Beneath the Innocent Child in Prayer

By on Jun 10, 2018 in Blog Posts, Winter, Writing bits and bobs | 0 comments

I wrote this as a competition entry this month. The brief was to write about the discovery of a dead body for any type of character. It was inspired by a morning I spent at the Lady Lever Gallery. There was a meditator but the rest is fiction…

A new project

By on Jun 4, 2018 in Blog Posts, Winter, Writing bits and bobs | 1 comment

I can feel the enthusiasm bubble up through my chest and into my cheekbones. I rub my hands together and clasp them close to my beaming face. I burble and chirrup with excitement as I scribble notes about how I’m going to do it and what the steps will be.

The oncology meeting: the real truth about a cure for cancer

By on Nov 20, 2017 in Blog Posts, Cancer, Fiction, Writing bits and bobs | 4 comments

“Why don’t we just tell them the truth?”  Asked the intern…

The Handkerchief

By on Nov 12, 2017 in Blog Posts, Spring, Writing bits and bobs | 3 comments

“Hands, hands, handkerchief!” The woman demands in a Scottish accent. She’s standing next to the chocolate brown painted hand-rail at the top of the stairs and blocking the route down.

Messing about in water

By on Sep 13, 2017 in Blog Posts, Spring, Writing bits and bobs | 2 comments

An honourable mention in this month’s writing challenge. The challenge was 250 words featuring something to do with water…

Jane Pickard’s Bicycle

By on Aug 7, 2017 in Blog Posts, Writing bits and bobs | 1 comment

Jane Pickard lived down the road from me as a kid. Her Dad was the local plumber and they lived in a big rambling house that he was refurbishing. The house sat back, across a gently banked field from the lane into the valley. For a time, in the summer of 1980, Jane and I were friends. I played my first game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey at her birthday party. I squealed with terrified delight and had my head chopped off there playing oranges-and-lemons at that same party. I don’t remember if Jane didn’t have ponies or if it was just that her access to riding was less free than mine. I do remember dropping in on horse-back and feeling a self-satisfied superiority on the horse front in general. But it bicycles not ponies that moved our friendship. To an outsider my bike was a hand-me-down from my brother. To me it was an honour bestowed upon me by my older, wiser and infinitely more...