Author Harry Chapman

Descended from the Shahs of Persia and Kermani feudal overlords on his mother’s side, and Norman knights, circus folk and at least one renegade Irishman on his father’s, Harry had a peripatetic early existence. During this time he became a reptile collector, and a mohicaned punk, and has since added the roles of artist, writer, designer, filmmaker and wanderer.

Travel
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Harry ventures to Ventnor, wife and toddler in tow, taking in the annual Fringe and Film Festival, late summer swims and traditional tea rooms as he goes…

Art
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“The best art in the world today? It’s coming from China, Korea and Iran,” exclaimed Bahman, the engaging New York based Iranian artist whose mammoth canvas we were standing in front of.

Fiction
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Harry Chapman battles with his inner demons and an unquenchable thirst for silence during a screening of Spartacus at the BFI…

Food
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“That Italy has some of the best food in the world is no secret. That the region of South Tyrol produces some of the finest in a country bursting with gastronomic specialities is perhaps less well known…”

Fiction Henry Bird (c) Harry Chapman
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“Henry Bird stood on the front step of his house. His hand still held the key in the lock of the front door. He always shut the door with the key, turning it in the lock to avoid that bang which set his teeth on edge.”

Musings
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“Thursday last, at the pond, early morning, at about a quarter to eight. Sun grins down on me, the first sunny day in a long time. A nascent but confident Sun, full of vitality and young strength.”

Musings Illustration (c) Harry Chapman
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“It was nearly two weeks ago. A Saturday. I was catching an evening train down to Barham. The day was damp and drizzly and the tube and station were crawling with the strident remnants of a football match.”

Travel
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“The road is like life in miniature, but stretched, extreme at both ends, much more so when one is flying solo. One moment you’re laughingly ecstatic, the next you’re so terribly low that it’s blackness all around, without end…”