Jack had a spare for J. Lydon’s book chat event at Whitley Bay’s Playhouse last week. (Book chat? Book shat, more like, I didn’t say.) It was kind of him to think of me. The show had been postponed from last year. The queue winds three sides of the theatre, beach front, side street, back … Continue reading Swastika Décor.
October 10 2004 Croydon Blue. Click clack click clack. Footsteps behind me. A wonderful, feminine clatter spills across the concrete and glass and Saint George's applauds and so do the pigeons and so do I. The arcade, everything, is suddenly charged: electric. I fall into a stroll and her footsteps fall in beside me. Fingers … Continue reading Notes From a Fragile Island. 24
I purr her name deliciously, but dare not turn the page to read the words, preferring to believe the past is present in the future. I heard her playing yesterday beneath the window, but the room, of course, was empty; not even the piano. * She walked among the flowers depicted on the wall. She … Continue reading The Glass.
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