Burning Down the House 30/1

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The house is burning down. All humans and animals are safe. What would I take? 5 items. My laptop. It has the latest draft of the  work in progress, odds and sods for books as yet unwritten, and drafts of the others in their just before publication state.  Why? I’m with Gwendolyn from The Importance […]

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Through the Window 29/1

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I’m breaking the rules with this one. It said, look through the window for a full minute and write about what you’ve seen. I had no time to stand and stare today.  A five period day. In three rooms. Doesn’t sound difficult until you realise you go d10, e6, d10, e6. Meeting over the otherside […]

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Ode to a Playground 28/1

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As a navy brat, born 25 years after the end of WW2, my playground consisted of gun emplacements, pillboxes,  mysteriously short narrow guage tracks which petered into undergrowth; large swaiths of concrete and other debris  that littered the south coast. I remember vividly one weekend, there was a cycling race, and we were at a […]

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The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread 27/01

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For my cats, my cardigan is the best thing since sliced bread. It provides comfort from the harshness of the sofa, a place to rest a nose and forget the troubles of a busy life. For me, the camera in my phone  is the best thing since sliced bread, for allowing me instant gratification of […]

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The haitus

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Work got in the way of life this week, hence no blogging.  The difficult thing was that  as work got more convoluted and the hours longer, I wanted so much to zone out and write. I even got as far as taking the trusty laptop to school and organising the assessments so the children wrote […]

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Sweet Sixteen 21/1

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At sixteen I was so full of doing my O levels, of getting my exams, that I don’t think I had time to think what I wanted my life to be. On reflection, I wonder if part of that is the consequence of being a navy brat. Of always moving, never being in the same […]

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Breaking the Law 20/1

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My name is Charles Carter. I am a police officer in Her Majesty’s Constabulary. For the last fifteen years, I have been certain that a local East End pawnbroker – one Mordecai Gold – is more than a simple business man, working out of a jeweler’s shop on Fournier Street. To the man in the […]

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