How to disappear

The review isn’t exactly vicious as such, merely purely personal and savage. It stops short of questioning your parentage, but … More

The class of my dreams

The Class to the Class of 2014 after Raymond Carver The class with beautiful scarves The class who learned … More

You think it will be about your childhood. It turns out to be about an onion. Or a night in … More

For now, at least, it has gone. The notebooks with promising phrases, the backs of envelopes with doodles: they are … More

I have finished the thing. People come up to me to say things. It seems to have gone well. While … More

Seven years ago I published The Year of Drinking Water, a pamphlet of poems, about my experience of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (Exeter … More

A scan, with different initials. The train journey to it, biting nails; the one back pretending not to be radioactive. … More

I am at a thing. It is my thing, contributing to the thing of others, who I do not know. … More

The ward is a void without him. Football blares in the corner, the monotonous roar of the crowd unleavened by … More

I met the furniture designer Duncan Kramer at summer camp. Not as kids but as what we laughingly called leaders. … More

The book is not in love with me. I shower it with love and promises of more stationery, but all … More

I’m talking about real influence now –Raymond Carver This is the first in a new series of blog posts about people … More

Jörn Cann wasn’t my friend. He was my doctor. He was famous before we even met him as the doctor … More

The way it starts. With an ending. Just before our love got lost. We have all been here: the wit … More

The room is small, the size of a student bedsit. An enormous grey sofa takes up most of the space. … More

I have not read a book in six months -Raymond Carver, ‘Drinking While Driving’ I can still remember the shock … More

We are driving to a thing. We are lost. It is a lunch thing, so the children are in tow. … More

‘We are at a party that doesn’t love us‘ – Tomas Tranströmer We are at a thing. Not a poetry … More