By morning, the snow had banked up against the windows casting the living quarters in gloom. The small glass pane in the front door, which had been periodically scraped, was now the only hint at the world beyond. Even the storage shed, a few metres outside, couldn’t be discerned in the white out. With funds … More Outpost [fiction writing practice]
That morning, I’d woken up to find his back to me and a wide no-man’s land of greyish sheets, wrinkled and loose, in between us. I’d listened to the gentle rhythm of his breathing and wanted so much to touch him, yet stayed paralysed to the spot. Shameful fragments of the night before were already … More Once the dust has settled [fiction]
Thursday The door swung shut behind me swapping the cold air and traffic sounds from the street for All Bar One’s heat and shiny merriment. Thursday night is apparently the new Friday night and society accepts that it’s totally fine to get hammered on a school night. Many of the drinkers were already well on … More Thursday [fiction writing practice]
I’ve become hooked on Channel 4’s Mutiny, savouring it every Tuesday night. But I’m in two minds about how much I’m willing to suspend my disbelief. There’s no doubt that these, mostly, layfolk have undertaken a seriously arduous voyage – that they’ve endured insane hardship – an open boat in heavy weather, punishing sun and … More Of mutiny and nostalgia
Old habits die hard. When you don’t want them to. The Luckies bought in Colombia were ridiculously cheap so I find myself at the top of the house smoking out of my bedroom window again. I tell everyone I’m a seasonal smoker. I’m breaking my own rules to be smoking on this last bitter February … More Old habits die hard
“The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn’t live boldly enough, that they didn’t invest enough heart, didn’t love enough. Nothing else really counts at all.”
There were three of us. In the manner of many siblings we had our own brand of humour that none except us would understand. Ours was irreverent, dark and we found great hilarity in our misfortunes and our woefully unsuccessful love lives. At some point we all felt like misfits and Chris was our leader. … More Ode to my brother
More copy to come
From the north side of the Blue Fin Building I watched. More copy to come.
My appreciation of the night sky incrases dramatically when the weather warms up.