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.

Musings Camden Lock (c) Harry Chapman
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“I walked to Oxford Circus yesterday. Joined the canal at the bottom of Agar Grove. Reclaimed the city as only walking can. It is neither as big nor as scary as it appears.”

Art
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“It was with some anticipation that I went along to see The Paper Cinema’s interpretation of this cornerstone of the Western canon. Actually “see” is inaccurate. It is very much a cross-sensory experience.”

Fiction Brown Lake 9 (c) Harry Chapman
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“Frank had been swimming ever since he could remember. His parents had owned a house down by the waterfront in Mosman, inside Sydney’s great Harbour…”

Musings Broken King (c) Harry Chapman
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The sun periodically burned through the blanket of cloud so I chanced an outside table at one of the cafés on Swain’s Lane. I sat, looking enviously over at the well-heeled diners tucking into mountainous salads at Kalendar and Café Mozart.

Musings
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I went to a 40th birthday party last Saturday. It was full of stupid, sleazy media types braying like donkeys, desperate to be liked, to be younger than they were, to be thought of as important, to be everything other than what they were.

Musings
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As I passed below the mysterious Chanctonbury Ring, an Iron Age hill fort planted with a copse of beech trees bent north-east by the prevailing wind, I saw a figure stop at the gate I was approaching. He was waiting for me…

Musings Bear Standing (c) Harry Chapman
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He was talking to Katharine when I entered the restaurant, in that gallant, paternal way some older men of a certain character adopt when speaking to the young. He was certainly a character, with his bear-like frame…

Musings
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As we move inexorably into spring, roving explorer Harry Chapman pens a fond farewell to the winter months and that bracing weather phenomenon that carries with its crystalline flakes the ability to invigorate the soul.

Musings
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Roving explorer Harry Chapman ventures into the badlands of Pimlico to the outpost known as Café Goya; a colourful mise-en-scène of spivs and bankers, harlots and dowagers, thugs and officers, and a gentleman.

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