• The Hemingway Day.
  • The Hemingway Day. Surface.

    So far in glorious London we have enjoyed about three days of summer. Today is the fourth. The sun is shining, the children are shrieking outside, my office fan is blowing hot air in circles, the inebriated are out early… and isn’t it just marvellous? Here’s The Hemingway Day. Surface. Suede and water never did mix.

  • Fiction.
  • Happy Feet.

      The Audition. The red door stood stark against a street of black counterparts. It was the exact shade of the virtual lipstick signature that sat at the end of the email she’d sent. She called herself Darling. I leant towards the lacquered wood and heard only space behind it. I glanced again at the […]

  • Fiction.
  • Dirty Laundry.

        Dirty Laundry. The bell on the launderette door chinked as the man in the suit slinked inside. He was smartly dressed to the most meticulous detail; his cufflinks polished, the pleats of his trousers crisp, his finely crafted Saville Row suit not the kind one might usually see in a place such as […]

  • Fiction.
  • Word.

      The final day of photography101… ‘Triumph’. Word. “She stood up, and picked up the nearest cylinder and held it between her hands. It hypnotised her just as it did many years ago, the clear glass filled with spiralling tendrils of time, almost whispering from within.”   Time.    

  • Fiction.
  • Hunt.

      Day 15 of photography101… “landscape.” Hunt. I edged lower into the rows of grain, willing the ground to be tight-lipped as it clicked beneath every movement of my limbs. A cracking resonated with every footstep he took. I froze just as his shins appeared above the kernels touching my forehead.