“Hi guys, welcome to Manchester. My name’s Andy. Yes, yes, I know, the prime minister. These things ’appen. Repeat after me: Fatcher, Liz Truss crashed the economy.” Mr Burnham stood before us in a floor-tiles, [more…]
The printer had stopped, he took off the sheets and sat down. “Jane,” he looked across at her, she was still on the phone, he waited until she had finished. “He will be here within [more…]
A Tokyo love hotel cuddling a pristine metro station would have been ideal. But hard to find in a de-industrial northern English town during the twilight zone that lies between last orders and sunrise. Usually [more…]
Sally and Dave were both quiet, before they went to bed, she asked if he had decided what to do. “Yes, I will see Jane first, try for more money, make sure everything is agreed, [more…]
One can never tire of Jerry Westerby, an old-school Fleet Street soak with a rugby forward’s build but a talent for wicket-keeping before the call of sports journalism pulled him away from the crease and [more…]
“There are changes going on in the setup here, I have been offered a position on the books. It means for most of the time I would be behind a desk, this will leave a [more…]
Destination? Open ground halfway between the Oval and the Thames. Alert state? Heat wave – meteorological and political. The grass has given up pretending to be grass; dusty cardboard with the occasional flattened mat of [more…]
Sally was waiting for him when he came in, he dropped the backpack and hugged her. He felt her crying, trying to pull away, she wouldn’t let him go. When she eventually let her grip [more…]
Simon Pegson was dressed in grey prison clothing, he was around fifty, had once been fit, possibly a rugby player, but a lot of the muscle had now turned to fat. Jane stood away from [more…]
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