This is Jimmy. A character I’ve been working on whilst playing with genre and character development. Here is a short extract of his story. This is aimed at 8-10 year olds, however this may be subject to change due to the fact that children almost always prefer to read books about children older than themselves.

Sadie is always falling over.

​“Silly Billy!” I shout.

Mum’s hand reaches out to catch her.

​“Well done Sadie! Good girl!” says Mum.

​“It wasn’t that good Mum”, I say “she only did two steps.”

I can tell Mum isn’t really listening to me though. So I go and kick my red ball really hard, it goes all the way to the bottom of the garden and even hits the fence. That was well done, I think.

Jack says it’s a shame I didn’t get a little brother like him and now I’ll have no-one to play football with ever. I told Mum how unfair it is but I don’t think she understood what I was saying because she laughed. I don’t really think its funny at all.

I go and get my ball from the bushy bit of grass by the fence. I kick it back up towards the house and it lands in a puddle, splashing Mum and Sadie.

​“Jimmy! Inside now! I’ve told you about exactly this over and over again! In!” shouts Mum, looking mad as usual.

Never mind that it was a brilliant shot! I head towards the back door dragging my feet. I get splashed all the time at school. Why is Mum so worried about water? Doesn’t she know it dries really fast?

The back door is quite heavy but I’m nearly 7 now so I manage it fine. I pull my trainers off in the hallway and it makes my hands really wet and muddy. It’s really annoying when that happens. I wipe them on my trousers to get them clean.

I can hear Dad in the kitchen. I poke my head round the door and see him washing plates again. We must have the world’s dirtiest plates because he’s always doing that.

​“Why are you washing the plates again?” I ask.

“Because we made them dirty again” he replies.” Why aren’t you outside playing?”

I shrug.

“I think Sadie’s legs are a bit broken.” I tell him. “They don’t stay straight for very long and she’s already fallen over twice.

“Don’t worry about Sadie.” Says Dad “She’s just learning to walk, you used to walk like that too once.”

That makes me laugh. Now I know he’s lying. Why do Mum’s and Dad’s always do that?


What You’ve Always Seen

Reaching for the door knob over my head,
I wanted to wear overalls like yours
Instead of dresses with flowers.
Listening; Careful, understand who you are.

Planting baby shoots in the field behind the house
We saved a baby shrew from the cats.
You helped me, smiling;
Even though I’d never heard ‘To A Mouse’.

It is said that love is great; understanding is better.
Even when I thought I knew the right path
And inevitably I didn’t have a clue,
I still heard: You are you, you won’t fail if you try.

Now there are no red overalls and radiator bleeds,
But the words that you spoke forever live with me.


A tidal wave emerged
On a once calm,
Grecian shore.

A trust,
Provided like currency,
Remains unpaid.

And then paid in fruit,
That gets eaten and forgotten,
Or rots.

Until I find you
Hugging knives again,
And I can’t paint you a picture.

So I lie here, gathering oil
Bare handed from the floor
Into this giant bucket.

How about a deal instead?
I’ll give you all the apples in the world
For all the oranges I don’t need.

Then, a chiselled reply
Is like velvet on the tongue
And held like wine.

Remembering to savour the slow
Swallow; until the realisation
It’s my own flesh I’ve devoured.

The Process

Black cherry jam next to watercolour book,
With turquoise purse pressed close.
The wrong colour make-up seldom touched
From the box strewn hap-hazard too.
Beside the wild rose hand cream, always used;
Greasy against the aquatic receipt.
Headphones tie it all together, winding round,
Spiralled themselves, collecting sound.
Don’t forget 1.40pm specsavers appointment,
After reading another page of Spyglass Over The Lagoon.

Bean Juice

Spread across the globe
Like peanut butter on a granary loaf.
Spent like Sunday leftovers
On a Monday morning hangover.

Splattered beans on pristine tile.
Shattered watery orange jackets
Over starchy stepped on insides.

The doors open, she steps out
Bare; The red tie always did it.
The matching red hair ribbon,
Listening without hearing.
Oh god, then his lips.

But as always, we mustn’t forget
Broken plates in the sink.


Here is a different kind of post for you. I wanted to post some of my inspiration to this blog, as well as posting my own work. Typically, I am not a romantic writer, although I am aware my writing has been rather relationship-based recently. In keeping with this, I wanted to post my favourite sonnet to share a piece of work that captured me a little, in a way that is definitely not usual for me.

Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda has always resonated with me as the ultimate expression of idealistic love. Whether or not this is a truth, sometimes I think it’s important to idealise. Personally, I feel it can dramatically realign us with ourselves, as long as we do not give an idealisation so much importance as to become an unnattainable goal. To this end, here is my favourite sonnet of all time. Feel free to agree, disagree or add your favourite love poem in the comments section. I look forward to your input.

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
In secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
But carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
Thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
Risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way than this:

Where I does not exist, nor you,
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
So close that as your eyes close as I fall asleep.

– Pablo Neruda

Happy Birthday

These are the memories we will never make.

The toothless smiles that never came.

The promises we will never get to say

And the life that only ever existed in our minds.

This is the beginning of what comes next.

The tangled white pith of separating features,

Secretively hiding the true flavour of things to come,

Like the bubblegum at the bottom of the ice cream.

These are the memories we will never lose.

That will never be broken by disappointment,

Untouched by my expectation or your attitude,

Perfectly forged in the forgiving light of love

Cemented in loss. But as time goes by,

In 2009, we will always be having the time of our lives.