The Golden Hour

I really enjoyed Sam’s post – follow the link to visit his blog 🙂

Up All Night

It was bright and sunny in February. I loaded up camera and tripod in the front basket of my ¥15’000 standard Japanese commuter bicycle, the kind everyone rides to the stations in the morning, and dropped down the steep roads north of Tama River, then hit the elevated tarmac by the side of the waterway, and headed east.

It was late afternoon by now, as I’d let myself be delayed at home, by nothing other than my own procrastination. I had a sense that delay might turn out to be a good thing though, depending on how far down the path I was when the sun started dipping low in the beautiful, clear blue sky.

All I knew was that I was cycling in the direction of Tokyo Bay, and Haneda Airport, and, on the other side of the river, Kawasaki and its vast, waterside industrial zone.

And I was…

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The Things We Don’t Tell People…

“Our lives don’t have a plot until the end, and you’re left asking who the hell was writing it, why were they so obsessed with tea and sex and could you have a refund?”

Idle blogs of an idle fellow

“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” – George Orwell

Apologies to people arriving here in the hope of some dirt, some unadulterated drunken admissions that upon waking deliver you into a fresh world of unrepairable fury and decimation. It’s not a confessional It’s too early in my life for that.

There’s so much we don’t tell people, and frankly it’s probably for the best. I’m not just referring to first dates when you neglect to mention your favourite past time is lying passed-out on the sofa in front of 24hours live-feed of World Golf tournaments. I’m referring to all those bits of us that tick-over in our heads unbeknown to anyone. Our lives are like that John Arnold quote about war as ‘long periods of boredom punctuated by short moments of excitement,’ only the excitement is not spilling take-away coffee over yourself on…

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Two Divided by Zero

the curse of a mind that analyses, questions, wonders, speculates

and wanders down paths it should not

wanting everything to stay the same

and everything to change

sounds deranged

but what was enough isn’t anymore

or maybe it still is, hard to tell

when your thoughts are stuck in a self-made cell

what should be mine is not

even though it is – somehow

there are some things you shouldn’t look into

don’t disturb the surface, don’t stare into depth

wise advice, easy to say, hard to obey

what could have been is pointless

what will be matters more

yet I can’t see the shore

I’ve strayed too far

others are knocking at my door

simplicity lies that way

meaningless things which wouldn’t cause sleeplessness

and a possible trip to the funny farm

alas I am blind and deaf

can’t see, hear anything that’s not my semicircle

my Bermuda Triangle

the one who makes me want to crawl

on a filthy floor

littered with shared deviant fantasies

and depraved tales better left untold

or push him against a wall

to place a collar around his throat

masters and servants is a game best played

when one is eager to swap roles

I want both, I want all

in any case, in life

only a handful of times

at most

can you find another mind

that perfectly aligns with yours

and never, not once

can two be divided by zero

so my problem has not been solved

writing, following a winding course

what to do now… I still don’t know

How I wrote my first novel

Brilliant post for the writers, would-be writers and anybody looking for a good read. Tom’s book is fan-fucking-tastic, and so are his blogs – go check him out

Idle blogs of an idle fellow

Some time ago I was asked to write about myself and how I started writing the WHSmith Fresh talent novel, The Life Assistance Agency. 

I started the Life Assistance Agency many years ago. It was initially called the Karma Account, which considered how our deeds might determine our destiny, and this led me to consider how hard this must be for people who are immortal, and particularly laborious once they found themselves into the 200th year.

Not knowing any immortals to ask, I had to make one up. Or rather I didn’t. I forget how I first encountered Dr. Dee, the Elizabethan alchemist of the late 1580s, but I’m glad I did. He had pursued angels, so it wasn’t a huge leap to him chasing immortality.

He seemed a good starting point, particularly in the absence of any others. Actually, Damon Albarn and a few other writers were drawn to Dee at a…

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Lost Fairy


The fairy looked around, she just couldn’t understand how she’d ended up in this strange land. She had to admit it was not an attractive place: where were the gnarled trees and sweet blades of grass? Everywhere was cold cement. The air was thick and heavy – her diaphanous wings felt grimy. Not a single flower to be seen, and people…..people looked strange and rushed past as if they couldn’t actually see her. They looked determined, as if they were on a journey – but not one that lead to adventure.
Nobody looked happy, no face betrayed any emotion apart from weariness.

The fairy suddenly understood that the key to getting back to her own world was imagination. She needed only a single one of those weird creatures to see her – this would denote an untarnished spirit and an un-jaded soul. Through such a person’s imagination, she would be able to return to her homeland which she was starting to miss very badly.

She saw a child approach and her hope rose – she knew children had the purest souls, and untainted imaginations.
Yet this child looked straight through her as if she didn’t exist; it was a young boy – he was gripping a square device and all his attention seemed to be focused on it.

The fairy felt a stab of despair, but she quickly admonished herself. She simply refused to believe that imagination didn’t exist in this world – she only needed to be patient.

