Most of today has been spent trying to get rid of more pieces of paper and trying to rearrange boxes of stuff so the back room can be accessed when Jenni comes over. I've been busy all evening going through papers. It's very tedious, hardly a noteworthy way to start the month, but the living room looks pretty good. I'm expecting Jenni soon. OK. 10.39pm.
Sunday 2nd August 2026
Jenni has installed new desktop publishing software on my computer in advance of Publisher being discontinued by Microsoft this October. We've had some nice chilli and baked potatoes. Watched Operation Mincemeat and a few episodes of Still Game. I've done some physio and a bit more filing. I'll be off to bed soon. OK. 11.44pm.
Monday 3rd August 2026
I did a bit more paper sorting this morning. The Collected Poems of Geoff Hattersley arrived. I already own most of the content, but there's a new set of about nineteen poems at the end. This afternoon, Jenni and I went for a walk through the woods to Allensford. Out about two hours. Baked potatoes with chilli and salad for tea. This evening we watched a few more episodes of Still Game. OK. 11.01pm.
Tuesday 4th August 2026
I got two copies of Joan Johnston's pamphlet printed. I'm going to knock one up and send it to her or myself and see if it survives being in a heavy bag or sack before I do a full second printing. Anything that stays in my bag for a week tends to shed its toner and leave marks on facing pages. Session at Waddy was based on a prompt from The Moth card set. We did two hours of writing and read-backs. Some stunning vignettes produced by the participants. Tonight I listened to Forgotten Sons by Marillion. One of the best anti-war songs ever. Fish was a great lyricist. OK. 10.30pm.
Wednesday 5th August 2026
Short ride on the Sonder Frontier spoiled by the amount of dog shit on the trails. Four lumps embedded in my lovely front Vittoria tyre. When riding on new terrain, it is often necessary to dismount and read the line to gauge the best way of getting through the section: wheel placement; which rocks to ride over, which to avoid; how to stay upright. But a rider shouldn't be expected to get off the bike every five minutes to check favourite trails for dog excrement. Just because it's the countryside, some people think it’s okay to leave pet-shit behind. I got home at twelve, had chicken salad, fell asleep. Then got ready to go to Tyneside to join Jenni for an evening in Ouseburn celebrating the debut poetry collection SPOKEN by Tahmina Ali. Fantastic turnout. Great support from Rowan McCabe and Chandri Chopra. Excellently hosted by Wajid Hussain. Tahmina was brilliant. I got two copies of the book. Lovely food too. I had chicken bites and two crafted cakes provided by Fazal's cake shop. Best book launch by miles. OK. 10.55pm.
Thursday 6th August 2026
Buying tickets for The Word WRITE festival in South Shields took ages. Cheaper in person, but I still had to order one set online afterwards. Then some cheeky dog off its leash in the town centre nosed into my bag and knocked my chicken tikka sandwich onto the pavement. "AYE! YOU CAN EAT IT NOW, YOU CUNT!" I shouted. The dog owner did not approach me. Back in Newcastle, I bought more paper and card in Details Art Supplies for the second run of Joan Johnston's "The Lay-By". I also need to make a second run of the new Waddy anthology “The Perfect Opportunity” coz the last seven copies sold at Poetry Jam tonight. A great gig. Nice to see a mixed bag of free verse and rhyming couplets from Christopher Short. Top quality selections from various anthologies in Penny Blackburn's set. Short and sweet was Steve Lancaster's approach; his headline set included the hilarious Craft Fair. Top stuff from a bunch of open floor readers too. Big thanks also to Gary the Hat for the Poetical Outlaws podcast. I didn't leave Waddy till eleven; I get flustered if I rush. I'm now on the X15 to Moorside. I've eaten four wagon wheels. I'm ready for bed. 11.17pm.
Friday 7th August 2026
Didn't get to bed till about one o'clock and didn't get a good sleep, so have been a bit sluggish today. I did some journal type-ups, then crashed out. Was going to try reading but got the bus to Jen's place instead. We watched Play for Today – about the final tenant to reluctantly leave a block of flats. He ends up in jail for attempted murder. Next up, a bit of comedy. Been scrolling on Facebook, and I've watched the Poetical Outlaws podcast again. OK. 11.10pm.
Wednesday 5th August 2026
Short ride on the Sonder Frontier spoiled by the amount of dog shit on the trails. Four lumps embedded in my lovely front Vittoria tyre. When riding on new terrain, it is often necessary to dismount and read the line to gauge the best way of getting through the section: wheel placement; which rocks to ride over, which to avoid; how to stay upright. But a rider shouldn't be expected to get off the bike every five minutes to check favourite trails for dog excrement. Just because it's the countryside, some people think it’s okay to leave pet-shit behind. I got home at twelve, had chicken salad, fell asleep. Then got ready to go to Tyneside to join Jenni for an evening in Ouseburn celebrating the debut poetry collection SPOKEN by Tahmina Ali. Fantastic turnout. Great support from Rowan McCabe and Chandri Chopra. Excellently hosted by Wajid Hussain. Tahmina was brilliant. I got two copies of the book. Lovely food too. I had chicken bites and two crafted cakes provided by Fazal's cake shop. Best book launch by miles. OK. 10.55pm.
Thursday 6th August 2026
Buying tickets for The Word WRITE festival in South Shields took ages. Cheaper in person, but I still had to order one set online afterwards. Then some cheeky dog off its leash in the town centre nosed into my bag and knocked my chicken tikka sandwich onto the pavement. "AYE! YOU CAN EAT IT NOW, YOU CUNT!" I shouted. The dog owner did not approach me. Back in Newcastle, I bought more paper and card in Details Art Supplies for the second run of Joan Johnston's "The Lay-By". I also need to make a second run of the new Waddy anthology “The Perfect Opportunity” coz the last seven copies sold at Poetry Jam tonight. A great gig. Nice to see a mixed bag of free verse and rhyming couplets from Christopher Short. Top quality selections from various anthologies in Penny Blackburn's set. Short and sweet was Steve Lancaster's approach; his headline set included the hilarious Craft Fair. Top stuff from a bunch of open floor readers too. Big thanks also to Gary the Hat for the Poetical Outlaws podcast. I didn't leave Waddy till eleven; I get flustered if I rush. I'm now on the X15 to Moorside. I've eaten four wagon wheels. I'm ready for bed. 11.17pm.
