Rhi Axtell – Writer

If I'm not writing, I'm snacking.

  • ,

    Hayfever

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    I’m in a play. A play named Hayfever written by Noël Coward. The play is not about being allergic to flowers.

    Continue reading →: Hayfever
  • ,

    Bookshop

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    I don’t have enough money. Unless someone wants to lend me a few hundred thousand to own all the books? Of course, I’d need a few more thousand to have a house to hold all the books. And I’m not even starting to talk about bookshelves. Maybe I’ll just stick…

    Continue reading →: Bookshop
  • ,

    Café

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    I admit it. I have become a stereotype. You’ll find me, nose pressed against my laptop screen, frantically typing, steaming cup of coffee (Americano with cold milk, one and a half sugars) next to me. I’m a café writer. At home, I slump in front of my computer, whining about…

    Continue reading →: Café
  • ,

    Reflection

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    It began with a cup of tea. I was tired – the storm had kept me up at night. My thoughts came slowly, emerging out of the fog of tiredness. I started writing in my journal and kept writing for as long as I could. Most of it was anxious…

    Continue reading →: Reflection
  • ,

    Friendship

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    It begins with laughter. Talking. More laughter. Catching up on life. Then an elegant dance around the kitchen. Everyone finds their places. Sounds of chopping. A metallic orchestra of knives and forks being gathered. A hiss of frying meat followed by the salty fragrance filling the air. Someone opens a…

    Continue reading →: Friendship
  • ,

    Life

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    Life I looked up the other day and realised that it was out of control again. Stuff, things, whatever, were everywhere. There wasn’t a clear surface in the place. My usual reaction to this is my usual reaction to everything: Anxiety. Blaming myself. General feeling of failure. This time, though,…

    Continue reading →: Life
  • ,

    Travel

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    If you asked me, I would deny that I enjoyed travelling. I would tell you that the anxiety is far too much for me. I would swear that I like the comfort of my own bed too much to possibly go anywhere. But somewhere over the last few years, the…

    Continue reading →: Travel
  • ,

    Ending

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    It’s been two weeks in France, and the last few days of that have been in a small Parisian apartment. There has been celebration, illness, laughter, sorrow, games, fantastic friends and, of course, alcohol. Today is the final night of the holiday. I sit here in a state of denial,…

    Continue reading →: Ending
  • ,

    Abandon

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    It was that strange time – between Christmas and New Year. Everything was closed or half open. In a random wander, I found myself staring into the window of a toy shop. Toys and Christmas detritus lay abandoned. Two polar bears lay on their side. It was like the owners…

    Continue reading →: Abandon
  • ,

    Happy New Year!

    Published by

    Rhi Axtell, Writer

    on

    Here’s to 2023: a year that I hope is going to be fun, artistic and definitely more than a little silly!

    Continue reading →: Happy New Year!

Hello,

I’m Rhi

I’m just a writer trying to live slower and be more observant of my feelings.

I am also a bit silly.

This blog is a mishmash of all that.

Recent posts