Read After Burnout. It makes no sense.
Jem was dead. Harper Lee did not publish after her classic American tale. It was a novel that affected millions and caught the zeitgeist of a nation and a world in transition. It was a novel that our teachers felt needed to be read so, even in the grey climate of sixties' Northern England, shrouded... Continue Reading →
Last night I got an irate call from a disgruntled Jewish anarchist. Although this is not an unusual occurrence for me, this call was slightly out of the ordinary. “F**king Jeremy Corbyn is here,” they exclaimed. “Where?” I asked, expecting a thoroughly mundane answer. The response, however, was anything but mundane. “The Jewdas Seder!” The... Continue Reading →
It's nice to come home to the blog at the end of a working day. It's good to sit down and see what has been going on. It's wonderful to enter a world of imagination and self-reflection. Oh, my lord, I sound like a tree-hugger. Just got back in from work where I have wrestled... Continue Reading →
In reality, I was writing it for myself. I wanted to recover and wished to document my recovery. What I did not envisage was that my writing would sit at the helm of this personal therapy.
Michael was too lost in the suddenness of events to truly understand what he was seeing. His first thought was that he would soon be dead; dead to this world and dead to any other. This was still to some extent a dream, but it was a real dream. The bullets that had whizzed past... Continue Reading →
The problem, as Monty Python knew so very well, was that everybody had an inkling that something was coming. It's the thing that you dread the most that refuses to materialise in the front of your mind. It's the Brussel sprout on your plate that just will never disappear no matter how many times you... Continue Reading →
The fact that my moving away was seen, by some, to be a betrayal of my culture. It mimicked my change of accent, change of interests, and change of self (whoever that may have been). For once, it was me speaking and standing, “agate, wondering about the world I was waking in and about my past all gone…” That was when, as Dustin Hoffman would have said as Little Big Man, I went through my poetry phase.