She shrank away, down grey blighted streets, where the red-bricked terraces shrank back in surprise; and all the signs on shops looked aged and faded. Leaves ushered assorted admonishments; trees stood dismissive and unearthed; a shopkeeper raised his criss-cross brow: for where do we go after birth? She lay in her abandoned place, memory tight … Continue reading The Fallen Woman
I loved stilton, cut with a speared knife, placed on paper napkin, eaten, down by the river, where the blue tits flitter, and the sky has a buttermilk sheen, and I loved Roquefort, and mellow Shropshire Blue, with a whole load of plum chutney and an oat cracker or two. I loved sausages, fiery skinned … Continue reading An Ode to Stilton.
He lived with me. No contract had been signed. I didn't ask for a lodger. I had asked on multiple occasions for him to leave. When it became obvious he wouldn't leave without a prompt, I packed a polythene bag full of sandwiches and threw it up the garden, where it smashed into my lame … Continue reading The House Guest
I have spoken before about struggling with anxiety. It has been an issue since small but has grown with age, mophing and changing in shape, texture and severity. Why I am the anxious type is not easy to fathom. There are lots of things that may have contributed I suppose, like all of us, but … Continue reading Trapped Inside My House
On February the 11th 1963, the poet and novelist, Sylvia Plath took her own life. Her two children, Frieda and Nicholas were upstairs in their beds, as downstairs, their beloved mother, put her head in the oven and removed herself forever from their lives. We know Plath struggled with mental illness, perhaps none more so … Continue reading Let’s Talk About Suicide.
‘I didn't write these, I am twenty three,' Meredith shouts, spittle flying from her mouth, reaching out in anger, throwing several books to the floor. ‘We got married Meredith, we honeymooned in St Lucia and bought a house, the house we live in now, and had two sons,’ Roy says, returning the books to the shelves, … Continue reading Memories
Warning: Description of a sexual act and unorthodox practices. Bruce pulls her close, sheds a tear as he buries his head in her neck, long, slender, the sort of neck men want to caress, even with these bruises. The silence is strange but she had always been quiet, reserved, a little anxious perhaps. Fingers searching … Continue reading Desire!
Great Uncle Bulgaria peered cautiously at the human in front of him. “Where did you find her?” he asked, staring at Tomsk, who grunted and looked away. “Mr Smith isn't here any more” Bungo said “I thought we should invite a new human.” “Bungo, secrecy is important, we do not associate with humans” Uncle Bulgaria … Continue reading The Wombles of Westminster