Friday, September 30


A bottomless triangle of geese flap over a line of trees. The trees are mostly wearing a subtle dark green, but one show-off is basking in a deep orangey pink.

Thursday, September 29

My favourite bit of the view from the window

The small sliver of blue between the crest of the grey slate roof and the window-frame, white stripes with frayed edges moving from left to right.

Wednesday, September 28

All is well

The toaster painting the bread golden, a black cat washing on the window-seat and pausing to tilt his whiskers up into the sun. Coffee in the pot. A warm house, a day full of good work lying itself before me.

Monday, September 26

Brewing rain

The air is growing thicker. When it solidifies into heavy drops it'll fall on her wrists and cheeks and remind her of looking out of windows into the dark.

Sunday, September 25

Last night

Last night a man jumped from a hospital window. Too late to offer him this morning's small stone.

Saturday, September 24


: A sharp ribbon of aeroplane exhaust, growing towards the horizon
: Soft mounds of early mist, mistaken at first for pale-twigged shrubs
: A plastic bag hunched on the verge, imitating roadkill

Friday, September 23


Surveying the roadscape from behind a diaphanous grey veil.

Thursday, September 22


As she picked up the cellophane packet of 'unwashed rocket' that had fallen from her supermarket trolley she felt a pink flash of shame.

Wednesday, September 21

People often do

I only have £1.20 in my pocket, and a diet coke costs £1.40. I ask him if he could give me a little less for £1.20 - he says he can't really do that, but gives me a 'mixer' coke for 75p. He finds a way to help me, as people often do if you give them the chance.

Tuesday, September 20

On the table

A pencil, a ball-point pen, small yellow notes that stick themselves wherever you want. Leather gloves, sunglasses, a CD brim-full of music. A glass half full of water, from a tap ten paces away. A pink mobile phone! So many things to take for granted.

Monday, September 19

the small pieces of polystyrene on the road

are dancing as if they are making their own decisions about where they move next

Sunday, September 18

The first hint of hat-weather

The burgundy woollen hat has patiently sat out the summer, waiting to be useful again.

Saturday, September 17

Deep blue

Moving pictures of a lazy turtle, a rainbow of fishes, tissue paper jellyfish, gardens of coral. Moving pictures from 5000 feet down!

Friday, September 16

Child's picture in felt tip

On the bottom left, a rainbow that goes orange, green, blue, red, yellow, orange, green. A shooting star across the centre with a short tail like a skirt. A red and yellow diagonally-striped sun with rays pointing out in all directions, bad hair day. On the bottom right, tucked away, a squashed earth: the green islands surrounded by deep blue, the colour of night.

Thursday, September 15

Tiny grey fish

A dull rainy day after weeks of sunshine unlocks bubbles of sadness from the people walking from shop to shop. It floats up around their faces like shoals of tiny grey fish.

Wednesday, September 14

T-shirt weather

She is dressed in a mid-length dark buttoned up overcoat and a pale green headscarf. She takes small steps, straight-backed, as if she might fall over. She is out of time, and out of season.

Tuesday, September 13

Tattoo on an 18 yr old

He wanted to get a small one first, but he's going to get some bigger ones. The blackened skin is still raised in weals. It'll live with him for all the years he has left.

Monday, September 12

Something more important

Blodges on the pavement: baked pink chewing gum, orangey butts folded over on themselves, crumpled and glinting silver paper. They refuse to be beautiful, insisting they have something more important to tell us.

Sunday, September 11

Saturday, September 10

Being with.

I hear the rain. I go to the window and sniff the air, hold out my palm, taste it.

Friday, September 9

walking to buy bread

the sun dissolves the wrinkles on my forehead like an iron gently pressing down onto linen with a hissssssss

Thursday, September 8

plum crumble

as I mix in dark muscavado sugar the plums squelch between my fingers

Wednesday, September 7

At The Vyne, Basingstoke

The planks beneath me lift and creak as two ladies sink their bottoms onto the bench beside me. 'Ah... it's a long way down, and a long way back up again'. They sit and watch the butterflies kissing the purpley-blue verbena over and over. The summer is nearly over. One of them lets out a word like blowing a perfect soap-bubble: 'bliss'.

Tuesday, September 6

Monday, September 5


hot tea to dissolve the tight knots between my shoulder-blades

Sunday, September 4


The leaves grew low and plump as if filled with sap. It's sat deformed and fat in its pot for months. I've planned but not got round to throwing it out. The flowers started last week, a thrilling shock, violently pink.

Saturday, September 3

Friday, September 2

what the smell is saying

I move to overtake him on the pavement and am pulled up when I enter the cloud of his smell. I look closer and notice the stain on the back of his T-shirt and his uncared-for wispy hair. I wonder what the smell is saying - 'it's better for me if you stay back', or 'it's better for you if you stay back'. Or maybe it's too tired or broken down to say anything.

Thursday, September 1

Funeral parlour display window

A square white granite vase, big enough for only three letters: MUM