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.
22.10.21 As the plane begins to pick up speed on the runway I discover, with some horror, a loose molar. We soar into the sky at an incredible angle and I work the tooth out with worrying ease. A woman and an Alsatian are sat beside me. The woman wears tweed and is sleeping. The … Continue reading dream diaries…108
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.
“I don’t like it.” No one hears him. No one sees him. He used to think they were ignoring him, but they're really not. He is concealed. He stands within the stinking flock garden among the yellowed roses depicted on the wallpaper of the Eight Kings' public bar. Grinner pokes his nose beyond the faux … Continue reading No Glass.
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