IMPORTANT: This Is Not A Newsletter Sent Via Substack
I thought I should write an explanatory message today about the way I'm doing things here from now on.
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Reports Of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated (But Probably Only On Social Media)
Support My Writing By Upgrading To A Paid Subscription Why have I been thinking about death so much this week? It’s probably an autumn thing and no doubt it’s not entirely unrelated to my recent health problems but also, taking a glance back at what I’ve been
ROBOT
"Also, they’re not feet. They’re called rotorsocks.”
How A Book Gave Birth To A Record
Subscribe now Melbury Beacon isn’t quite the highest place in Dorset, but, at 263 metres above sea level, it’s one of the big boys and, much like the man I walked to it with a couple of autumns ago, probably has no trouble seeing when it stands at
The Village Message Board
Its authenticity was discredited because of his reputation, but also because he was quick with gin at the time and wearing an item of knitwear back to front.
Some Thoughts About Jims, Scarecrows And Books
Today's post is free but on the off chance you'd like to support my writing you can do so here, at a price of your choice from £10 per year, or via a one-off donation here. * Please spare a thought for Jim the cat. 31 months
The True Stories Behind The Photographs In The Habitat Catalogues Of The 1970s
This is a piece I wrote a while ago but I wanted to make it free to read again. I wrote it during the very early stages of planning for my novel 1983 when a memory popped up of wandering around the Nottingham branch of the furniture store Habitat with
My Ex-Husband's Landlady
You might think I am being unkind when I say “crazy shrub-haired widow” in reference to my ex-husband’s landlady, but I assure you I am not.
31 NOTES I HAVE MADE ABOUT MY DAD IN MY NOTEBOOK
Today's post is free but on the off chance you'd like to support my writing you can do so here, at a price of your choice from £20 per year (this will also give you access to everything new I post, and my full archive), or
Failed Clickbait Title About The Blood Clot In My Arse And The Complex Pernicious Evil Of Algorithms, Particular As Pertaining To The Potential For Harmful Workaholism In The Under-51 Age Group
Granny Kettlebridge
“Any gossip, m’dear?” Granny Kettlebridge asks me. What she means by this is “Have you bonked anyone new and interesting lately?” There is a crow at the window and we are in her kitchen, the kitchen that has been her kitchen for 79.8 years and was her own
