I’ve decided to write about therapy today. I was blowing my nose in the bathroom just now and the title popped into my head: ‘Things I’ve Learned In Therapy’. I don’t even know whether I’ve mentioned it on here before, but yes: I have been having regular therapy for around six months now, and taking Citalopram – an antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication – for around four.
Continue readingwriting
The Purloined Princess: Chapter Twenty Three (The Last One)
In Which I Have Friends
The morning after our starlit exchange, Glob was back to normal, gruff and crude. But I saw something else in her now, behind the muck and the pong and all the eye rolling. There was something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Or perhaps it was always there, and I simply hadn’t looked long enough. Don’t get me wrong, she still spat and belched and smelled like the inside of a horse, but after that night, she always looked a little different in a way I could never quite explain to anybody else.
The rest of the ride home was largely uneventful, save for a broken spur on the cabbage, a distressing shortage of cheddar, a run-in with the roving sentient hailstorm known as ‘Khrark’ that absolutely clobbered us and gave everyone two black eyes, as well as a brief but intense skirmish with the notorious outlaw Thunderlung and her marauding band of electric skeletons. Overall though, it was smooth sailing, as far as the Great Valley Road is concerned.
Continue readingLondon | Money
Things that are not ideal but we must persevere:
One: it’s been cloudy in London for a long time.
Two: I am redundant – I am without job. This happened seven days ago, on a Tuesday, at about 4pm.
Continue readingCalifornia Pt 11 | Sea Lights
We said goodbye to Annie’s parents in the morning, and I wrote them a letter to say thank you for everything: thank you for the food, thank you for the hospitality, and thank you more than anything for creating the rare delight that is my friend. We set off back to Oakland in the morning, full of breakfast and with a clear sky overhead. First, however, Annie wanted to show me Las Gatos and the area she grew up (which was news to me because I thought we were already in Los Gatos but whatever).
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 readingOn Juggling and Denzel Washington
Started learning to juggle. Dunno why really. It’s just cool, isn’t it? When you discover that someone you know can juggle, you always find them a bit more interesting – a little bit more mysterious. Because who in their right mind learns to juggle? What’s the benefit? Surely it takes a very long time to get good at it – and who has a very long time to do anything these days, let alone whap a trio of soft balls endlessly from palm to palm? And then there’s the practical stuff: how did they learn? You never walk through the park and see a would-be juggler at the outset, teetering around with their neck craned skywards and arms windmilling, balls flying everywhere as they grimace and whisper ‘oh fucking hell’. If you see someone juggling in a park, they can already juggle well. Who trains them? There’s something a tiny bit magical about it.
Continue readingAt Home | All A-Glow
I finished my book!
I finished my book this morning, the Australia one – rewrote the end, finally found the right words after weeks, months of sitting at my laptop and writing things and then deleting them over and over until I finally go ‘PRICK!’ at myself and slam it shut. But now it’s done.
Continue readingBristol: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dan
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.