Reading Writings is a collection of short stories, poems and personal reflections about Reading, England.Read more "Reading Writings: An e-zine about Reading, UK"
I’ve been on the move since 2015, bouncing from one upheaval to the next. That’s basically what the Electric Holy Road was (is) all about. I’ve come to accept that life is — or is made bearable by — constant movement.
Which was good for a while but has made dealing with lockdown a bit of a struggle.Read more "Where were we?"
It’s a bloody stinker out there today, at least by South England terms. Coming straight from one of the driest climes in Europe, I’ve encountered a world in which everything seems to drip. Though the mercury has barely risen over 25 for the whole of Spring, I’ve definitely sweat more in my short time in […]Read more "A New Life in Ol’ Blightey – London and Oxford"
The rent’s been paid and the clock has ticked over. With a little jump into the middle of May—with all the British sunshine that brings—I have officially entered my second month in England. The last time you heard from me was shortly after the raucous funeral for Murcia’s sardine and my own departure from the […]Read more "Reality Checks and Fields of Green – Reading 2018 (Part I)"
The Electric Holy Road is hardly a straight one. It winds and turns back on itself and runs straight forward into blinding white uncertainty. A single trip can wind you up in a place you would never even have imagined existed. The pull of the Great Magnet (that which governs the path of us road-weary […]Read more "The Sardine Has Burned"
Since the sad departure from the tangled house under the mountains in El Bruc, I’ve been quite busy trying to dig my way into real life. Job application after job application after story pitch after submission has flown from my outbox and landed somewhere in cyberspace’s ear-less abyss. Christmas was magical, New Years brought new […]Read more "Rain on the Azulejo – Portugal (Part I)"
The killer arrived just after The Three Wise Men had departed. He slipped in through the barred second floor window with his toolkit and chloroform in hand, stuffed the rag into my mouth, then went to work dismantling my time. I learned later that the killer’s name was Winter, and that he had already visited […]Read more "The Fifth Winter"
The sun setting over the trees at the top of the hill yesterday marked the end of my second full week at Can Serrat. The first day of the third and final week has also begun to close, slowly and with a chill in the air. As night divides the day outside, I am sitting […]Read more "Lessons Learned Among the Artists"
I remember walking around Amsterdam on cold, dreary day in 2015 with two mates by my side and something of a home in Germany waiting for my return. I had been in the Netherlands for three days and had been in Germany for maybe two to three months. We walked past a hip, wood-paneled store, […]Read more "When Do You Stop Being a Tourist? – Bullas, Lorca & Caravaca"
“They come, rosy of skin and short of clothes. They seek our sun, our beaches, our paella, our way of life! Oh god, we’ve sold out of ice-cream… in January! Take to the castle, boys!” Alicante is a strange place. After Paris, I think it’s the most touristic city I’ve visited yet. Like others have […]Read more "A Slow, Pink Invasion – Alicante"