northern Ireland. Nor had there been grants for slum clearance. What public housing there was, had [more…]
Arts
The Swaling, Part Eleven
Arriving at the border town of Irun, in the northern Pyrenees, there is always a bit of a scramble. A change of rail gauge means a change of train. Our connection was the overnight service [more…]