Scorn not the Sonnet Thus wrote Wordsworth, and it’s probably true that sonnets are second only to limericks in the poetry popularity stakes. Both forms have the advantage of being short and memorable. But where [more…]
“Hostage swap.” “Hostage swap?” I repeated. “Yes, hostage swap. You’re going to be late,” said the voice at the other end of our Dumfries Street townhouse street gate intercom. I shouted to my Chinese cousin, [more…]
Welcome back to Cnuteneering, where the possible is made more difficult by bone headed ignorance, overenthusiasm and pointy metal things being brought together. You may want to refresh your memory on the project in: Part [more…]
My name is Kenneth Essex and I will be 101 on 20th July 2021. I intend, starting on 11th July, to do a sponsored walk of two 500m circuits from my house, each day for [more…]
Pandemonium has broken out. “Why the f___ would I want to marry you? Why would anyone want to marry you?” Natasha is yelling and has started to throw things about. At first, Jakey laughed so [more…]
Even before I became obsessed with plants, I was fascinated by perfumes. As a small child, working on the premise that more is more, I remember mixing several bottles of my mother’s precious scents into [more…]
I’m in the lobby of an Islington apartment block. Natasha has directed me and my ward, a wet and dripping pushchair containing a toddler called Jakey, to the lift. Too small for the three of [more…]
An eventful couple of weeks on the political front has culminated in a horny Government Minister apologising (and having his apology accepted by the PM), not for shagging his bit of spare, but for “Breaking [more…]
We are in Battishill Street Gardens, Islington. It is raining. Myself, Natasha Williams and Jakey the borrowed toddler are sat on a bench, sheltered by a tree, next to bushes over-growing a monument. Natasha had [more…]
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