Poetry & prose by Alex Hickman
Bank Holiday rain. On and off all morning. Skies grey. Breakfast: two boiled eggs, two rashers of bacon, six pieces of toast, marmalade, strawberry jam. No butter. One and a half cups of coffee. Then I set about the brick shed in our garden. At the end of last year I was impatient to rebuild it: […]
Read More…His favourite time was the winter. In summer the city was white hot and gay. Each morning it emptied out onto its slim pebble beaches, citizens crowding into buses and washing away like a tide. They carried swimming things and folding chairs and beds and umbrellas and they set up camp in the stands of […]
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STUFF HAPPENS 