Thinking about the murder of Julius

As his name-month swelters

And the Unitarian Doric of New Road

Houses a new busker


The formal portico is like a promise

Of something even better

Rational organisation of things

Simplicity of a sun-shaped god


The flute-player misses a note

Sparrows chip the paving

– No blood on these stones –

The next high improvisation he attempts


Disappears into the blue and out of history.

Columns indent like inert components

Of some unwieldy gear

Which has run down now and lies


Disassembled in the workshop –

Cog-wheels and grease, the smell of solder.



My Novel & Kindle & Stuff

Well I’ve crept along to the next page of my Kindle e-publication. God this feels so counter-intuitive. For all of my loudness, indiscretion, and social awkwardness – I sometimes wonder if I have an Asperger’s diagnosis – I am actually a preposterously shy person. A terrified neurotic.

But nevertheless, it’s getting there. After submitting the manuscript to numerous agents – and getting replies that ranged from the encouraging (Curtis Brown) to the no-reply-at-all (many, who shall be nameless), I shall now try Kindling my novel.

It will at least feel like the completion of a process. I am also intending to publish on other platforms – but Kindle is a start. Writing the blurb has been surprisingly fun.

But a cover? Oh yes?

And as I have purchased a few ISBNs, shall I call myself a publisher? What name? Now that’s something it might be fun to ponder.

Looks beautiful out, from the window beside me, but there’s a cold wind. I’m thinking of my friend with benefits in Scotland and wanting to escape up there. At least start messaging with him.

But – hey – it’s good to do something counter-intuitive isn’t it? In fact, essential.


Just put my two entries into the Bristol Short Story Competition. Why is this stuff so difficult for me to do? I wonder.

Anyway, that’s done. Forget it. Now hang the washing on the radiators.