Shoes, cart, doll cradle; Doll is perhaps dead underneath. Is this set up to hide the mess inside said cradle? Have I mistaken the part a fluffy white cat played… is it a real cat? The shoes belong to a woman; is she sharing the room or has she kept her childhood toys in case she has a child of her own one day… before becoming half of a deep relationship? If I had a doll cradle I might stuff it with shoes. I wouldn’t keep the little cart or the dolls… but now it comes to my n

Scan, copy, encase in plastic to be everlasting. If they can do 3D printing to such details, can they do us? Would I leave behind a laminated presence in a descendant’s home? Who would pass me down generations? But the story here is with me – this could be what April’s novel is about – a relic of the 21st century. Reminds me of Robin Williams and the Millennial Man film. If I worked a novel in April it might be a tale 50yrs in the future and the 3D personage had been separate

This is what’s left, with no selvage edges… I’ve been a cat on the bias; warp-n-weft Me flows any which way she wants and loves it. I have weight, and swing with interest, somewhat patterned. Oh, the password-learning curve, brain-training under protest – shall we see the banners: Stop the race! Memory needs Mentors! How many gigabytes in a Brain to keep the head upright in a rampaging century? I’m lightweight, pushing a trolley, legs wishing they had more power, power to s

Today my head wonders what lists I might be on… all those paper trails turned digital, flushing through air like tiny fish who might never die – I will be immortal. I have mail waiting on my hall table for people who don’t or have never lived here; they’re on someone’s list. One day I’ll scribble, Return to Sender and drop them in a post box. The BBC want me on their list but can’t be bothered to discover my name to demand I pay their license fee for crap I don’t watch; in th

I’m back. Haven’t been anywhere special, but have moved from my lovely Loch Lomond down to Fandabby Brighton, couple of years ago now....

Reading Emma Darwin’s book, This is Not a Book About Charles Darwin, and suddenly seeing my way of working in Chapter 3, which made me...

Expectations of firm dates, beginnings, arriving on time – tick-tock, in full grasp of the season. We like bright and springly....

The book through the door today was Shanta Acharya’s Imagine, and my first browse through, it is fab. I’ve read quite a bit of her new...

Just when I think I can get on with a new novel, get the whole first draft done before the end of the year, I fall back under poetry’s...

I slip inside your hotel with a bag. It's just me but I’m stuffed with stowaways and guilt. Your advert: Imaginary Friends Stay Free. I'm...