Friday 7th August 2026
Didn't get to bed till about one o'clock and didn't get a good sleep, so have been a bit sluggish today. I did some journal type-ups, then crashed out. Was going to try reading but got the bus to Jen's place instead. We watched Play for Today – about the final tenant to reluctantly leave a block of flats. He ends up in jail for attempted murder. Next up, a bit of comedy. Been scrolling on Facebook, and I've watched the Poetical Outlaws podcast again. OK. 11.10pm.
Saturday 8th August 2026
Even with a three-inch cube book of writing prompts, I struggle to get started. I still think that "I remember...", Begin Where You Are and Absurd Words – maybe Take Three Nouns, or Ten Images In Ten Minutes From Your Previous Twenty-Four Hours – are the best ways to warm up.
I remember leaving the house, remarking silently to myself that the grass hasn't grown more than a couple of centimetres since the last cut a few weeks ago; random green spikes amid parched yellow deadness.
Momentarily, I think of summer holidays from my teen years. Not package holidays, just the six weeks away from school. I remember the skateboard evenings, Chinese whispers in friends' garages and outhouses, walks in the woods, scraping copper coins together for something from the ice cream van. But I don't remember turning the key in the front door when I leave for the weekend. A minute later, imagining I'm being watched and pretending to have forgotten to check something around the side of the house, I return and make a move past the blue and green wheelie bins with a brick on top of each. Then, as I turn to come back to the street, I go to my front door to check that I locked it. This is something I do regularly. Most of the time, the door is indeed locked, but not always. Far rather check again now, before I reach the end of the street, before I reach the bus stop and see the only bus for an hour approaching. Sometimes, the churning panic in my stomach doesn't start until I'm miles from home, when a return is impossible - or at least will ruin my plans. Several times it has ruined my plans. Because if I don't go back, I won't be able to concentrate on what I'm supposed to be looking forward to. So I might as well just return to the house to kill the anxiety.
I don't remember when this problem with forgetting the basics began. But it happens so often now. Unless I stand at my front door and chant to myself as the key turns, "I am locking the door, I am locking the door," by the time I’ve reached the end of the street, I will be doubting myself. And self-doubt isn't something I like to entertain or have time to worry about.
But here we are. This is why it takes me an hour to lock up at Waddington Street Centre after Poetry Jam. What seemingly used to take a staff member about fifteen minutes back in the day is a major operation for my stricken brain. So last Thursday, with all the people gone by twenty to ten, I knew I wouldn't be done by ten past, in time for the bus home. I knew it would take an hour to sort everything out and I'd have to get the last bus at ten past eleven. The monthly Poetry Jam makes for a long Thursday.
Yesterday I was too tired to do much. All I managed was a few pages of copy-ups and a few phone calls regarding my condemned back boiler that I am unable to afford a replacement for. I tried to read but fell asleep. I ate remains rather than go to the shops. I doomscrolled until my packeted wholegrain rice and packeted chilli non carne were ready. The rice neutralised the taste of the chilli, making it a dull affair barely worthy of the three minutes of microwave electricity to heat.
This winter there will be little heat. If I don't find a good solution for the boiler problem, I run the risk of burst pipes or damp and mouldy walls. But I've been in this position for the last five or six winters. Why, when I still had the option of central heating, didn't the risk bother me? It is only now, living with a boiler I can no longer use, that I concern myself. I often think my luck is going to run out, and I don't want it to be down to a burst pipe due to lack of central heating. But it should be okay; I've been told by my cousin Gordon, a professional plumber, that the temperature has to be minus six for a solid six or seven hours before an interior pipe will freeze. He says since I won't be getting hot water from a tap, he can drain the attic tank coz I'll only be using cold water, which enters the house below the kitchen window. If I'm cold, I can buy a heater for the room I sit in. This has been my thinking since the hellish flu of last January. I really thought that might be my last. Jenni thought I had pneumonia. Every summer I think, oh, the winter is not so bad. I brace myself from the back end of October, when the indoor hat-wearing and full-time long sleeves begin for the duration. Five months of brutal existentialism.
"You need to treat yourself kinder," says the plumber. "You aren't getting any younger."
Of that I am fully aware.
I remember teenage nights out on the town, coatless, while pavements glistened with frost. I remember sleeping in doorways after rock concerts in cities too far away for a last bus home. I remember this time last year, gearing up for an attempt at the C2C bike ride, not knowing that I was about to discover a hernia. I remember thinking, with enough weight training I'd be able to scoop my big 27.5-inch-wheeled Sonder Frontier bike up onto the boulder by the drain cover at Watergate Forest Park – and then having a full bicep tear, a popeye muscle and my ambitions wrecked.
So yes, things can turn for the worse at any time. Fingers crossed, I'm okay for a good while yet. I don't remember how I started out thinking all this, but I'm pleased that I wrote it down. 11.35am.
LATER: Jenni and I watched a load of skateboarding this afternoon, then some Red Bull Hard-Line downhill mountain biking from Tasmania. And some urban downhill as well, from Spain, I think. Tonight: game shows and a televised Paul Heaton gig. OK. 10.30pm.
Sunday 9th August 2026
Good day at Jen's. Lots of radio listening. Paddy McGuinness was gutted about the demise of Raleigh bicycles. People phoning in about their shopper bikes, Grifters, Tomahawks… I had a Burner then an Aero Pro Burner. Me and Jenni watched four episodes of Ann Droid. It’s very funny. Sue, Sue, Sue! Then later tonight: Song Sung Blue – about a Neil Diamond tribute act, starring Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson. Buses home unavailable from Gateshead due to street vandalism. OK. 11.23pm.
Monday 10th August 2026
Today has been a good day, and I'm telling you about it with an old gel pen I found under the bed whilst tidying up last week. A black and silver one, before the design was duffed to a pale grey. Today has been a good day because the X70 bus came on time, and I got a block of cheddar cheese in Heron Foods for £2.25. Today has been a good day because I found example poems and prose for tomorrow's workshop quite easily, and the house was cool enough to make oxtail soup seem a sensible choice. Today was a good day because the creeping ice in the freezer only took twenty minutes to remove using a dinner knife, pliers, and a hairdryer. Today was a good day because I colour-coded all the poems for possible inclusion in my new official book by categories such as length, well received, previously published, openers, and others. Today was a good day because it began in a warm bed with Jenni. OK. 11.26pm.
Even with a three-inch cube book of writing prompts, I struggle to get started. I still think that "I remember...", Begin Where You Are and Absurd Words – maybe Take Three Nouns, or Ten Images In Ten Minutes From Your Previous Twenty-Four Hours – are the best ways to warm up.
I remember leaving the house, remarking silently to myself that the grass hasn't grown more than a couple of centimetres since the last cut a few weeks ago; random green spikes amid parched yellow deadness.
