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Monthly Archives: August 2015

the day job

I used to teach English part-time, mainly young people with learning difficulties, or behavioural problems. Last year though, I quit the day job and spent a few months flitting through temporary work, just to get a fresh feel for things.

That’s settling down now; I got a job in a college which is fine, it gives me more time to myself and there’s not half the bureaucracy to get through (though what there is is chaotic). After a year of running to stand still, I’m finally getting organised.

There are people I need to get in touch with, things to do, books to read, and write, music to hear and to play.

That’s my real day job. Living.

The thing I do from eight ’til four, that just pays the rent.

Sean Daly

I love Sean Daly’s work. If Andrew Wyeth or Edward Hopper had tried writing instead of painting, I think they’d have written like Sean.

Click here for an interview with him:


It’s years since I read Fight Club but I still think it’s great satire on consumerism and contemporary life in general, and despite the title it has very little to do with the business of fighting. It’s one of those books that might be just edged by the movie adaptation (but that’s probably to do with a great director and at least three great performances) but if you haven’t read it, do so.



From Stateless a conversation between Babe Walker and April Speed:

He waited a while, then said ‘And?’
‘You blanked me,’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, almost a hiss, ‘You just disappeared. Complete communication silence. Not a word. Not a letter, not an email, not a text, not even a postcard saying ‘bet you’re glad you’re not here with me’ or something; or anything.’ This time she did whisper, ‘Just nothing.’
She shook her head, in disbelief. ‘What they call ghosting, I suppose.’ She smiled suddenly at some thought, some internal dialogue, like things were becoming clear. ‘Of all the things you did. All those things, all those terrible things, and the worst, to me, was you ghosted me.’
‘I ghosted myself.’
She stared at him for a few moments then. ‘You really can’t get away with that you know, turning things back onto yourself like that. It doesn’t make you sound windswept and interesting. It doesn’t make your behavior all deep and meaningful.’

He took a long slow breath. Nodded.
She studied him. ‘The worst worst thing though? And maybe this will tell you how shallow I am, how desperate and needy I am, or I was at least, and Christ knows I’ve barely changed these last few years, but the worst thing you did? Of all your crimes? You used the L word. You told me you loved me. And then you left.’
‘That’s not why I left.’
Her eyes glittered, ‘Don’t you see the damage you caused?’


Due out October 2015


In an attempt to deal with my chronic migraines in a way that doesn’t involve strong medication, I started meditating again the last couple of weeks, in particular practicing mindfulness. And it’s great; really clears the head. However, it’s also led to serious lucid dreaming, to the point where my dreams are, to all intents, ‘real’ – in my dreams it really feels like I’m awake. Only the lack of logic and/or continuity of what I’m experiencing lets me know I’m dreaming, and then I just let go and I wake up.

Except one time I woke, but I was still dreaming.

Anyhow last night I was out walking through the park to the beach doing my ‘mindfulness’ as a walked, when somehow, the mindfulness began to merge with my dream-state and it began to feel like I was actually dreaming, but I wasn’t. But how could I be sure? So I tracked through the events of the day and yes, I could account for the entire journey of my day, and no nothing strange had happened, so I wasn’t dreaming, but it was hard ot shake the feeling.


And the migraines? They’ve got worse.