The Taledragger & Me It started in Canada in 2001. I was nineteen. I had followed a girl across the Atlantic, flying blind into the unknown. It didn’t take long for my teenage heart to be broken and for me to be seeking...
Category - Observations
I don’t remember quite when I inherited the bag of socks, just that I did. It is a big bag of socks that sits in its own section of my wardrobe. The socks were given to me by my granddad. He was forced to get rid of all of...
Restaurant Review: Tom’s Bedroom For a place with such a louche hipster moniker as Tom’s Bedroom, I expected more. The ambience, for starters, is certainly not befitting a fine-dining establishment. Yes, it is early...
I am an adult. To me this is abundantly clear. The signs are everywhere for all to see. Yet I am still plagued by dilemmas not befitting an adult. Often not befitting a child either. My current dilemma is about tissues, more...
There is nothing as unsexy or as repugnant as cling film. It is perverse. Unwrapping a sandwich or a piece of fruit cake from cling film is tantamount to languidly masturbating in a fountain, in a busy public park, on a...
I have coveted kitsch for as long as I can remember. The garish, the retro, the ugly, the uncanny, the misplaced; those perpetually out-of-place, unbecoming, unbelonging things that fall outside of conventional definitions of...
There’s a man with his hand thrust down the front of his jeans. He is shouting the word ‘violence’ among others whilst ferreting and thumping behind the zip of his jeans. He is not masturbating: there is nothing...
Swindon scenes There are fewer things I understand about this place. I walk around the town centre in my lunch break and watch families inhale Greggs’ pastries with all the power and swirling grace of a Dyson upright. I watch...
Bus journey A holy man carrying a plate of offerings and what can only be described as religious paraphernalia pushes onto the overcrowded mountain bus. He winds his way through the bodies until he faces me. He then hits me on...
I love shirts. They are not just clothes to me. They are far more than a covering for my tin-ribs and sporadic chest hair. They exist way beyond the limits of cotton, buttons, and stitching in the very fabric of my soul. There...