Writing
We picked and ate the last of the radishes today. They were my favourite food when I was eight and not much has changed. I can never understand why they remain so unfashionable: it’s not as if they’re cucumber or something. This year’s crop were all very
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On part-climbed mountains, two Welsh graves and the complex path to the 25th building I've resided in...
Thoughts On Finishing A Novel
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A Few Thoughts, From The Middle Of A Novel
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