All the things I do instead of writing…
When I read the Sunday papers, I often think about what it means to be someone who chimes out copy for a living. To be someone who takes their children's exam season, and turns it into a few hundred words of light-hearted, relatable and yet meaningful commentary on everyone's lives. He manages to squeeze in... Continue Reading →
I write as I leave Euston at 20:40 on a Wednesday evening. This was not really my plan for the evening, having arrived at the station around 7.30. Sadly though, it is a very common feature of the lives of those of us lucky enough to live on not one, but two, main arteries connecting... Continue Reading →
As ever, I have many thoughts throughout the day that I am keen to write about. The text pours forth in my imagination, smoothly and seamlessly onto the page, musing wittily about some aspect of my life that is relevant, like the books I've been reading, movies I've been watching, or fun outdoor stuff I've... Continue Reading →
I read the news today, as indeed I do every day (usually without immediately thinking of Beatles lyrics). A very silly article caught my eye: a "study" by Anglia Ruskin university, about pop lyrics and ageing. It seems that old peoples' health is negatively affected by the fact that pop lyrics are overwhelmingly negative about... Continue Reading →
I've been reading through yet another random set of "tips" about leaving comments, and I'm increasingly unsure why anyone would take it that seriously - one person commented: "Ok, so we’re all scared to comment I will admit I have been guilty to leaving random comments and now can really work on leaving pertinent information... Continue Reading →
I am watching a documentary about a very old lady in a red jumper. “What is it like when you believe you will die in the next second?”, the interviewer asks. She is asked this a lot, she replies; and the answer is that you do not perceive any emotion – just blackness descending on... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 