If you're wandering around the Isle of Wight, you could end up stumbling upon Farringford, the home of Lord Tennyson. Lord Tennyson was a prolific writer and Poet Laureate of Great Britain during most of Queen Victoria's reign. His famous works include 'The Charge of the Light Brigade' and 'The Lady of Shallot'. He lived at... Continue Reading →
(Written at 13, re-written at 20 and found in the archives at 30-and-a-bit) Aged thirteen and late in bed, I realised that one day I’d be dead. My stomach gave a sudden jolt, and in me found a strange revolt, against the idea of ever ending, and I wondered about bending, time around me so... Continue Reading →
I finally used my Christmas book token to get my hands on The Sleeper and The Spindle by Neil Gaiman. The book is gorgeous, illustrated with Chris Riddell's intricate black line drawings highlighted in gold. I'd say it's a little work of art for your bookshelf (I wish my photography skills were good enough to... Continue Reading →
September has eyes, opening red and gold. January has fingers, stretching frozen spindles. August has toes, digging deep in soft sand. May has a nose, catching scents in sunlight. October has hair, roots torn by the wind. December has teeth, standing stones into skin. April has tears, cascading on molted earth. And July has legs,... Continue Reading →
They called me the Changeling babe, Not quite a girl, not quite right. Through needle eyes I saw other realms and went wild dancing round finger trees. I jumped the Naiad, on a green bowing branch, and sang to the fair behind the fronds. Nay boy could beat me at their games, I would lick... Continue Reading →
Conversation between my boyfriend and I: 'Have you backed up your writing recently?' 'No actually. Very sweet of you to remind me.' 'Well, I just don't fancy dealing with you if you lost it.' Er, thanks. But seriously, backing up your work is vital if you write on any kind of electronic device be it... Continue Reading →
I am tired My eyelids heavy My lips are raw My fingers crack. I have gills Not lungs inside me Breath far stretched Held for sea salt. I feel my bones Under this cotton Layers weighted In baby pink. I had tall wings Now cut and taped down Itch paper skin Feathers... Continue Reading →
One of the earliest posts I did was ab0ut my five favourite books. The list varies depending on my mood but one that’s always there is Microserfs by Douglas Coupland. I call it my comfort book. I read it when I’m down or ill. Not all of it, sometimes just a chapter or two where... Continue Reading →
Highgate East cemetery is one of the biggest and oldest graveyards in London. It's split into two sides, East and West. Both sides are open to visit for a fee - but the West requires a tour, whilst the East lets you wander at will. The cemetery was one of a number built and run... Continue Reading →
