Category: Fiction

The Bristol Arm.

Martin Kettle, formally of Stoneyclough but now resident of Penn Beacon, was stood on a table in the Eight Kings. He was taping the fourth corner of a large poster of Bob Dylan's face to the wall at the end of the bar. "No, no, Sam," he was saying. "It's ‘uff’, not ‘ow’. Stoneyclough." He … Continue reading The Bristol Arm. →

Mikado Spittle.

Dear Reader, as you may be aware, April is National Shit Haiku Month. Who knows from whence these notions emerge? They are rumoured to rise out of the amber east, from gloried, morning dreams. I've heard it said that they are of the lozenged ether and this I am happy to believe. I don't recall … Continue reading Mikado Spittle. →