Monthly Archives: March 2011

My one system of barter

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

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

The blog went to work today

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

Posted in It Cracks Like Breaking Skin | Tagged , | 5 Comments

So, with yesterday being a Monday, the blog threw a sicky

It seemed only right for its inaugural working life/job search week. And then, most supernaturally and appropriately, Ruth Selwyn-Crome only came and turned up in my inbox (‘Tardy Friday’ was the name of the mail) with this work-themed poem from … Continue reading

Posted in From Working-Class Hero to Absolute Disgrace (A Memoir | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Searching for the perfect job/spoiler alert

I was thinking tonight that what I’d like to do would be a writer in residence at the Tate Modern. I had the idea that it would allow me to be alone with the art before the place opened and … Continue reading

Posted in Unpublished Novel | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments


I was out with Dylan round the local lake, Whitlingham Broad, in the dusk tonight and they were fizzing about all over. They seem to fly for fun, though in reality they are on a serious mission echolocating insects. Still, … Continue reading

Posted in Along Came Dylan | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

I’ve been a bit tardy

Anybody with anything useful to add pls give Pel a helping hand on this thread that’s just about to fall off the bottom of the front page.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ,

In these days of changing ways

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

Posted in It Cracks Like Breaking Skin | Tagged , , | 2 Comments