I must write something or I’ll explode. I have written articles yesterday and the day before and deleted them – rather uncinematic, I admit, if I had a typewriter I’d at least have had the satisfaction of ripping out the shite I’d typed, scrunching it up and hurling it into a little iron basket – and I’d determined to make something today, right now, even if it’s shit and meandering, whatever, whatever, fuck you, fuck me.
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London | Crimped
I do not remember the last thing I wrote about on here. And I will not check! There doesn’t have to be any narrative consistency to these dairies. That’s not life! This is life! This! LOOK AT IT.
Alright I regret starting this article that way but I’m not going to delete it because that would mean I have to think of another intro and I just… don’t want to do that right now.
Continue readingLondon | Birthday Man
It was my birthday two days ago and I took the day off work to do nothing. It is not particularly rare that I do nothing, however it is exceedingly rare that I do nothing without suffering from monstrous guilt. The rules are different on birthdays, however: you can do whatever you want.
Continue readingLondon | Loonies at the Open Mic
Sitting in bed writing this, 8:52am, had a coffee and two slices of toast (one marmite, one honey), and the footsteps of my flatmates above through the creaky floorboards are so loud every morning it makes me want to throw a brick at the ceiling (if only I owned a brick). Why do two humans need to walk around so much: that is my first thought upon waking every day. Why do two humans need to pace back and forth eighteen times over the space of half an hour: tell me. Their bed is on one side of the room, their drawers are on the other. There is nothing else in the room. So: what is going on up there.
Continue readingLondon | Oh Just Chatting Away Really
I’ve started writing on my hand again – I used to do that when I was a teenager. I also did it in my early twenties. Then I stopped for a while. Not sure why I stopped – I just did. And now, at 31, the back of my left hand says ‘Call Vic’, because I need to call her, along with a hastily added ‘+ Dad’ underneath, because I need to call him too.
Continue readingLondon | Tubby, Or Not Tubby
I continue my slow, sensual crip walk into eccentricity. I’m certainly going through a bit of a ‘phase’, but I’m not really sure how to define it. I’m just sort of… exploring things. Finding new pursuits.
Continue readingA Sliver of Book, A Side of Chatter
Alright. Let us begin with:
The Siege of Pugglemunt, Chapter Seventeen: An Excerpt
They had crested the horizon: the view was clear from the Magic Tower. In one great, rippling, flesh-and-leather coloured mass, the dark horde was approaching from the west, moving fast across the fields surrounding Pugglemunt. Thin plumes of black smoke went up from every home and hovel they rode past. I was glad I’d given the order to summon all surrounding villagers to the keep. Actually, hang on a second—
“Quince, did I give the order to summon all surrounding villagers to the keep?”
“No, my liege.”
“Oh GOD. SHIT.”
Continue readingLondon | Gandalf! Motorcycles! Butternut Squash!
And that’s it! I’m not going to publish anymore of my story because (and I know this sounds mad, yes, pipe down) I want to do… something with it. I’m not sure what, but I think it’s very fun and good and I am in love with writing it and I dunno, maybe I’ll try get it published.
It probably won’t get published. But hey – gotta try.
Continue readingMaverick (Alternative Title: Danny Hackett and the Strangled Wang)
Almost fell to my knees in Waterstones the other day. The big one – Piccadilly Waterstones. Never been in it before. Went on my birthday. Four floors of books! Tens of thousands.
Continue readingMuch Ado
For weeks now I’ve had writer’s block and I just Googled how to get rid of it and it said you have to write shit on purpose. So here I go!
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