Momentarily, I think of summer holidays from my teen years. Not package holidays, just the six weeks away from school. I remember the skateboard evenings, Chinese whispers in friends' garages and outhouses, walks in the woods, scraping copper coins together for something from the ice cream van. But I don't remember turning the key in the front door when I leave for the weekend. A minute later, imagining I'm being watched and pretending to have forgotten to check something around the side of the house, I return and make a move past the blue and green wheelie bins with a brick on top of each. Then, as I turn to come back to the street, I go to my front door to check that I locked it. This is something I do regularly. Most of the time, the door is indeed locked, but not always. Far rather check again now, before I reach the end of the street, before I reach the bus stop and see the only bus for an hour approaching. Sometimes, the churning panic in my stomach doesn't start until I'm miles from home, when a return is impossible - or at least will ruin my plans. Several times it has ruined my plans. Because if I don't go back, I won't be able to concentrate on what I'm supposed to be looking forward to. So I might as well just return to the house to kill the anxiety.
I don't remember when this problem with forgetting the basics began. But it happens so often now. Unless I stand at my front door and chant to myself as the key turns, "I am locking the door, I am locking the door," by the time I’ve reached the end of the street, I will be doubting myself. And self-doubt isn't something I like to entertain or have time to worry about.
But here we are. This is why it takes me an hour to lock up at Waddington Street Centre after Poetry Jam. What seemingly used to take a staff member about fifteen minutes back in the day is a major operation for my stricken brain. So last Thursday, with all the people gone by twenty to ten, I knew I wouldn't be done by ten past, in time for the bus home. I knew it would take an hour to sort everything out and I'd have to get the last bus at ten past eleven. The monthly Poetry Jam makes for a long Thursday.
Yesterday I was too tired to do much. All I managed was a few pages of copy-ups and a few phone calls regarding my condemned back boiler that I am unable to afford a replacement for. I tried to read but fell asleep. I ate remains rather than go to the shops. I doomscrolled until my packeted wholegrain rice and packeted chilli non carne were ready. The rice neutralised the taste of the chilli, making it a dull affair barely worthy of the three minutes of microwave electricity to heat.
This winter there will be little heat. If I don't find a good solution for the boiler problem, I run the risk of burst pipes or damp and mouldy walls. But I've been in this position for the last five or six winters. Why, when I still had the option of central heating, didn't the risk bother me? It is only now, living with a boiler I can no longer use, that I concern myself. I often think my luck is going to run out, and I don't want it to be down to a burst pipe due to lack of central heating. But it should be okay; I've been told by my cousin Gordon, a professional plumber, that the temperature has to be minus six for a solid six or seven hours before an interior pipe will freeze. He says since I won't be getting hot water from a tap, he can drain the attic tank coz I'll only be using cold water, which enters the house below the kitchen window. If I'm cold, I can buy a heater for the room I sit in. This has been my thinking since the hellish flu of last January. I really thought that might be my last. Jenni thought I had pneumonia. Every summer I think, oh, the winter is not so bad. I brace myself from the back end of October, when the indoor hat-wearing and full-time long sleeves begin for the duration. Five months of brutal existentialism.
"You need to treat yourself kinder," says the plumber. "You aren't getting any younger."
Of that I am fully aware.
I remember teenage nights out on the town, coatless, while pavements glistened with frost. I remember sleeping in doorways after rock concerts in cities too far away for a last bus home. I remember this time last year, gearing up for an attempt at the C2C bike ride, not knowing that I was about to discover a hernia. I remember thinking, with enough weight training I'd be able to scoop my big 27.5-inch-wheeled Sonder Frontier bike up onto the boulder by the drain cover at Watergate Forest Park – and then having a full bicep tear, a popeye muscle and my ambitions wrecked.
So yes, things can turn for the worse at any time. Fingers crossed, I'm okay for a good while yet. I don't remember how I started out thinking all this, but I'm pleased that I wrote it down. 11.35am.
LATER: Jenni and I watched a load of skateboarding this afternoon, then some Red Bull Hard-Line downhill mountain biking from Tasmania. And some urban downhill as well, from Spain, I think. Tonight: game shows and a televised Paul Heaton gig. OK. 10.30pm.
Sunday 9th August 2026
Good day at Jen's. Lots of radio listening. Paddy McGuinness was gutted about the demise of Raleigh bicycles. People phoning in about their shopper bikes, Grifters, Tomahawks… I had a Burner then an Aero Pro Burner. Me and Jenni watched four episodes of Ann Droid. It’s very funny. Sue, Sue, Sue! Then later tonight: Song Sung Blue – about a Neil Diamond tribute act, starring Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson. Buses home unavailable from Gateshead due to street vandalism. OK. 11.23pm.
Monday 10th August 2026
Today has been a good day, and I'm telling you about it with an old gel pen I found under the bed whilst tidying up last week. A black and silver one, before the design was duffed to a pale grey. Today has been a good day because the X70 bus came on time, and I got a block of cheddar cheese in Heron Foods for £2.25. Today has been a good day because I found example poems and prose for tomorrow's workshop quite easily, and the house was cool enough to make oxtail soup seem a sensible choice. Today was a good day because the creeping ice in the freezer only took twenty minutes to remove using a dinner knife, pliers, and a hairdryer. Today was a good day because I colour-coded all the poems for possible inclusion in my new official book by categories such as length, well received, previously published, openers, and others. Today was a good day because it began in a warm bed with Jenni. OK. 11.26pm.
Tuesday 11th August 2026
The workshop today was good: poetic images, free verse, dialogue fleshed out with action. I used some Geoff Hattersley poems and flash fiction from a national anthology. Unfortunately, the very expensive paper I bought for Joan's reprints doesn't work on the Waddy laser printer. We may need to go lightweight or risk using the same as last year. This evening, I chatted a lot online with Jenni who ended up in Consett by mistake. I didn’t see her. She had to get back to Gateshead. I bought one of her birthday presents. And my weekly shopping. I will have to get over to Newcastle soon to buy more things. I've been scrolling bike stuff tonight; hopefully I’ll be out on one tomorrow afternoon or evening. OK. 10.23pm.
Wednesday 12th August 2026
Only managed to select the first seven pages of poems for the new book. It's going to be a really slow process. And the first sequence probably won't be any good. I went to Consett this afternoon. Another bus broke down. The heat was quite intense onboard. I needed a lie down when I got home. Then I read a couple of Geoff Hattersley poems before making a chicken and baked potato salad. I had an ace ride on the Sonder Frontier bike tonight. I cleaned a couple of technical trail sections. Did some awkward hill climbs. Jenni posted a couple of pics of the solar eclipse. I was in the woods when it happened. Pretty dark for a while. I've been indulging in peanuts and choc ices. I'm a little overweight. This time last year I was around eleven stone. I'm closer to twelve at present. I'm currently listening to a live Behemoth extreme metal show from last month. OK. 10.13pm.
