A chapter with no gravitas.

An unfinished and by no means polished, chapter-excerpt from the short story I am trying to write which is set in the Culture universe of Iain M. Banks. I wrote hopefully about this back in 2019 when after a period of inactivity, I had seemed to have regained my muse. Then 2020 happened and I … Continue reading A chapter with no gravitas.

The Additive

Teenage poetry. This one has a date, 13th August 1977 which, the internet reliably informs me was a Saturday. The original title that I'd written down was 'The Ad,itive' but I thought that it looked a bit too, um… you know. I'd obviously been overdosing on telly adverts and thinking about Carol who I'd met … Continue reading The Additive

An interesting ride? I wouldn’t bank on it.

At work, they (yes, those mysterious "they") are trialling a new set of group email addresses so for a couple of days there have been these emails arriving telling us that they are trialling a new set of group email addresses. They are dynamic apparently, these email addresses, so when new members of staff join … Continue reading An interesting ride? I wouldn’t bank on it.

Evening pursuits, pet.

Last Tuesday, I happened to be out in the garden and looked up at the crescent moon, a jetliner trailing a modest contrail was approaching from the east. The jet was heading for the crescent and looked as if it would pass directly in front of it. I considered for a fleeting moment whether or … Continue reading Evening pursuits, pet.

STOP! Memories of a Lollipop Man.

As I have written before in this here blog, when I used to work in an office, a real office that is not the small 'office' bedroom at the back of the house, my route walking to work took me through Chesham Cemetery. At either end of the cemetery there is a busy road but … Continue reading STOP! Memories of a Lollipop Man.

Out of the Ecliptic

Soldiers stare in poets' guise, shout bloody words at careless skies. Faces bowed are steeped in grief, and turn away from warrior and thief. Art ensnared in martial rule, followed by bloodlust thirsty fools. Teachers caught are sold and bought, preach manifestoes to the worth of naught. Mourning not another day, these people force my … Continue reading Out of the Ecliptic

This Sporting Life.

Gritty, kitchen-sink drama, Richard Harris playing rugby and having the occasional punch-up. I remember one evening, early 1970's, my siblings had all gone to bed, and my parents and I were sitting in the living room watching TV. The news had ended, and the late film had begun, This Sporting Life. We weren't many minutes … Continue reading This Sporting Life.

Not the Chelsea Flower Show.

Welcome aboard, we're going on a journey… When I was 9 or 10 or so years old, the school library contained a small set of softback books about notable ships. Amongst the titles as I recall were Titanic, Royal Sovereign, Cutty Sark and Gipsy Moth IV. Recalling now from this distance in time is a … Continue reading Not the Chelsea Flower Show.

Chesham Morning.

With apologies to Joni Mitchell… Woke up, it was a Chesham morning, and the first thing that I heard, was that noisy prick on a moped, and I mouthed a few choice words, and he came tearing up the road, at well over 30 miles an hour. Won't you go away, you've ruined my day, … Continue reading Chesham Morning.