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what i saw. royal courts.

Royal Courts of Justice. The Strand Sometimes I come here for work. A few of the halls and entrance ways are powerful and posh but for the most part, it’s all built-for-purpose and pretty underwhelming*. You’d never know, if you just came in through the main gate. All those paintings and suits of armour and

that black lung that i aint got

“…. is killing me.” Driving the road was like driving through a mine field. Mining was destroying the land. Leveling and laying bare the world’s oldest havens. Ancient rivers. Glaciated mountains. Time had softened their edges. Eroded their heights. Coal companies set out to destroy the rest. Surface Mining. Mountain top removal. It had many

bone cold

My aunt is ballsy as hell. Whether that works for her or not these days, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask. But I know I loved it when I was thirteen. When she used to sneak boxes of romance novels (Serious contraband in my house) into my room and under my bed. The kind

griswold and all

Spangles, bangles and sparkles. All kinds of gold. The desk-ridden jammed into their a-little-something-leather and alotta-something-gauche. Offices begin to spill into the streets at lunch time. To make merry and drink sherry (and whatever else the free bar has to offer) until the wee morning hours. I left my own a bit later. Sometime after

what i saw. hathaway cottage.

Anne Hathaway Cottage, Stratford Stratford-upon-Avon. I’ve been before, but not on a proper tour. Shakespeare’s birthplace is easy, because it’s on the high street. More or less. You have to take a wee bit of a drive if you want to visit the Hathaway Cottage. Home of the lovely Anne, before she became The Bard’s

300 year old cakes

It seems a great pity they allowed her to die a natural death. Every time I read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone. – Mark Twain I’ve walked by a museum dedicated to the authoress a good umpteen times, but have never


I know this woman, right. Her name’s Boo. She keeps her Christmas decorations in her car and gets stoned on Ibuprofen. She can’t help it. I laughed at her once when I was 8 – she wore this super-70s wool coat to pick her kid up from school – it was 1984. I’d kill for

where the ground wont move

It’s taken me hella long to get this thing sorted. Five weeks of serious writing before I even knew what I was going to write about. Then I read one of those books you only read as a matter of course in high school or because you’ve joined Oprah’s Book Club and in a sudden

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