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The shopkeeper said he was very sorry to hear about Agnes. ‘Cheers,’ I could never mind his name. I’d called him Raj, when I was drunk and he smiled...

An ekphrastic poem, of sorts.

[Continuing the hymn-for-Sundays series] When Christ was taken from the cross his body was not dumped or lost, nor in communal graveyard tossed,...

Janus Look 8 When asked how I am doing, I inevitably reply, “Fine, thank you. No real problems. Just tired and need to be patient.” I now have a...

c.7/4/22 I quote from my Short Novel of Henry VIII :- 27/2/21 (19/4/21) Henry VIII : Tyrantosaurus Rex : An Exceedingly Short Novel By Mr Alfred N...

I wandered through to the kitchen. While the kettle was boiling, I picked out a mug from the debris in the sink. Tap water was boiling hot. I ducked...

This is almost public journaling. Sometimes exposing the more unsavoury contents of my brain in public helps me fight the parts of me who'd rather hide it. Kind of like flashing people, but with my brain. Also (I hope) not in a gross way. It is an exercise in acceptance. I have anxiety. I am afraid of flying and stressed by many little things. And I won't make it harder for myself by being ashamed. Not anymore.

A little waif calling in the wilderness- I hear the strain in his voice – the fear of hunger of loneliness and I hurry to assure him that someone...

15/4/22 Rolling Shropshire hills ‘little Switzerland’: humps and valleys with Caer Caradoc standing sentinel on the east; Stiff climb up, but...