Stay alive

Nobody else notices the dead bobbing around in the very air we breathe. The dead - or perhaps I should say their remains, their essence...

On a June morning, at 6am, the sky, an indominatable lid, is clamped down once again across the vaguely defined hills, distributing...

What is depression like? What is being a depressed teacher like? I can't help you, I don't know, or at least I can't extrapolate my...

Hmmm. Hmmmm. Who here is without flaws or blemishes? Like many - maybe even most - with some kind of mental illness, I generally decline...

One day, a concientious teacher with an exemplary record, having met his proscribed targets with efficiency and vigour, and with an...

I think it was Mark E Smith who grunted that 'My friends don't add up to one hand.' But what are friends? I checked my phone recently...

Being in charge is usually more fun than onerous. When it becomes onerous it is a form of hell. For much of the time, time is a fexible...

In a laboratory in a secret location where animal experiments are permitted a venerable old rat was given daily tasks for twenty-five...

My wife asks me why all my poems are about death, even the ones about cycling. I didn't have an answer straight away, but after a pause...

On a pedestal, the goose That laid a lacquered, cracked-up egg The town of birth I cannot choose The family tree and lonely bed The...