That’s what I should be made. And the chain of office should be made from refreshers. Or possibly the front claws of Siberian Church Mice, whichever is easier. And let’s face it, to my electorate’s taste. For after all, is it not the burden of those called to office but to serve? If I could… Continue reading Emperor Big Poobah Chief Vizier Lizard

I appear to spend half my time on this blog writing as if I were a junk mail bot. Which may well be a more lucrative outlet than Monk Quixote. I should read a biography of Lewis Carroll, I guess. He more or less invented nonsense. Before Alice, there was only gruel and romans. Oh… Continue reading Lewis Carroll filter

Of all the eggs I have known, this one took the biscuit. Covered in almond sugar and laced with caramel, it was the third egg that the Beaujolais Weaver bird had laid that week, each one accompanied by some light jazz. It favoured the earlier work of Fredi Feelgood Banana-Joe. The first egg had appeared… Continue reading Enchantment

Don’t you just hate it when you wake up at 4am all excited about an idea, spend an hour working it up, decide to email people about it and then, at the last minute, you decide to google it and you discover that someone has stolen the name you want to use…. And don’t you… Continue reading Sigh

So the wheels have started turning again. I feel the itch to connect with my fictional chums who sit waiting like old toys in boxes for me to re-discover my inner chiddler. I put part of the blame down to Martin O’Brien and his Jacquot novels, plus An Interpretation of Murder, by Jed Rubenfeld. And… Continue reading Here’s how the story ends

Been quiet. Apologies to my reader. A very odd week. Involved in filming, reporting, attending, criticising and reviewing things around mass collaboration, web technologies, ex-somethings, people, philosophies, running and cava. I have perhaps been an island too long and too often, yet some behaviours simply can’t be unlearnt overnight, no matter how much of a… Continue reading A question of scale and islands

Making faces at the bus-stop.  I like to burble at the sparrows and tell jokes to the neighbourhood cats.  They feign disinterest but I know they’re cracking up inside.  Poker-faces.  That’s what cats have.  Yet they’re no good at cards as they’re too easily distracted by making your hand into a tunnel, or spinning your… Continue reading Sitting alone in a Ford Cortina

The Susan Hill book turned out ok, even if there was a sudden ‘oh shit, I better introduce who the murderer is’ a bit too soon for my liking (I’m a big fan of the old Scooby Doo / Agatha Christie style of un-masking). It was also one of those annoying thrillers that the publisher… Continue reading Medicine

I started reading a Susan Hill novel today. Now. She may be a lovely human bean. And talented. And kind to animals. And possibly, just possibly, a fan of 1930s motorcycle goatboy fanfic. But. There is simply no excuse for the words ‘ectoplasmic fog’ and ‘dreicht night’ in the opening three paragraphs. Not enough to… Continue reading And all the world is biscuit-shaped

I’ve just finished reading Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, which, disappointingly, is nothing to with the history of secrets or flan or the Da Vinci Code, but is instead about Gregory Peck. I kept reading the character Henry as Peck’s performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mocking Bird, although they are moral polar… Continue reading I dream of duende