Category Archives: It Cracks Like Breaking Skin

Swimming

Posted on April 16, 2011 by

Was the title of the first short story I ever wrote, which was in response to a task called ‘a sense of place’ which was set in my first year at Art School. That story was partly about a Victorian … Continue reading →

Posted in And She Laughed No More, It Cracks Like Breaking Skin | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Dennis the Menace meets Raymond Blanc

Posted on April 11, 2011 by

I phoned the legendary Old Stokie last night to check where he’d be and where we’d meet up for the FA Cup Semi Final at Wemberley on Sunday. After inquiring about Mum he moved on to the main business of … Continue reading →

Posted in It Cracks Like Breaking Skin | Tagged | 103 Comments

By request, sort of

Posted on April 7, 2011 by

On the thread below the Mysterious Ovookla mentioned that this was her favourite painting of all time. It’s certainly resonant; I once put a beech floor into a restaurant, thin strips of tongue and groove. You had to drill through … Continue reading →

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Do you like Caillebotte?

Posted on April 6, 2011 by

I was asked this in an email today. It’s a brilliant question isn’t it, I really wish I’d known it when I was a young man; could it ever fail as an opening gambit? I had completely forgotten who Caillebotte … Continue reading →

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My one system of barter

Posted on March 31, 2011 by

When I was a skint Art Student I decorated my hairdresser’s salon and also made some gilded mirrors for the place in the art school studios. I did it for nothing, using ‘found materials’ and ever since them I’ve had … Continue reading →

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The blog went to work today

Posted on March 30, 2011 by

It was rather wearing; after the writing workshop there were tutorials which were held in the Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts where there was an exhibition of basketry. Via Motorola we just intend to make make a quick record of … Continue reading →

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In these days of changing ways

Posted on March 21, 2011 by

I heard The Killing of Georgie by Rod Stewart on the radio this morning. It threw back me into a time and place as cleanly if I’d just been shown a Polaroid of myself as seventeen year old. When I … Continue reading →

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The chances of night school

Posted on March 10, 2011 by

I’ve been leading, or tutoring, a Creative Writing workshop the last two Tuesday nights and there are four more to come. After the first week two of the original twelve dropped out and a new member arrived. The new member … Continue reading →

Posted in It Cracks Like Breaking Skin, Uncategorized | Tagged , | 10 Comments

Taps pen, scratches head

Posted on March 9, 2011 by

More stuff about the BBC? It doesn’t seem very popular: even Old Stokie can’t be bothered to come along and witter on. Perhaps I’ll bring up his comment about what happened when he came up before the beak as below, … Continue reading →

Posted in It Cracks Like Breaking Skin, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

There’s a dog barking away outside

Posted on March 3, 2011 by

It reminded me a poem by Christopher Reid, to whom I owe a great debt, for, dear reader, though I didn’t marry him, it was he who took my pamphlet of stories down to Faber and Faber in the first … Continue reading →

Posted in It Cracks Like Breaking Skin | Tagged , | 3 Comments