Category Archives: Writing

To Boldly Split Infinitives…

Voicey croaky continuey. Croak croak. I am not a frog. I may or may not be a salamander. They croak too, don’t they? Scaramanga, salamander: only one of them tried to assassinate James Bond but it didn’t have a re-growable … Continue reading

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Smoke And Goldeness

My sore throaty voice place continues to make me sound like I’m having my larynx scraped by tiny oesophageal dredgers, all made of razors and thorn. Allegedly this means I am emitting sexy sounds. Personally I think I couldn’t be … Continue reading

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Scooby Dooby Doo, To Be Is To Do

Heavy-lidded apathy rules Saturday. It might not be apathy; I can’t be bothered to analyse myself deeply enough to know for sure. It might not even be Saturday: words are just words, they’re not genuine representations of anything. You know, … Continue reading

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No Direction Home

Wanderlust: the desire to hike, if you want to get all Middle High German on the motion, which too few people do these days. It’s a word that came up in conversation with my son during our travels last week. … Continue reading

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Go Forth (of July)

Writey, writey, thinky, thinky, therapy, therapy-y. The brain bone’s connected to the finger bones apparently. Which might be why I consistently flip the bird at any coverage of Donald ‘Fuck’ Trump. But happy America day anyways. Firework bagels and cranberry … Continue reading

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About Out And Abouting

I’m cooking a curry. What? Well I guess there’s enough to stretch to another mouth. When can you get here? Oh, that’s ages, I’ll keep some back and you can bung it in the michaelwave. I feel mildly productive today … Continue reading

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Couldn’t Look You In The Eye

“You’re weird.” I’ve been told this, in various ways, all my life and my response has perhaps changed more than I might have imagined it would when I was young. At first I hated being non-normative: I went to a … Continue reading

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