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[Continuing the hymn-for-Sundays series] Nothing, nothing to be seen. Only One, true God, who’d been always, ever and content, but he chose to make, invent … damaged, sad … trust he would appear …

They sit in every cafe-bar named after the street on whose corner it squats. Smoking, small-eyed, wall-eyed moustachioed muchachos remembering kisses...

On December Nights in 1973 Our mum, she loved Marks & Spencer. She'd always say, "Ohh.You can't beat them for quality. For value!" Every...

The Rain His first memory is when he hid under his Mum’s bed to scare her new boyfriend. The boyfriend had needles. At the time he didn’t know what...

In which Josiah and Archibald escape from the long arm of the law, but for how long?

Time is my timelord, accuracy is written in the stars, each perfect in their allotment of space. No errancy here, no easing of the rules, no escape...

The flash of white burned a little brighter but they still safely made it to the desert. Lore had pre-programmed their second jump so that the moment...

At seventeen, I was a goth. A serious goth. I lived in skin-tight black drainpipes, slippery viscose shirts, eyeliner so sharp it could cut glass,...

Of all of my books, it is De Vermis Mysteriis that is the most mysterious. An old book copied from much older sources, translated into different languages and kept hidden, it details long lost civilisations and their monstrous gods. For our history is a crafted lie, created to hide the fact that we are not the first intelligent races to exist on this planet.