To Be A Pilgrim
The visitors appear each day at three o’clock. They arrive a muddle of raincoats and carrier bags and walking sticks, and tumble past the…
23 Comments
Shifting Sands
Acopia. My spellchecker doesn’t even recognise this word and yet I see it written in so many patient histories. Acopia: the inability to cope. The…
Body and Soul
“I’ve had enough,” Albert said, “can’t you just give me the morphine and let me go?” We sat behind a curtained wall in a sleeping…
A Travelling Man
William Shotton was old and creased and lay on an unhappy bed of twisted sheets. He chewed with an empty mouth and when he did,…
Perfect
I am sorry. I am sorry that other mothers look into my cot and allow sympathy to rush to their eyes without a fight. I…
A Beautiful Game
You died at six-thirty in the evening, whilst no one was looking. Whilst nurses pushed a drugs trolley and doctors shuffled notes and the other…
Kodak Moments
Unfortunately, I can cry at pretty much anything. I cry at contestants winning prizes on television quiz shows, black and white photographs of people I don’t…