Stephanie Bishop

At the height of the war two women sat talking at the kitchen table, one tall one short and each reporting back on what they’d last heard from their husbands, those men now said to be dead or missing and although the marriages had been almost over it felt like they ought to rebegin or be beginning or maybe they should not have let things end after all, the revision setting in amidst the...

Not long ago I found myself in conversation with a group of people about the effect of living with houseplants. They were proselytising the health benefits and comparing Instagram shots on their phones, where everyone aspired to the same sparse white living room decorated with pops of green. I confessed however, that I couldn’t keep a houseplant alive – I couldn’t keep a...

Three men have come to our house in order to remove the furniture. They can carry two chairs apiece, and while one appears to spin a coffee table on his index finger, another heaves a sofa up with a single hand, so that it can stand at an angle while his comrade at the other end adjusts his grip. ‘In India,’ I tell them, ‘I once saw a man with a fridge strapped to his back...