* Another of my personal diary entries from last year * After about ten minutes, sirens are heard approaching on the road behind. People begin turning their cars towards either the hard shoulder or the central reservation, creating a clear space in the middle. A police car, followed by an ambulance ' then, a short while later, another ambulance. Obviously very nasty. Could be some time. Nothing to do but wait.
* Another personal diary entry from last summer * The woman was putting across a perfectly reasonable line concerning the health risks associated with passive smoking. Trouble was, she was doing it in a po-faced, finger-wagging, goody-goody-sounding way ' a real prod in the arse to a flinty, no-bloody-nonsense Bradford lad like Hockney.
Another 'chapter' to go with 'Tom' and 'Josie'. Andy's the bankrupt Tom dealt with at the Court. Josie appears briefly. 3,000 words.
After breakfast, I walk into town for some cash and find myself joining in that familiar phenomenon of modern urban paranoia: the ATM Conga. I can understand giving some 'I'm not peeping at your PIN' space to the person currently using the machine. But the gap always seems to knock on to each subsequent person in the queue ' so you end up with a line of 6 people that stretches about 15 yards across the pavement.
I've worked a long time on this story - perhaps too long. I'm still not sure it's right. But it's the best I can do with it. 3,700 words (maybe that's it... it's too long!)
¦he swings his arse over from the end of the bed and into the armchair and reaches down to click on the kettle
* Still rummaging through my old diaries. This is another entry I later turned into an article. * A connection broke down somewhere, and a vital message failed to get from his brain to his heart. So it stopped beating. In the midst of life, he literally stopped living.
A chapter from a longer piece I'm working on. How long I'm not sure yet. It's the first piece of writing I've managed for months. First draft. 4,000 words.