Thursday 13th August 2026
Progress on my new book sequencing is very slow. I'm doubting every few pages, and for two days' work, all I've done is add and remove pieces, resulting in a mere twelve pages in place so far. And these are subject to change. Also, strange smells emanating from the old unused gas fire directly in front of where I was working on the carpet made me feel lightheaded. Seems an unventilated, disused, blocked-off chimney can retain some toxins that are stronger in hot weather, so says Google. I read a revised version of Henry Rollins Talks, which I've read several times before. And some info about the re-issue Rob Roskopp ‘Face’ cruiser skateboard that I am far too old and fragile to ride. I have two longboards that I should sell. The house was like a furnace this evening. I hope tomorrow is a more productive day for me. OK. 11.12pm.
Friday 14th August 2026
The workshop today was good: poetic images, free verse, dialogue fleshed out with action. I used some Geoff Hattersley poems and flash fiction from a national anthology. Unfortunately, the very expensive paper I bought for Joan's reprints doesn't work on the Waddy laser printer. We may need to go lightweight or risk using the same as last year. This evening, I chatted a lot online with Jenni who ended up in Consett by mistake. I didn’t see her. She had to get back to Gateshead. I bought one of her birthday presents. And my weekly shopping. I will have to get over to Newcastle soon to buy more things. I've been scrolling bike stuff tonight; hopefully I’ll be out on one tomorrow afternoon or evening. OK. 10.23pm.
Wednesday 12th August 2026
Only managed to select the first seven pages of poems for the new book. It's going to be a really slow process. And the first sequence probably won't be any good. I went to Consett this afternoon. Another bus broke down. The heat was quite intense onboard. I needed a lie down when I got home. Then I read a couple of Geoff Hattersley poems before making a chicken and baked potato salad. I had an ace ride on the Sonder Frontier bike tonight. I cleaned a couple of technical trail sections. Did some awkward hill climbs. Jenni posted a couple of pics of the solar eclipse. I was in the woods when it happened. Pretty dark for a while. I've been indulging in peanuts and choc ices. I'm a little overweight. This time last year I was around eleven stone. I'm closer to twelve at present. I'm currently listening to a live Behemoth extreme metal show from last month. OK. 10.13pm.
Thursday 13th August 2026
Progress on my new book sequencing is very slow. I'm doubting every few pages, and for two days' work, all I've done is add and remove pieces, resulting in a mere twelve pages in place so far. And these are subject to change. Also, strange smells emanating from the old unused gas fire directly in front of where I was working on the carpet made me feel lightheaded. Seems an unventilated, disused, blocked-off chimney can retain some toxins that are stronger in hot weather, so says Google. I read a revised version of Henry Rollins Talks, which I've read several times before. And some info about the re-issue Rob Roskopp ‘Face’ cruiser skateboard that I am far too old and fragile to ride. I have two longboards that I should sell. The house was like a furnace this evening. I hope tomorrow is a more productive day for me. OK. 11.12pm.
Friday 14th August 2026
This evening's Sonder ride down by the River Derwent was quite satisfying. The dry weather has baked the trails hard; streams that are usually treacherous with wet, mossy rocks today were safe to ride in the dry bed. I rode a quite good trials section upstream with rocky steps, no dabs. Best thing I've done on a bike this year. Not bad considering five or ten minutes earlier I thought I'd sprained my right wrist and pulled something in my back. Much of what I do wouldn't look spectacular onscreen. But I get a buzz, and that's fine by me. I'm no further forward with my book sequencing. But thankfully, the Washington Writers Anthology is starting to take shape. Joan Johnston was in touch to say go with 120gsm paper for her second printing of “The Lay-By”. OK. 9.41pm.
Saturday 15th August 2026
Saturday 15th August 2026
Out by seven for a bus to Durham. Big thanks to Peter at Waddy for help with all technology today. Reprints of “Failed Rock Star”, “The Lay-By” and “The Perfect Opportunity”. I was done by half ten but stayed to print some birthday stuff for Jenni. Left at three and had my ears blasted by a loud couple on the X21 bus to Gateshead. Bought Jenni a T-shirt and Jakeman’s sweets. We watched Smoggy Queens. Hilarious. 11.07pm.
Sunday 16th August 2026
Up at half eight. Three pages of micro vignettes in a similar vein to those in 2023's September Scrapbook. Me and Jenni watch the film Weapons, then a biopic of Ted Bundy. And later this evening, a History of Hammer Horror documentary. I've eaten some tuna sandwiches, a few bananas and oranges. Jenni was freaked out by some black gunk in my orange. Very funny. OK. 10.28pm.
Sunday 16th August 2026
Up at half eight. Three pages of micro vignettes in a similar vein to those in 2023's September Scrapbook. Me and Jenni watch the film Weapons, then a biopic of Ted Bundy. And later this evening, a History of Hammer Horror documentary. I've eaten some tuna sandwiches, a few bananas and oranges. Jenni was freaked out by some black gunk in my orange. Very funny. OK. 10.28pm.
Monday 17th August 2026
Early morning pages, then eight o'clock bus to Consett. I bought the final bits and pieces for Jen's birthday. Spent a canny chunk of the morning and afternoon making up a folder for her WRITE Festival events info and tickets and wrapping up other stuff for Wednesday. I've eaten two steak meals today. My left shoulder hasn't been too good over the weekend. I'm a bit concerned about it. I did quite a bit of prep on the bus this morning for a workshop, but opted to do other things for the one I'm hosting at Waddy tomorrow. It's going to be based around NaPoWriMo poems that are published in Laughter to Split Glass and some of my other books. I've pulled together the setlist for next Saturday’s Mowbray Park gig. It's basically a ‘best of’ with favourites from this year's sets. I'm hoping to bike before Waddy tomorrow. OK. 10.07pm.
Tuesday 18th August 2026
I got up super early to ride the bike for a while, but outside was still quite wet, so I stayed in and did some copy-ups. I got the half-nine bus to Waddy. I did a run-through of my set for the Sunderland gig. It was twenty-two minutes long and worked well. I then photocopied twenty copies of David Rutherford's new monograph. The paper was quite thin; some of it jammed a bit, but we got there. I had quite a busy workshop using NaPoWriMo stuff. I got home about quarter to five, ate steak and a baked potato. Then I got the bus to Consett and off to Jen's place ahead of her birthday. She has been out with friends at Microbus pub. I fell asleep during a documentary about a Birmingham stalker. Jenni woke me up with chat and chips. Sky Arts intellectualised goth culture. Then a bunch of people said, I'm Spartacus. It will soon be bedtime. 11.29pm.
