Cherrypicked stories

Part One is here - I climb the museum’s stairs, turning to gaze out. Further down the river, elephantine trees trumpet and stampede. A rusty Ferris...

Stinson’s voice echoed off the walls strangely; the returning sound, although getting his words right, did not have the angel-faced one’s agreeable...

Mourning the loss of a literary talent.

George had been away on an outward-bound course, one of those team building kind of affairs, and the first thing he did on returning home was to sit on his sofa and wade through the emails that had accumulated.

You believe you are a funny guy but you are bad at remembering and telling jokes. This is why when anyone asks you if you have a joke you tell them...

Muddy – marshy – murky forest floor, squidgy – earthy like browned off mashed potato squelching in November's rain, as storms drench dawn's secrets...

‘Goodbye lovely Boy’, John strokes the horse’s neck; breathes him in. ‘We tried everything’, he ruffles his wide hand over the black mane. Asks his...

It’s a wonder that none of them can hear me screaming: Help me, help me, let me out, let me out-out-out-out! Perhaps it’s because the scream is only...

Finally They Met.... They had met before, these invincible Sons of the South but never in this most famous of gardens and never wearing their gloves...