Journal

As each season dissolves into the next with no change in my predicament I sense time drifting by as I stand still oblivious to the activity around me.

Laughing at the lunatics in Bedlam

This week I’m just making shapes. I’m the head of a matchstick, I’m a number seven, I’m a box of Cuban cigars on an ageing dictator’s desk.

Every time I walk around Soho, I await the tap on the shoulder before I'm told I'm not cool enough to be here on my way to what will inevitably be last week's favoured hangout

But move she does, and in consequence, most male staff become momentarily frozen by the invisible pause button of life. Heads might not turn, but keyboards, if they had feelings, would feel neglected.

Marty has a girlfriend.

See this piece of string? Follow it and at the end you'll find a great big mess ... me!

My nice life is unravelling

Food poisoned, alone and stuck. A true story.

I woke abruptly to find the house in silence and my room painfully bright.

Today at 3:30pm I’m going to be on Radio 4. Well, not me, but my story Teeth.

What did I expect? An amusement park with bright flashing lights? It was for keeping people in and didn't need to be a tourist attraction to keep the visitors coming.

For you I will wait as each passing day comes and then goes.

A friend decided one day that it would be nice to invite me around for coffee one morning then declare the news that,"he has slept with someone else,and there has been more than one,"

Return of the unredeemed.

Where is this going to end?

When I think of you,the rush comes back like heroin soaring up the vein,into the blood sending bittersweet nostalgia into my fuzzy perceptors.

Worse than I ever imagined.

No change.

He's stolen from us.