Wednesday 19th August 2026
Woke up about half seven. Jenni was up about nine o'clock. She enjoyed opening her presents. We had a lazy morning, then went out to town for supplies. I bought a black garment in each of four charity shops. I intend to sew a music band logo patch to each of the plain black zip-up hoodies I own. Later this afternoon, we went out to a restaurant with John and Hilary to celebrate Jen's birthday. Big chicken curry with rice. Very hot. Lovely. After that we went to Station East. Jenni enjoyed chatting with her friends. Hilary played the piano. I talked to John about music and printing. Jenni stayed out, but I returned to the attic around ten o'clock. 0K. 11.03pm.
Thursday 20th August 2026
Back out on the attic landing. Chilly bare arms and legs. Super-loud tinnitus. An aeroplane going overhead...
Jenni returned to her room around four o'clock this morning after a little drink downstairs with Janet, her landlady. Jenni was very loud, making singing videos to send to a friend, but soon fell asleep. Her snoring lasted about three hours. I don't expect her to surface till at least midday. It might be later.
I aim to be off home late afternoon as I have Poetry Jam event publicity to do. It's another grey, dreary, wet day and I reckon the riverside trails will be a mess now. Even though they were baked hard as concrete this time last week when the temperature was thirty-one degrees.
My left shoulder isn't great. I will try to take things easy. I need to make up some copies of “Failed Rock Star” just in case I need any for Saturday's gig in Sunderland at Mowbray Park. I think I'm going to ditch Lessons From The Voice Of Experience from the set in favour of maybe Cigarettes or one of the untried pieces from the new book.
Last night, John told me about his days as a printer. Huge metal lithograph plates. Five-day stretches of baked beans labels. A horror story about a bloke losing both hands whilst servicing a guillotine.
Jenni's local, The Station East, where we have performed our poems many times, is like the bar in TV sitcom Cheers. It was good to see people being friendly to one another and buying Jenni birthday drinks. John and Hilary were tired by half nine and left for the bus back to Bensham soon after. I left about ten. Jenni stayed out to have last orders at the Microbus pub a little further down the road.
I am trying to avoid all the nastiness online about people who don't work because of their health conditions - and the delight some critics take in demonising and humiliating people who are in a position that know-it-all elites clearly, by their comments, know very little about. The trouble with Facebook algorithms is that the more you look at in the feed, the more of the same will be fed to you. I am trying to avoid it.
So, today will be Poetry Jam admin. And tomorrow will be Failed Rock Star, another rehearsal, and some work for Washington Writers. I hope to get the bulk of their anthology done next week. Along with twenty-five copies of Joan Johnston's pamphlet, "The Lay-By". I also need to make up twenty-five copies of "The Perfect Opportunity" for Waddington Street Centre.
I hope to get a bike ride next week. I will try to get one tomorrow evening.
I think I will be going to Sunderland from Consett on Saturday. But maybe I should return to Bensham and travel in with Jenni on the Metro.
Mister Henry Rollins has an official announcement about his memoir "Dog Bait Boy" on his Facebook page. He says it took him years to write and doesn't think he'll be able to write anything like it again. The cover is by artist Raymond Pettibon, who came up with all the Black Flag flyers. It's a black and white image of a young boy brandishing a cigarette lighter. The book is published in America and UK next March. All being well, if I survive the winter, I will be reading it the week it comes out. It will be interesting to see how it’s written. Lengthy chapters in standard narrative prose? Or shorter vignettes? Something to look forward to next spring anyway.
Often when I'm doing morning pages, I wonder why I bother. But it's good to be able to get reportage, dreams, ideas and work plans out on paper. It's good to be able to choose words more slowly than in conversation. And it gives me a record of my days and a wealth of material to draw upon. It helps me to organise my thoughts, to rehearse what I might need to say to someone, so I don't get my facts wrong. It allows me to repeatedly focus on a single topic over a few days and get the definitive version of how I want to present information. I often surprise myself. I find that neater handwriting slows me right down to a meditative state, or at least a more relaxed and carefully considered state, from which to compose. When the words are scrawled, they are usually from a frantic or aggressive state.
Today I am tired. I didn't sleep well. I only have next week before I am busy again. Out and about. There is a bunch of writing workshops to attend in hopes of gleaning ideas I can pass on to my own workshop participants. And it's good to sit on the other side of the desk for a change to get a feel for how challenging writing to order can be. Sometimes I enjoy it. Most of the time it leaves me feeling stressed. Sometimes it makes me question my credibility.
I'd be lying if I said all this latest shit from the pig-headed wishing to win the next general election didn't bother me. My bipolar condition is likely to keep me far from conventional full-time 9-5 work for the rest of my days. A lot of people have made reassuring comments regarding welfare cuts, saying that it's just political point-scoring theatre; ill-conceived, and those demanding change will never win a general election anyway.
I have strived for over two decades with workshops and making books for other authors. But none of that will wash with thugs and vindictive voters who want to dictate what is and isn’t deemed proper work. But fuck it. I am what I am. On the way to sixty, body somewhat decrepit.
The best way I can be of service to any community is to continue doing what I'm good at. I don't always enjoy preparing and delivering creative writing sessions, but I'm pretty good at it. I've been of service to Arts on Prescription from the NHS, provided evening classes to an FE College, and motivational generative workshops for several mental health organisations. If that isn't good enough to satisfy the new political monsters then shoot me. OK. 10.00am.
LATER: Jenni got up around one o'clock this afternoon. I washed some dishes, replaced a poem in my Sunderland set, then the electricity went off. Jenni boiled water on the hob downstairs for noodles and a cup of tea. I ate a cold steak pie. Landlady Janet sorted the leccy later this afternoon. I stayed at Jen's till seven, then caught the X72/A bus to Consett. Then the X15. Two buses took less than an hour from Gateshead to Moorside. Tonight I had another run through the Sunderland set. It's still comes in around twenty-two minutes. Seven of the pieces are in the FAILED ROCK STAR sampler pamphlet. Three of them will be in the next official poetry collection. I'm going to do a bit of physio, then try to get to bed before eleven. I might read a bit of Geoff Hattersley for a while. OK. 10.30pm.
