The Mourning Sun

The wood pigeon had returned. This time it did not look so confident. It had been three days since he last saw it and, at first, he was glad of its company. But, even from this distance, he could tell that it wasn't doing well. Aside from his avian acquaintance, he had not seen any... Continue Reading →

Summer And The End Of Daze…

A complete wood pigeon sat on an obsolete television arial. Around it, everything stood still. The world had never been so peaceful and, if it wasn't for the smell of mankind's death, he would have thought that he was dreaming. He had never been a success, never been successful, never thought of himself as anything... Continue Reading →

From Read After Burnout

The winds of war had been blowing across the classrooms and corridors since the second day of the week. As the spite of rain whipped across the car-park, and the unseasonably cold blast ripped down the temperatures, the student body (still kicking) reacted appropriately. Vendettas emerged where only a harmless void had previously resided. Fights... Continue Reading →

To Stop The Light From Fading…

There have been to many leaves in our garden. Trees have grown, branches have spread, a consumation of a perfect growing season; warm and wet. We have been watching these encroaching leaves, at first with greeting, then with foreboding. Another year was turning. Another summer beginning to disappear. Summers should last forever, the way they... Continue Reading →

Out of the Blue

You have picked me out.Through a distant shot of a building burningyou have noticed nowthat a white cotton shirt is twirling, turning. In fact I am waving, waving.Small in the clouds, but waving, waving.Does anyone seea soul worth saving? So when will you come?Do you think you are watching, watchinga man shaking crumbsor pegging out... Continue Reading →

On Writing. On Saturday.

There's a torpid air out there. The world is standing still. A wet mist is waiting. There's a coffee to my right. Yesterday's Tour de France is playing out it's recording. There's a writer at the keyboard. He is tapping out what ought to be his thinking. There's a blank screen before him. And no... Continue Reading →

Stealing and Positive Role Models…

I cried at the ending of The Song of Bernadette. I just sat and wept my young eyes out whilst my elder sister watched on, somewhat disturbed by my outburst. When I was a child, such outpourings of emotional excess were embarrassing, especially for a boy. It’s a good job that my father had not... Continue Reading →

1996 Turn of the Year

We had returned to the UK for the Christmas holidays. It seemed to be a good idea at first, all that joviality and love. We had taken a coach from Vitoria right through to London. It seemed to be the right thing to do. Unfortunately, people tend to get in the way. The coach was... Continue Reading →

On History

History is cyclical. It is also a story. Graham Swift had his protagonist in Waterland declare that history was a fairy-tale, a succession of fairy-tales that helped to quell our anxiety with the real story, the truth, whatever that could be. The truth is out there and there are many different versions of it. This... Continue Reading →

Blog at

Up ↑