Cherrypicked stories

I want you to know There is someone new: He laughs at my jokes and rings me every day at lunchtime to see how I am. He gazes earnestly at me over the caesar salad on the table at Pizza Express and

Enough of boats- now smoking, those boys who kissed us, didn't care that we were only nine. We learnt Cambridge on the back of a bicycle and found it fit us and our red coats. The city, not so silent, let our mother lie,

She couldn't work it, the smell Staining the underbellies of her nails But never bringing tears to her eyes

It was cold outside, and rain was still falling. It rained for days and it seemed that it would never end. The city's storm sewers were filled to capacity and flood waters threatened to back up and overflow out into the streets, but still, relentless, the rain continued to fall. Like the sound of large pebbles falling on rooftops, it fell and meandered its way along its natural gravitational path, unhindered and flowing from rooftops to gutter systems to down spouts, and out into the streets, not with a fury or rage but with a constant unending urgency. An urgency that only the natural forces of nature could explain, but would not. Meteorologists could find no exact explanation, but only suspected that modern industrial pollutants were to blame and man, not nature, was the cause.

You asked me once After a marathon session in the Chip I fell over and broke my glasses If I loved you I said yes It was never mentioned again It was the truth To me, there are different kinds of love It can change To you, people don't go back on their word

"I don't do that through the spine business. Just one hook through the lip. He gently drags on his cigar; his finger-pincers steady, while their lines lie, strands of honey lifted from the dark wine of the river.

"Watch out! Jim shouted as he spotted a cow walking directly into the road. Amazingly, as if obeying some invisible road safety order, the cow halted on the verge allowing the car to speed past

Walking out I know this is not the end of the matter, I will be hearing from my conscience shortly; that too padded plain navy sofa. Still, the walk home's thrilling, the moon all anglepoised, gets me, dancing.

A man with a tic like a shot gun kick back is shouting passages from Beowulf.