Early morning pages, then eight o'clock bus to Consett. I bought the final bits and pieces for Jen's birthday. Spent a canny chunk of the morning and afternoon making up a folder for her WRITE Festival events info and tickets and wrapping up other stuff for Wednesday. I've eaten two steak meals today. My left shoulder hasn't been too good over the weekend. I'm a bit concerned about it. I did quite a bit of prep on the bus this morning for a workshop, but opted to do other things for the one I'm hosting at Waddy tomorrow. It's going to be based around NaPoWriMo poems that are published in Laughter to Split Glass and some of my other books. I've pulled together the setlist for next Saturday’s Mowbray Park gig. It's basically a ‘best of’ with favourites from this year's sets. I'm hoping to bike before Waddy tomorrow. OK. 10.07pm.
Tuesday 18th August 2026
I got up super early to ride the bike for a while, but outside was still quite wet, so I stayed in and did some copy-ups. I got the half-nine bus to Waddy. I did a run-through of my set for the Sunderland gig. It was twenty-two minutes long and worked well. I then photocopied twenty copies of David Rutherford's new monograph. The paper was quite thin; some of it jammed a bit, but we got there. I had quite a busy workshop using NaPoWriMo stuff. I got home about quarter to five, ate steak and a baked potato. Then I got the bus to Consett and off to Jen's place ahead of her birthday. She has been out with friends at Microbus pub. I fell asleep during a documentary about a Birmingham stalker. Jenni woke me up with chat and chips. Sky Arts intellectualised goth culture. Then a bunch of people said, I'm Spartacus. It will soon be bedtime. 11.29pm.
Wednesday 19th August 2026
Woke up about half seven. Jenni was up about nine o'clock. She enjoyed opening her presents. We had a lazy morning, then went out to town for supplies. I bought a black garment in each of four charity shops. I intend to sew a music band logo patch to each of the plain black zip-up hoodies I own. Later this afternoon, we went out to a restaurant with John and Hilary to celebrate Jen's birthday. Big chicken curry with rice. Very hot. Lovely. After that we went to Station East. Jenni enjoyed chatting with her friends. Hilary played the piano. I talked to John about music and printing. Jenni stayed out, but I returned to the attic around ten o'clock. 0K. 11.03pm.
Thursday 20th August 2026
Back out on the attic landing. Chilly bare arms and legs. Super-loud tinnitus. An aeroplane going overhead...
Jenni returned to her room around four o'clock this morning after a little drink downstairs with Janet, her landlady. Jenni was very loud, making singing videos to send to a friend, but soon fell asleep. Her snoring lasted about three hours. I don't expect her to surface till at least midday. It might be later.
I aim to be off home late afternoon as I have Poetry Jam event publicity to do. It's another grey, dreary, wet day and I reckon the riverside trails will be a mess now. Even though they were baked hard as concrete this time last week when the temperature was thirty-one degrees.
My left shoulder isn't great. I will try to take things easy. I need to make up some copies of “Failed Rock Star” just in case I need any for Saturday's gig in Sunderland at Mowbray Park. I think I'm going to ditch Lessons From The Voice Of Experience from the set in favour of maybe Cigarettes or one of the untried pieces from the new book.
Last night, John told me about his days as a printer. Huge metal lithograph plates. Five-day stretches of baked beans labels. A horror story about a bloke losing both hands whilst servicing a guillotine.
Jenni's local, The Station East, where we have performed our poems many times, is like the bar in TV sitcom Cheers. It was good to see people being friendly to one another and buying Jenni birthday drinks. John and Hilary were tired by half nine and left for the bus back to Bensham soon after. I left about ten. Jenni stayed out to have last orders at the Microbus pub a little further down the road.
I am trying to avoid all the nastiness online about people who don't work because of their health conditions - and the delight some critics take in demonising and humiliating people who are in a position that know-it-all elites clearly, by their comments, know very little about. The trouble with Facebook algorithms is that the more you look at in the feed, the more of the same will be fed to you. I am trying to avoid it.
So, today will be Poetry Jam admin. And tomorrow will be Failed Rock Star, another rehearsal, and some work for Washington Writers. I hope to get the bulk of their anthology done next week. Along with twenty-five copies of Joan Johnston's pamphlet, "The Lay-By". I also need to make up twenty-five copies of "The Perfect Opportunity" for Waddington Street Centre.
I hope to get a bike ride next week. I will try to get one tomorrow evening.
I think I will be going to Sunderland from Consett on Saturday. But maybe I should return to Bensham and travel in with Jenni on the Metro.
Mister Henry Rollins has an official announcement about his memoir "Dog Bait Boy" on his Facebook page. He says it took him years to write and doesn't think he'll be able to write anything like it again. The cover is by artist Raymond Pettibon, who came up with all the Black Flag flyers. It's a black and white image of a young boy brandishing a cigarette lighter. The book is published in America and UK next March. All being well, if I survive the winter, I will be reading it the week it comes out. It will be interesting to see how it’s written. Lengthy chapters in standard narrative prose? Or shorter vignettes? Something to look forward to next spring anyway.
Often when I'm doing morning pages, I wonder why I bother. But it's good to be able to get reportage, dreams, ideas and work plans out on paper. It's good to be able to choose words more slowly than in conversation. And it gives me a record of my days and a wealth of material to draw upon. It helps me to organise my thoughts, to rehearse what I might need to say to someone, so I don't get my facts wrong. It allows me to repeatedly focus on a single topic over a few days and get the definitive version of how I want to present information. I often surprise myself. I find that neater handwriting slows me right down to a meditative state, or at least a more relaxed and carefully considered state, from which to compose. When the words are scrawled, they are usually from a frantic or aggressive state.
Today I am tired. I didn't sleep well. I only have next week before I am busy again. Out and about. There is a bunch of writing workshops to attend in hopes of gleaning ideas I can pass on to my own workshop participants. And it's good to sit on the other side of the desk for a change to get a feel for how challenging writing to order can be. Sometimes I enjoy it. Most of the time it leaves me feeling stressed. Sometimes it makes me question my credibility.
I'd be lying if I said all this latest shit from the pig-headed wishing to win the next general election didn't bother me. My bipolar condition is likely to keep me far from conventional full-time 9-5 work for the rest of my days. A lot of people have made reassuring comments regarding welfare cuts, saying that it's just political point-scoring theatre; ill-conceived, and those demanding change will never win a general election anyway.
I have strived for over two decades with workshops and making books for other authors. But none of that will wash with thugs and vindictive voters who want to dictate what is and isn’t deemed proper work. But fuck it. I am what I am. On the way to sixty, body somewhat decrepit.
