There’s something very nice about the baggajj bumping onto the conveyor belt. Like a waterfall, or a stream, gently thudding down and into place. Badly jumbled together bags, fitting oddly, un-tessellated outside, packaged up, bursting with clothes and all manner of odds and sods. Varying degrees of importance, patiently revolving until finally claimed by a jet lagged owner with a grunt and a sigh. Packages packed, luggage to be lugged.


Where has the woo gone? And where is my willpower? Will it happen? The future is options, thoughts in form, and you decide what you will do. I am here for you to think with, to talk out your options. Will it, list it, think it, do it, go, strongly. Hold together; fight tooth and nail. Rest. Release, repeat. Relax, roar with the fight of today. Eating good frail meals on your bed. Waiting to die. Wishing the courage to be free of hurt, of trauma, of prejudice. Curiosity, comfort, a clear mind. Be courageous wherever you are. Travel, explore – fight for what you believe is right and don’t sit back and wonder. Leap into it with both feet.

Am I a bad communicator?

What do you need me to be? Silent, patient, restless, antagonistic, annoyed. If you are having an attack. If you are knocking over glasses. If you are speaking quickly and asking me to do things for you. If you are suggesting, malevolent – with false intent – I see you for who you are. I will leave you. I will abandon you and let you flatten yourself. Goodnight. Goodbye. Goodluck you fucking phoney. full of poison, sad and lonely. Sucking from your familiar teats of teenage success. May your gardens fail and your paths meet dead unexpected ends. Trip on your tail, lose your things and become unruly. I have made a poor choice in your company. But I will learn from this and I will hold it against us like a rubber tire in the dock. You shan’t scratch my hull. Rocked gently to sleep. Little bo peep has lost her sheep and the game is up. Cheating and haunted. Talkative tells, bad smells and god awful luck. I wish this day was over. I wished long before your unruly interjection and fancy my chances at dejected rejection. Toes of infection. Bad choices, sick voices, posh nosh awash at what cost. Don’t self proclaim, vain insane, brain, headaches and flames. Burning horrid in my helpful hope. I mope, ungrateful fateful plateful of gates full of meadows with wood, brick, wheat, stone and sheep.

Little Bo Peep – strange drunk creep.

Early night in the last week of London Town.

I should have done my research.

I should have made some healthy, helpful, wistful demands.

Sucking up silent, gets you nothing.

Strong will, part way. Drain yourself of needs. Get an early night. Be happy, be better tomorrow.

This is my life advice for myself. Chelsea vs Arsenal. Cliche, clutch, thankyou very much. Basic.

Money in,

Money out. Try your best and bay above your average.


The grandeur effect

I have an invasive thought relating to legacy. What are the long term effects of this life I’m living? What is my role? Bonding people. Bringing them together. Keeping them alive. Is that my legacy? My purpose? I feel like I’m afraid of divining my own path. Spending time alone and doing something worthwhile for myself. That takes time, and forethought.

Your line of inquiry

How do you feel about contemporary indian tapas?

“Perfect! We’ll actually I don’t feel perfect about it. That’s ridiculous. I feel like I could eat it and it will be a new experience. Tapas is not traditionally Indian per se. So I feel confused and excited, and hopeful. Thanks for asking”.

It’s really good I promise but if you’d rather go more traditional there’s other good places… There’s one that does haggis pakora.

“Nonono, not at all, I really want to go. What gets me is when people ask ‘how do you I feel about […]’ I usually go blank. It’s like an immediate recoil for thoughtful/truthful answers because it’s an easy question to ask, and easy to answer quickly (in theory) but emotions, indeed ‘feelings’ are robust and deserve consideration – as with the initial step when formulating a question.”

All in train

Sitting on a train facing backwards. In strife with shooting pain down my right leg. ‘Muscular’ I hope, smiling to myself genuinely. Laughing at the pain, wondering about the reality of feelings un-expressed. Smiling upwards, displaying something unrelated to the felling I have, inside, locked away, personal. Silent.

Poem for Rhys’ Birthday. Title: redacted



Today I have a heavy heart, it’s my final week in Lille. On another path I start; onto another thrill. It’s not so easy to depart – these places warm and chill. I only saw a little part through windowpanes stuck still. Now, all aboard this horse and cart – wipe wetness from the sill.


I wrote a story on your back. Each night, of Bright. The neon blue sheep. He found a cape, and played in the field and helped me off to sleep.

An apology to Lucy’s phone

Dear 1plus, today around 2.20pm you suffered an injury because of my inability to keep track of time. It was a series of unfortunate events which lead to your being bopped rather shockingly on one of your immaculate corners. I’ve always appreciated your fine lines and beautiful colouring. You have such a bright and cheerful face. The clarity you bring to our every day, and the way you assist in keeping track of time, writing notes and helping Lucy to keep in touch with her loved ones’ is admirable. So, it is with the utmost sincerity that I apologise for the role I played in your injury and near destruction. You are strong, and I know that you will bounce back from this – but I understand that you may well be smarting from this recent calamity. In case you didn’t know. You have been unique and special to Lucy from the first day of purchase. You do so much for her, helping to capture meaningful moments and share joy with the world. Wishing swift recovery❤️‍🩹