Blog Archives

We Don’t Have Tsunamis in Dorset

Fatou saw Betty’s mobility scooter trundling along the sea front and stopped her car in the middle of the road. If anyone wanted to send a parking ticket to one of the last two people in Bournemouth, she’d argue about

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

Mars One

Punching Yegor on the nose wasn’t the most tactful way of expressing my objection.  I think ‘expressing an objection’ was the phrase they taught us in conflict management, but it was a while ago and I may have dozed off. 

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

A Man among the Masks

The man rolled out of the puddle and on to his hands and knees. A knee cracked against his temple as of legs danced past his head. He pushed himself up to his knees. A foot ended a leap on

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

Blast from the Past: The Endocrine Tyranny

In a change from Saturday’s usual hooptedoodles, it feels like a good day to remember an old story. I remember writing The Endocrine Tyranny in Cape Town’s Obz Café, trying to conjure the brutalist architecture of the English Midlands, so

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

Actaeon’s Landlady

Brian had been lodging with Diana for three weeks when he walked in on her posing in the nude. Her back was to him when he walked into the living room, so his first instinct was to try to slip

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

Diminuendo in Three Letters

I thrill to music I’ve never heard before. That’s the beginning of this week’s hooptedoodle. The rest of it is over on the website of Constellatory Tales, who have published Diminuendo in Three letters in full. Many thanks are due

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Posted in Publishing news, Saturday Hooptedoodle

Planning Permission

Mr Harrison welcomed Tim into his house and had him sat down with a cup of tea and a custard cream before Tim could get his recorder out, let alone ask a question. “I’m really glad your paper decided to

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

Fiction Review: The Reopened Cask by Richard Zwicker

My quest to read more of the type of short stories I write continues with Rich Zwicker’s latest collection, The Reopened Cask. The cask in question is the cask that was, at least at the beginning of Edgar Allen Poe’s

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Posted in Book review: fiction

A Shilling for a Copper

Graham was supposed to walk beside Bill, but somehow he was always half a pace behind. A brand new copper was ranked far behind a constable with twelve years on the job in his actions, so it felt right even

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

Jack Liberty’s Son is in the Heinous Concoction

It started in front of the Old Bailey. I stood on the flagstone pavement, surrounded by lawyers grabbing coffee from the street cafes. I imagined what I’d have been looking at if I’d stood there two hundred years earlier, when

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Posted in Publishing news
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