In My Own Write

The Big Red Button

It appeared on the high street on a Wednesday morning; nobody knew where it came from. A red button atop a plain, black box. Above the button was a sign, upon which, written in bold, red capital letters were these words: DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE PRESS THE BUTTON...

Whatever Happens At 4am

Somewhere in the fug of the night amid the din of the music and swaying bodies and narrow shafts of jagged white light that criss-cross and flash in fit inducing intermittence above the heads and across the sweaty walls, you walk with a stagger then a helpless dance,...

A morning without care in the middle of nowhere

I was the first to wake up most days, a fact that’s always filled me with an irrational and frankly pointless sense of pride. This was one of those mornings. It was difficult to know exactly what time it was, the clock on the TV across the room was blinking a...
last day of summer

Creative Writing

A selection of creative writing pieces new and old. From short or micro-fiction to poetry and the occasional narrative ramble.

last day of summer


Photographic evidence that I get out into the world from time to time. A selection of photos captured from various travels, family jaunts and life experiences.

Last Day of Summer

September 10th, 2001 The deer. It stares; hypnotised by on-rushing headlights. On instinct, Chris pulls down hard on the steering wheel, into the outside lane. The rear-view mirror suddenly awash with white light, the shrill burst of a horn, the car behind almost upon them. He swerves back inside. The deer, its trance broken, bolts into the trees and the safety of the forest. They fishtail then straighten up,...
film and tv

Film & TV

Articles, reviews, features and general thoughts on the films and tv shows that have impacted upon our lives, for good or for bad. 

books and literature

Books & Literature

Reviews and personal thoughts. Picking out great passages of prose and focusing on the great works and writers past and present.

last day of summer


Like so many, sports occupies a significant space in my life. So, I write about it. From past memories to thoughts on the action of the day. 

Classic Prose From Don Delillo’s Underworld

“It was the rooftop summer, drinks or dinner, a wedged garden with a wrought iron table that’s spored along its curved legs with oxide blight, and maybe those are old French roses climbing the chimney pot, a color called maiden’s blush, or a long terrace with a slate...
St David and the Half-Day Holiday

St David and the Half-Day Holiday

It was the day that Dafydd Hughes got a crayon stuck up his nose. Nobody was quite sure how he’d done it, an act without witness; attention drawn only when Dafydd let out a cry of panic. Mild at first, swiftly moving through the emotive gears to something all the more...

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When Desmond Punched Me in the Face

When Desmond Punched Me in the Face

To the best of my knowledge I’ve been punched in the face twice in my life. The first time was by Andrew Passolini when I was in standard three (year 5 in the modern parlance), who put fist to face after a brief squabble over who was ‘it’ in a game of off-ground...

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