I’m off to the bookshop

books

The vast majority of my disposable income is swiftly swapped for paperbacks and old classics in my local bookshops. I buy more books than I do pints of milk, most of them secondhand these days (the books not the milk...). That way, I can spend a tenner not on just one crisp and shelf-new paperback,… Continue reading I’m off to the bookshop

Advertisements

Silent Sweep

alarm clock

My new clock is staring at me, its 'silent sweep' second hand gesturing sarcastically like an impatient companion tapping their wrist. It's 0133. Without stopping at each individual notch on its circuit, the seconds seem to pass faster than on an ordinary ticking clock. It is sitting there, passive aggressively waiting for me to give… Continue reading Silent Sweep

Factually, technically…numerically.

birthday candles

I turned 27 this week which is weird because I still feel like a confused teenager thrashing their way through a transformative adolescence. Did you ever stop still as a kid and wonder, just because you weren't thinking about it in that exact moment, if you could actually have forgotten your own name? Just for… Continue reading Factually, technically…numerically.

I contain multitudes, Vol.2

Going back to that Bob Dylan quote from yesterday... I change throughout the course of a day. I wake and I’m one person, and when I go to sleep I know for certain I’m somebody else.” ...I think I'm learning that the writer version of my many forms is nocturnal. I seem to get my… Continue reading I contain multitudes, Vol.2

Visiting post-war France with William Maxwell

paris window

To say that very little happens in William Maxwell's The Château would be to over-estimate its drama. But that doesn't matter. Maxwell's book is principally concerned with the characters, sculpted slowly and deliberately over hundreds of pages. The writer does not make any concessions for the patience of the reader and though I might have… Continue reading Visiting post-war France with William Maxwell

A perfect minute.

open window

It actually felt like the first flush of summer for a perfect minute this morning. Dry-skinned and clammy-palmed from efficient all-night heating, I guiltily opened my window. Breezeless, the unseasonably mild air flooded over me. The countryside said “good morning” with lazily cooing pigeons and idly tittering blue tits, with the soft scent of lush… Continue reading A perfect minute.