The best way I can be of service to any community is to continue doing what I'm good at. I don't always enjoy preparing and delivering creative writing sessions, but I'm pretty good at it. I've been of service to Arts on Prescription from the NHS, provided evening classes to an FE College, and motivational generative workshops for several mental health organisations. If that isn't good enough to satisfy the new political monsters then shoot me. OK. 10.00am.
LATER: Jenni got up around one o'clock this afternoon. I washed some dishes, replaced a poem in my Sunderland set, then the electricity went off. Jenni boiled water on the hob downstairs for noodles and a cup of tea. I ate a cold steak pie. Landlady Janet sorted the leccy later this afternoon. I stayed at Jen's till seven, then caught the X72/A bus to Consett. Then the X15. Two buses took less than an hour from Gateshead to Moorside. Tonight I had another run through the Sunderland set. It's still comes in around twenty-two minutes. Seven of the pieces are in the FAILED ROCK STAR sampler pamphlet. Three of them will be in the next official poetry collection. I'm going to do a bit of physio, then try to get to bed before eleven. I might read a bit of Geoff Hattersley for a while. OK. 10.30pm.
Friday 21st August 2026
Got up to find that I already have enough copies of Failed Rock Star to take to the Sunderland gig tomorrow, so no need to assemble any of the recently printed. The weather forecast wasn't great for this afternoon, so I went out this morning on the Sonder Frontier bike for a mild ride by the riverside. The ground isn’t as solid as last week. Bits of mud on the tyres. I did a stream crossing and almost cleaned a trail section, but nothing too adventurous these days. The left arm can't take it. I'd still like to get down to Watergate Forest Park again at some point. I did Poetry Jam publicity this afternoon and re-sequenced the Washington Anthology file. I will get more done next week. The tinnitus seems really bad today. Luckily, I am able to tolerate it. And I found TV Smith tickets for next month. OK. 10.27pm.
Saturday 22nd August 2026
Up at half six and out just an hour later to Consett and over to Gateshead before travelling onto Sunderland for the day at Mowbray Park, reading poems with AJ McKenna Pip McDonald, James Whitman, David Rutherford and others. I went on about half past two. Then Jenni at three. And Aaron Wright closed the event in great style with site-specific rhymes and bubbles. Jenni and I got tasty wraps at a new food place in Gateshead called Levant. Tonight we watched the Voice and Gameshows. OK. 10.16pm.
Got up to find that I already have enough copies of Failed Rock Star to take to the Sunderland gig tomorrow, so no need to assemble any of the recently printed. The weather forecast wasn't great for this afternoon, so I went out this morning on the Sonder Frontier bike for a mild ride by the riverside. The ground isn’t as solid as last week. Bits of mud on the tyres. I did a stream crossing and almost cleaned a trail section, but nothing too adventurous these days. The left arm can't take it. I'd still like to get down to Watergate Forest Park again at some point. I did Poetry Jam publicity this afternoon and re-sequenced the Washington Anthology file. I will get more done next week. The tinnitus seems really bad today. Luckily, I am able to tolerate it. And I found TV Smith tickets for next month. OK. 10.27pm.
Saturday 22nd August 2026
Up at half six and out just an hour later to Consett and over to Gateshead before travelling onto Sunderland for the day at Mowbray Park, reading poems with AJ McKenna Pip McDonald, James Whitman, David Rutherford and others. I went on about half past two. Then Jenni at three. And Aaron Wright closed the event in great style with site-specific rhymes and bubbles. Jenni and I got tasty wraps at a new food place in Gateshead called Levant. Tonight we watched the Voice and Gameshows. OK. 10.16pm.
Sunday 23rd August 2026
Me and Jenni had food at Norma's flat. Kirstin and Caroline were visiting from Edinburgh. Then an afternoon walk through Saltwell Park, and Jenni showed me how to get to and from the bus stop for the X71 bus. Later, the 47 to Consett was full of football fans. I intended to work at home this evening but felt a bit wiped out. Off to bed soon. OK. 10.56pm.
Monday 24th August 2026
Slow progress on plans for the Waddy workshop. Nine hours, and that's before the seven- or eight-hour day tomorrow: travelling, photocopying, setting up, delivering, and aftermath. Sometimes the activities require few resources. Sometimes there are loads of printed handouts. I took a break around half past five for food, then went out on the Sonder Frontier bike for a couple of hours. I met my cousin Gordon halfway along a trail and chatted for a while. I found some bits of technical trail really tricky tonight. But I'm pleased the weather held up, and I was able to clear my head a bit. Back home, I read through all the papers for tomorrow and discovered that I needed a couple more things copied – so, another hour. But it's what I signed up for over two decades ago. I am a bit short on food. Just enough left till I get to the shops tomorrow evening. I'm tired now and will soon be horizontal. 0K. 11.22pm.
Tuesday 25th August 2026
Only two people in today for the workshop. I was going to save this session I'd spent ten hours planning for a bigger group, but decided to just run with it and was pleased that I did. Memoir, fiction, poetry, microfiction, expansion, scene focus. It was a good first run. I'll be using it again next month in Washington. I got a load of groceries at Consett later this afternoon. Sad to hear of the death of Dolly Parton. Tonight I played a couple of her songs. I uploaded recent Poetry Jam photos and ate a lot of chicken. I switched off the desktop PC as soon as I finished the work. Tomorrow I'll be home all day making up pamphlets for Joan Johnston. OK. 11.25pm.
Wednesday 26th August 2026
The month is flying by, and I am way behind on my admin. Today I made up 25 copies of John Johnston's “The Lay-By” pamphlet. It took me about six hours. I hope to get them delivered by the end of the month. This evening I went out on the Sonder Frontier again. I didn't complete any sections without putting a foot down. I fell off the bike when it was stationary, which is usually the way it goes. I fell backwards when stalled on a dirt mound and slammed into the road. I got up okay, but a few hours later my backside hurts like hell. I wrapped up Joan's pamphlets, then watched some short biking videos. My ears are ringing, and my phone is pinging. And I need a good night's sleep. I don't need to be up early, and I think it's going to rain anyway. OK. 11.02pm.
Thursday 27th August 2026
The desktop computer was excruciatingly slow this morning. Took me over two hours to amend the Poetry Jam poster with a lineup change and do some other updates. By mid-afternoon, all I wanted to do was sleep. This evening I watched a couple of superb mountain bike videos featuring e-bikers riding off-road across Wales. Also, an Aleister Crowley documentary and some eighties and nineties footage of the band Swans. 0K. 10.25pm.
