'An easy to moderate climb', the guidebook promises. But, halfway up Catbells' spine, she turns to me and says, "I cannot carry on." * We had followed in footprints of dead Roman legions. I'd seen her walk on her hands on Tynemouth beaches. But she cannot carry on. We measured maps by millimetres, drank goats' … Continue reading An Easy To Moderate Climb.
Ether is the new lozenge; you'll find it labelled under lounge. In the library they are reading Boudicca's Cumbrian Crown. Her heart is on her sleeve semi-colon her art is in her mouth full stop * The headlines made the locals cry; "I couldn't breathe for ether." "It breaks your effing heart, it does. What … Continue reading Ether is the new lozenge
It's becoming something of a thrill to find the kettle partially filled, thus saving me the long haul to the faucet. I walked midweek to Whitley Bay and though I never planned it this way, on a whim, I spent a wage on a wooden spoon, some loose tea, "half a dozen of those fancy … Continue reading It’s becoming something
All their good stories had been sold - Second-hand windows on the world. Wisdom is anecdotal, I suppose. Whispers, I hear, are never told.
He had risen not unusually for a week day or weekend afternoon - the sun chased the moon between the clouds; both shimmering in the tree boughs, like matinées (before the talkies); the hanging rain, the red puddles of leaves in the street - * but he found himself wondering again as he shaved, smearing … Continue reading Humming Neil Sedaka.
I signed up for a course - Creative Journaling: it ticked all the boxes. Something that I've always done. Well, you gotta have a hobby, innit. The amusement being me (I should put more effort in). The notebook is the end of the novel - Wish I'd said that - I just did (I note … Continue reading My Strasse.
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