Urban Tree Festival Update

I’m in equal parts shell-shocked and delighted my piece, My Blackthorn is a Tree, won the prose category in the Urban Tree Festival. More info here. As well as the super illustration by Alban Low, which arrived today, I’ve the opportunity to have my own chapbook published. So, I’m currently pulling together themes (one of …

Writing

Fox

The first time he struck, we made our excuses. Like those anti-Hunt letters in the Western Daily Press, we tried to see it from his point of view. He’s only doing what comes naturally, I said. Boy, eyes red, voice choked with tears and snot, didn’t sound convinced.  We’ll have to bury her, he insisted. …

Writing

Waking Up

They pierce the near-night silence, even before the Overground rumbles. Robin calls, sharp and insistent. Blackbird, shrill and strident, sends a warning volley. Early sunlight strokes my sleep cold face. Wild garlic and crushed bluebells, the scent of memory, drift through an open window. Like this London morning, welcoming Spring. This was a piece of …

Lincoln Inns Fields
Writing

Lincoln’s Inn Fields

Don’t sit under those trees, or you’ll stain your dress. Katie squeezes my hand. “You alright?” she asks. “You seem miles away. ” The others have already flopped onto the lawn, happy as seals basking in the midday sun. A jumble of soft limbs, sandwich wrappers and scrunched-up revision notes. I hesitate before joining the …