To Everywhere – Fleetwood, Lancashire, 1976

The translucent-pink rims of a pair of National Health glasses occasionally bobbed up to make an appearance, before sinking back down behind the orange wall that separated them from me. Next to that orange wall, stood another orange wall, this one sporting rims of translucent blue. When the pink sank down, the blue bobbed up. I…

Mountains of Moments

  Mountains upon mountains of clothing, moments of a life mounting up in my lounge. We trundle up the mountains paths, my daughter and I, leaving our footprints in the rubble, seeking to pick apart the pieces, to pull away the threads the threads that hold together the fabric of a childhood past.   Momentary…

Attentive Attentiveness

A memoir from my schooldays ….   Whilst I look at you, paying attention, you think, really I am elsewhere, paying attention, and I don’t think. I don’t think of the knowledge you think you are sharing with me, but I do think, and with thinking, I pay attention to the fact that my knees…

Happiness

  Happiness –  the substance of my life. The hapless old friend who comments on my blog posts, thoughtfully emailing me my response options, which include: cider, ha ha, and thanks! The app I’m told to install for discounts on Indian takeaways from Aysha; The tacking pins embedded in the paint-stained carpet of my creative…

It’s time to guide our daughter, and our grandchild, home …

Indeed it is ‘heart-breaking’. Populist British newspapers have lost sight of the fact that Shamima Begum was a child when she made the decision to join ISIS. British children are not allowed to vote until the age of 18, are not allowed to marry (without parental permission) until 18, and cannot leave the institution of…

Hot Heather

Purple. A girl named Heather. A fine lady, dressed in purple silk, skirts stretched over the wire frame of a lampshade. A fit lady, lit from within. Fit for one’s bottom, and fit for display, but not fit for its purpose. The fine-fit lady, wired up and lit up, is hot. Hot, she bursts into…

Death at Christmas

The tree is up and the lights are on The glow is bright and warm   But I feel cold     The tree is real, not a plastic job   The colour is green, but parts are yellow   and the ferns are falling     The glow may be bright   But the…

Revisiting a Childhood Home

  The smell of sleeping mouths hanging wide open; damp fumes spreading.   A pair of shoes with black melted plastic soles sizzling next to the fire.   A panting beast – it’s dreams interrupted with the occasional snore – with bottom parked on singed shoes.   A pair of red ankles emerging from beneath the…

Sibling Territory

  Magazines neatly piled –   the edges all lined up with each other and parallel to the edges of the table.   A dust-free table and a strong smell of furniture polish, toothpaste and starch.   Shirts hanging in the wardrobe;   each hanger exactly two centimetres from its neighbour – not a crease…

Preserve

  glass impenetrable   where is the odour   coming from?     a toe nail flickers   the liquid yellows   and thickens     can I break the crystal box?   your toes cry out   untouched, unloved     your sweet smell   grows foul   with decay     Copyright owned…