All the things I do instead of writing…
I will take the time to write down my day yesterday. I am not sure it’s of any interest, but on the rare occasions when I have written about the minutiae of my youth, I find it quite interesting to look back on. It doesn’t quite have the madeleine effect of transporting me back to... 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 →
The resting writer 