This week’s blog was sent in by one of our many roving reporters. It came across by email during a Wednesday, sent in small pieces. A journal of a long, dull, difficult day working out amongst the non-fiction.
Read MoreI am not Catholic. Which is not a problem or a solution. It’s simply a statement. It’s probably for the best if we steer clear of religion. Even though a lot of them are very pro forgiveness, their biggest supporters seem to practice very differently to what’s been preached in their direction. I’m just saying, before we get into this, that I’m not Catholic. I was married in a Catholic church, but I’m fat and privileged with a beard. Which is probably why I was taken to Church of England services. Fat, white and bearded is basically their mascot, after all.
Read MoreI’ve never been a career chaser. I’ve worked in post rooms, telesales, technical departments, shops and kitchens, but none of those jobs have ever been about earning a pension. Nope, I’ve always been there to pay some bills and make my bank account look a little healthier. The carrot the world tied to the end of the stick it chose for me was never a gold watch. Which is why, every so often, I find myself in a room full of people having a meeting where the best I can hope to do is look interested. During those meetings, I always catch myself looking around the rest of my fellow captives, trying to spot anyone else doing the same as me. Sadly, it seems we’re a dying breed.
Read MoreFrom past experience, I know that elements of the past few days are going to creep into my writing over time. It’s happened before. The section in Something Needs Bleeding called The Blind Walls came from a trip to Austria, where I ended up getting out the lift on the wrong floor and not realising until I turned a corner that wasn’t on my own floor. A trip to Bury St Edmunds became The Wooden Walls and a Monday night spent in a chain hotel in Bristol became the inspiration for the first section of The Righteous Judges.
Read MoreI’m all too aware that there are people far worse off than me. I get it. I do. I’m not living in a war zone. I’m not a refugee or a soldier. I have clean water and food. I’m not consumed by poverty or addiction. I don’t have to fret about supporting a family. I understand that I’m a terrible person. Still, terrible or not, that knowledge doesn’t hold back the twitch in my right eye whenever work gets to me. If anything, it just slathers some guilt on top of the stress. A self-loathing cherry to go on top of my frustration cake? Yippee!
Read More