Gathering Evidence
The Parish church rooms smelled of old people’s skin. Fleshy crevices that never exposed to sun or flannel. It smelled of mince cooked too hard and too early and sweet lemony floor polish.
If you only had a few friends, you had your party there. If you were more popular, you had it at the Social Club which was down a very steep hill, or up a very steep hill, depending on which way you chose to approach it. It was smack on the middle of the hill, so you couldn’t avoid it th
On Grief
Buddy died a week ago today. He was here for 12 years and now he is not. There is a silence where my dog should be. Gone forever, the...
Writing about poor mental health without oversharing, apologising, triggering or diminishing
How does someone do that? When Nietzsche said "And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you," he was talking...
Nativity: A Short Story
The cows are mostly standing when I enter, shuffling hay from foot to foot, some inherited dance or ancestral trait handed down, like...
Happy Birthday, Aunt
Dear Aunt It is your birthday today, 11th November, and for the first time since I lost you, I do not wish you were here. I try and place...
The Elephant in the Room
Menopause - the elephant in the room. A big pink elephant that sweats and swears and stomps about. We can’t go under it. We can’t go...