I’ve always felt one of the surest signs of a writer in a rut is that they start writing about writing. Hi there, I’m Dan.
Bristol: For My Imaginary Grandchildren
It has occurred to me that, sooner than I realised, everything will be very different. Continue reading
Bristol: HIT THE NORTH!
I think there are good things to come, you know. Just an inkling!
Now, if you’d asked me about the colour of the future on Sunday evening – Continue reading
The Dancers
I went for a walk on my lunch hour and
I saw a couple dancing in the street
Near the cenotaph
By the bus stop
Where the skaters hang out. Continue reading
The Berlin Diaries: One Last Time
Well now, I’m home from work sick as a parrot. I can’t move from my bed and it hurts to look at a laptop screen, but I’ll have a pop at this while it’s fresh in my head. The weekend just gone, I revisited the city that started everything: Berlin. Continue reading
Bumblefree
Well well well, look who it is – back for more words of mine, you greedy grub you. Continue reading
whoaaaa been a while?!
Here you,
I’ve not posted on this site in two months. I don’t even know why, I just stopped for a while! Isn’t that irritating? No explanation for my disappearance?! Hoho! Continue reading
Paris: Muggings and Riots and Notre Dame Engulfed in Flame
After Chiang Mai came two sweaty nights in Bangkok. After Bangkok came Paris.
Jeanne and Justine got an earlier flight out of Thailand, and I arrived in the city fourteen hours after them, in the evening. By the time I arrived Justine had already left the city for Orleans, an hour or two south. Won’t be seeing her for a long time now. After a year of perpetual company and a merry-go-round of familiar faces, suddenly Jeanne and I were all that remained. Weird. Continue reading
Chiang Mai: Songkran Sogginess
I left Tasmania and my darling Seth Todd, and flew for 24 stinking hours on a succession of Jetstar flights. Let it be known, Jetstar are low in cost but high in tedium; for hours unending I had nought to do but stare at the barren headrest before me. My requests for a free little glass of water were repeatedly declined, and in the end I had no choice but to splash out and numb myself with a little plastic wine bottle. Continue reading
Tasmania: Howling at the Thunder
And just like that, Tasmania is finished. Five weeks of apple picking are done, and I have left. Spending tonight in a crappy hostel in Melbourne’s CBD, after flying out of Hobart earlier today. 24 hours and I’ll be with Jeanne once more, in Chiang Mai. Got a lot of airports to traverse in that span of time – it’ll be pretty shit. I’ll live. And then it’s all joy on joy. Continue reading