My first blog post. first of January. one first short of three firsts. That would sound rather good, unfortunately I don't have another first for today that would be worth mentioning.

Well, I guess joining this site (and paying for it) is another first. Hopefully this site will provide me with inspiration, impetus, feedback (for when I feel brave enough to post a story) and a gateway to something much, much better. Not to say that 2008 was bad in any way, but hopefully 2009 will be the start of filling my soul.

That's pretty profound, isn't it? Filling ones soul...is that what we do this for? In a small or a big way? I suppose so. I think it's where I'm coming from, filling a space, not just filling time but making something come to life, making me come to life.

A Yorkshire alternative to New Years eve - albeit cynical - been out to stock up on supplies - Famous Grouse and Stones ginger wine, plus snackettes to die for ... (more)

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Although the frost turned the rooftops white last night, it’s good to see the flowers again.


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So its New Year's Eve and it seems that our plans for celebrations tonight will have to be put on hold as my partner has the flu. I think perhaps its not such a disaster after all as I should be able to start my New Year's resolution with a clear head. I had toyed with the idea of trying to give something up but I really didn't fancy giving up the booze and I have already, begrudgingly, given up the smoking, I thought perhaps I should take something up instead. So, I aim to finish that book I have been trying to write for the past two years by trying to write 5000 words a week - no mean feat as I work full time and I am also beginning a part time evening course in teaching. We'll see...

Hooray! I managed to take a picture of one at last!



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D was shocked at the price of £6.50 for a miniature quiche and tiny salad, but an accompanying glass of wine at £2 made it a bargain compared with the stand-alone price of £5 for the wine. The water's free.


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No fairies in our house this year . Only bears Gilbert and George ...[more]

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The long roofs over the drop-off point at Terminal 5 resembled rows of nun’s headdresses, like gigantic angel wings. Quite Christmassy, really.


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I was up into the opening hours of Christmas Day after everyone else, involuntarily glancing every few minutes at the fireplace below the hanging stockings. It isn’t even a real fireplace and there is no chimney, so I’m not sure what my eyes were hoping to catch.

My belief in the existence of Father Christmas was rudely shattered one year when my mother burst into my bedroom at one am, throwing my presents onto the foot of my bed and saying ‘There’s no point in pretending anymore, is there?’ Both my siblings are older than me and I suppose my mum and dad had just become tired of the whole ordeal. Although, to be fair, I was thirteen.

Last night I was holding a microphone plugged into my laptop and attempting to record an audiobook version of my late novel with the intention of selling it on iTunes, with or without Harper Collins’ backing...

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An Extract from Christmas
Sir John Betjeman (1906-1984)

And is it true? And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?


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