She settled herself on the ugly brick wall by the side of the pavement and started her long wait for the one unadulterated soul who would send her back to her fairy-tale, where she belonged.

She is still waiting.

*Repost: First written and published April 26th 2015

Image credit:

Looking Glass


Once more I crossed to the other side
everything was the same, nothing had changed
It had all thrilled me once upon a time –
sent me into paroxysm – I’d been petrified

Now my hand is steady, my heart is fine
crawling into the abyss and the all-seeing eye
comforting darkness, the mystery is gone
so is the raging jealousy that it feasted upon

All hail the victor, the monster has been slayed
the odious beast that once left me in disarray
How was it achieved you may well ask – easy!
my nemesis was nothing – and utterly unworthy

Image Credit: Cindy Grundsten



Wanting, craving, lusting, needing
What? Something that makes me feel
Chasing the next high like a hamster on its wheel
Calm one minute, and the next panting

It’s a smoke, it’s a drink, it’s a fuck
Not that I’m trying to pass the buck
Chemical levels in my brain are way off
When I was assembled somebody was jerking off

I claim hedonism is where it’s at
Poor excuse for my lack of control
Let’s face it – because on the whole
I’m an addict, it’s as simple as that

Does anybody *really* believe in Freedom of Speech?


I feel compelled to write this, although it will be my last post on the subject (for a good while anyway).
Today, I told somebody I know that an anonymous person on the net had left a very long hideous comment on my blog, which ended thus: “If you have children, I hope they ALL die VERY slowly so YOU can watch them and SUFFER”. This was in response to my Caitlyn Jenner post.

Now, obviously this can only come from a mentally deranged person because, WHO in their right mind would ever say such a thing? I read the whole hateful comment twice (I know, I know) and deleted it. It goes without saying it was never going to make it onto the blog but it did make me feel very uncomfortable reading it. It came from the US, so it wasn’t as if there was an immediate threat – nevertheless, it shook me up a bit to have so much hate directed at me, even if it was from across the pond.

However, what shocked me more was my aforementioned friend’s reaction when I told him about it today.
Word for word, this is what he said: “I’m sorry the trolls have been bombarding you, but you shouldn’t be so opinionated about such things then”.
I was aghast. Basically, what he was saying was this: “You don’t deserve it, but…actually, you do”.

That is something I cannot understand and will not accept. To me, that’s like saying that the journalists from Charlie Hebdo murdered in cold blood in Paris back in January deserved their fate because they were also “too opinionated”. Note that I’m well aware that the fact I got some hateful comments cannot be compared with an assassination, obviously. But there is a definite correlation there which is: as long as you express an opinion, there is always a risk and you can’t really complain about the consequences or whatever comes your way as a result. So, freedom of speech truly doesn’t exist then – and it’s entirely normal and logical that some people should wish a slow death on any hypothetical children I may have, just because I said that Caitlyn Jenner’s photo shoot was a “vanity project”.
My blog is small, I’m not a power blogger and this blog is my own little place to write about anything I feel like: a place where I can play and indulge my obsession with words, a place where I can express myself freely because there are no expectations, as I do not get paid for the writing I do on here. My views and opinions are not even controversial, so I don’t understand how somebody I know could think that I’m too opinionated and that I only have myself to blame if some deranged mind decides to leave heinous comments on my blog.

I have said it ad nauseam, but I truly don’t mind anybody disagreeing with me, as long as they do it intelligently and can sustain a real discussion. But, in any case, because I write on a public blog, I expect some people to pipe up and tell me that they think I’m wrong. I even expect others to tell me I’m stupid, or jealous, or a hater (I’ve had that too in the last few days). I can even handle pure hate as in that comment I got yesterday. All of this, I can understand and I can cope with, because this is what happens when you put yourself out there, on a public site, even if it’s only a small one – some trolls are always going to be able to find you, unfortunately.

But that somebody I know, somebody who is meant to be a friend (and more or less sensible) should imply that I can’t really complain about the hateful comments because I’m “too opinionated”, that I find hard to handle.
If people that are meant to be close to me think that way, is it any surprise that a couple of religious fanatics should feel justified to go into a Paris office and proceed to execute journalists for expressing opinions?

This unexpected response from my friend made me realise, once again, that it’s not just religious fanatics and deranged human beings who don’t seem to grasp the concept of freedom of speech, it’s also ordinary people: like your friend, your neighbour, an acquaintance – it’s a hell of a lot of people actually. Does this fact upset anyone else? Because it sure does upset me.

If anybody has time (and is willing) to read the post I wrote a month ago about Freedom of speech, you can do so so here

Image, and



My words travel across seas, oceans and mountains
Carried by a creative breeze, fluttering over plains
They stop here and there to be read, sometimes embraced
By people I’ll never meet – such a shame, and what a waste

My words reach you, touch you like a lover’s sweet caress
and invade your mind – this thought leaves me breathless
For one short moment, a precious, tenuous connection is made
A connection I cherish, with a writer’s specific lack of shame