Better Late Than…

Forgive me, this is a day late, but I’m almost back up to speed.

Enjoy below:

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American English

 

I’d picked M up from Gatwick early on a Friday morning. The sun came up as he landed. I set the cruise to legal plus a little and we warped the hundred and fifty odd miles back to Bristol.

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The Big Light, The Small I Am

When we needed a bit more light in the sitting room, we’d ask ‘Can you put the big light on?’ We all have these family idioms. Peter Kay has made a good living saying these things to large audiences in town halls up and down the country.

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Post-Modern Life.

Post Modern. It’s a phrase most of us know in our spines. It’s like a furniture advert jingle or the basic layout of the McDonald’s menu. Sometimes I think I know exactly what it means and sometimes I have no idea why it even exists.

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The Imagination Of Art

Writing is long process. Most of it is hidden inside of you until, at the very last moment, you sit down and whatever it is that you’ve been thinking about rushes out of your fingers.

Then you edit.

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Flatpack Hangover

We all have a clear picture in our imaginations of what it is to be the suffering writer. We envisage a manic depressive grinding out words in between planet-class drinking sessions. If you were at university with me I probably shouldn’t remind you of that.

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In Theory

I am a white, middle-classish, cisgender male living in a western democracy. You could, quite successfully, I think, argue that there is no other more privileged position in regular global society.

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