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I write fiction & blog about books & films. There’s an archive of short stories & photographs. And, I have a creative notepad, of sorts.


‘You think you are so clever,’ my reflection said to me. ‘Not as clever as you,’ I replied.

I sank into the murky water remembering that smile. ‘I promise I’ll return,’ she’d said. Bach played me into unconsciousness.

‘Splendid,’ the Professor says. Always splendid. He asks how I am. ‘I feel like death,’ I tell him. ‘Splendid,’ he replies.

So much left unsaid. Damp leaves and winter bonfires. Smoke rising through trees. Letters in a shoebox.

‘Our monkey is sick. Can you be our monkey?’ said the clown. I screeched out, bit his leg, and ran off.

This was to be a tale of two cities. But the budget didn’t stretch. Now it’s a tale of two housemates and a cheese sandwich.

Rain drips from trees. Thunder in the distance. A cuckoo calls. I see you sitting on the bench — but you are not there.

I woke in hell. ‘Why am I here?’ The devil walked past in high heels and a mini-skirt. ‘Because you’re no angel.’

The homicide detective said it had been me all along. ‘Him?’ I replied. ‘Yes you,’ I said angrily.

He was a sex machine, The Love Terminator. In the morning, she said she loved him. He replied, ‘Does not compute.’

‘Make me laugh,’ she demanded. ‘Make me tell crappy jokes,’ I replied. And she laughed.

‘I’m done for, Captain!’ I looked at him: ‘Listen in, Johnson. You’re the sacrifice we make in Chapter 3 to fuel our motivation.’

You wanted a mysterious fortress. I constructed a nuclear bunker. You dreamed of antique furniture and I went to Ikea.

On a beautiful summer’s afternoon I’m reminded of that day we spent together. Before you dumped me. Before I cheated on you.

There’s a place in your dreams where you aren’t betrayed and you don’t get sold short. That’s why it’s in your dreams.

Of all the things remembered. A touch, a kiss. Your tenderness. And now my heavy heart. All folded in time

I wrote myself into the story. I killed the King and married the princess. My rule was merciless, but I lived happily ever after.

Rights and wrongs — what does it matter? Walls and bridges lead to the same place. A mansion with an overgrown garden.

The next one was going to be love. He’d been saying this all his life. And now his porridge was cold.

Kind words on a cold Monday comfort me through the arctic dark. The mysterious heart is out of kilter. All I see is you.

I swam the moat. I climbed the walls. When I got to her room at the top of the tower she said I smelt of ditch water and sweat.

As I skydived towards Paradise Island, to spend the rest of my life in luxury — I realised I’d forgotten my parachute.