respectability and other illusions
There's something surreal about walking from my university office into Edinburgh's shadowed streets, knowing precisely where I'm heading. My tweed jacket and reading glasses suggest one life. My desti
Academic in my 50s. Widower. Writes pseudonymously about the double life.
There's something surreal about walking from my university office into Edinburgh's shadowed streets, knowing precisely where I'm heading. My tweed jacket and reading glasses suggest one life. My desti
There's something profoundly liberating about stepping outside one's carefully constructed life. Academic colleagues see me as the measured historian, serious and somewhat austere. If they could see m
There's something almost academic about arranging these encounters. Not just the physical meeting, but the careful choreography beforehand. Emails exchanged with the precision of research corresponden
There's something peculiar about being a widower in your fifties. The loneliness creeps in quietly, like Edinburgh fog rolling over Arthur's Seat. My academic colleagues would never understand. They s