Friday 28th August 2026
Pleased to get a good stab at the blog and the Washington Anthology today. My main soundtrack was Handwriting, the latest studio album by TV Smith (I’m looking forward to seeing him play a Sunday matinee show at The Globe in Newcastle next month). The anthology, even though quite small, is a lot of work. Getting poems to sit balanced on double-page spreads can be tricky, but it’s coming together. I wish I could say the same for my next solo collection. The poems have been spread out on the living room floor since the second week of this month. I’ve only managed two or three sessions at it so far. I only have about a dozen pages of about fifty-six in place. I will probably be shivering on the stone floor this winter, still trying to solve the puzzle. I put in about fifteen hours today, playing with words, mine and others. Knackered. OK. 11.50pm.
Slow progress on plans for the Waddy workshop. Nine hours, and that's before the seven- or eight-hour day tomorrow: travelling, photocopying, setting up, delivering, and aftermath. Sometimes the activities require few resources. Sometimes there are loads of printed handouts. I took a break around half past five for food, then went out on the Sonder Frontier bike for a couple of hours. I met my cousin Gordon halfway along a trail and chatted for a while. I found some bits of technical trail really tricky tonight. But I'm pleased the weather held up, and I was able to clear my head a bit. Back home, I read through all the papers for tomorrow and discovered that I needed a couple more things copied – so, another hour. But it's what I signed up for over two decades ago. I am a bit short on food. Just enough left till I get to the shops tomorrow evening. I'm tired now and will soon be horizontal. 0K. 11.22pm.
Tuesday 25th August 2026
Only two people in today for the workshop. I was going to save this session I'd spent ten hours planning for a bigger group, but decided to just run with it and was pleased that I did. Memoir, fiction, poetry, microfiction, expansion, scene focus. It was a good first run. I'll be using it again next month in Washington. I got a load of groceries at Consett later this afternoon. Sad to hear of the death of Dolly Parton. Tonight I played a couple of her songs. I uploaded recent Poetry Jam photos and ate a lot of chicken. I switched off the desktop PC as soon as I finished the work. Tomorrow I'll be home all day making up pamphlets for Joan Johnston. OK. 11.25pm.
Wednesday 26th August 2026
The month is flying by, and I am way behind on my admin. Today I made up 25 copies of John Johnston's “The Lay-By” pamphlet. It took me about six hours. I hope to get them delivered by the end of the month. This evening I went out on the Sonder Frontier again. I didn't complete any sections without putting a foot down. I fell off the bike when it was stationary, which is usually the way it goes. I fell backwards when stalled on a dirt mound and slammed into the road. I got up okay, but a few hours later my backside hurts like hell. I wrapped up Joan's pamphlets, then watched some short biking videos. My ears are ringing, and my phone is pinging. And I need a good night's sleep. I don't need to be up early, and I think it's going to rain anyway. OK. 11.02pm.
Thursday 27th August 2026
The desktop computer was excruciatingly slow this morning. Took me over two hours to amend the Poetry Jam poster with a lineup change and do some other updates. By mid-afternoon, all I wanted to do was sleep. This evening I watched a couple of superb mountain bike videos featuring e-bikers riding off-road across Wales. Also, an Aleister Crowley documentary and some eighties and nineties footage of the band Swans. 0K. 10.25pm.
Friday 28th August 2026
Pleased to get a good stab at the blog and the Washington Anthology today. My main soundtrack was Handwriting, the latest studio album by TV Smith (I’m looking forward to seeing him play a Sunday matinee show at The Globe in Newcastle next month). The anthology, even though quite small, is a lot of work. Getting poems to sit balanced on double-page spreads can be tricky, but it’s coming together. I wish I could say the same for my next solo collection. The poems have been spread out on the living room floor since the second week of this month. I’ve only managed two or three sessions at it so far. I only have about a dozen pages of about fifty-six in place. I will probably be shivering on the stone floor this winter, still trying to solve the puzzle. I put in about fifteen hours today, playing with words, mine and others. Knackered. OK. 11.50pm.
Saturday 29th August 2026
Cleaned the Sonder Frontier and took it to Bits4Bikes to have new brake pads fitted, the cassette checked and the bash guard adjusted. First shop maintenance of the year, I think. I had pasta and chips on a bench then bought supplies. I typed and edited all afternoon. Got to Jen's place, via Durham for a change, by half eleven. She's not here. Probably won't see her until tomorrow. OK. 11.40pm.
Cleaned the Sonder Frontier and took it to Bits4Bikes to have new brake pads fitted, the cassette checked and the bash guard adjusted. First shop maintenance of the year, I think. I had pasta and chips on a bench then bought supplies. I typed and edited all afternoon. Got to Jen's place, via Durham for a change, by half eleven. She's not here. Probably won't see her until tomorrow. OK. 11.40pm.
Sunday 30th August 2026
Didn't sleep so well. This morning I met up with Joan Johnston to give her a run of pamphlets. We chatted about publishing, different kinds of workshops - critique and generative - and sequencing collections of work. This afternoon Jenni and I watched a mint documentary about the history of Irish downhill mountain biking. There was a great version of Leonard Cohen's 'Tower of Song' from Tom Jones on a replay of The Voice. This evening, some episodes of Chewing the Fat. OK. 11.00pm.
Monday 31st August 2026
Most of my writing is just reportage and responses to adversity. I cherry pick the bits that I wish to share and think might make it as book content. Diary, poetry, micro-memoir, whatever. I have no great imaginative fictional ability.
My earliest writing influences were the anger, introspection and dirty realism of American counter culture figures such as Rollins, Lunch and Bukowski, with a few European voices in translation to even things out a bit.
I wasn't too keen on the UK small press poetry scene initially, but I'm pleased I stuck with it. I'm now more likely to read Geoff Hattersley than Charles Bukowski. And feel more aligned with David Gaffney's flash fiction than the early brutal prose and verse fragments of Henry Rollins. But it's all good.
If I could retain more of what I read post-mental breakdown, I'd probably have answered Poetical Outlaws podcast questions differently when asked about favourite poets, lyricists and comedians.
Autumn is coming. My tastes change with the seasons. In another month I'll probably switch to my gothic horror phase for a while. I know very little about metaphysics and the supernatural - but I can enjoy the darkness for a while before winter makes things difficult.
I wasn't going to use anything from today's morning pages, but this is probably a good way to end the blog.
Back to school for kids this week. Back to service with a smile.
I'm lucky and grateful to still get to host writing workshops, given how insular my own personal approach to creativity often actually is. But I'm sure there'll be useful stuff to pass on to people over the coming months.
Thanks for reading. OK. 10.03am.
