he concept of ‘slow’ is a conundrum to me. In many ways, it’s an out-of-touch privilege; a beige-toned, hazily filmed snippet of someone with too much time – and money – on their hands. On the flipside, it’s also a biological and emotional necessity in a world where ‘fast’ is too often the norm. I have to admit that me and slow are not soul sisters; we only catch up occasionally, and often only when a reunion is forced upon us. Usually by this stage I yearn for her visits but then don’t recognise
