Published in Nutshell Magazine. performed with live illustration by joanna layla at the alternative press festival 2012.
Across Britain in a million different homes the credits roll on a programme about holistic healing from around the world. In the last scene, Bruce Fisher, the show’s bucolic presenter, visited an African tribe where it is believed digging a hole in the red earth and addressing the goddess within will release a body’s internal demons. Continue reading “A Potted History”
An article on Bisexual Myths I wrote for Biscuit Magazine.
I conducted a study into bisexual myths using such reputable sources of information as Twitter and the indubitably accurate information acquiring process known as Asking Drunken Strangers In The Pub. The following results were gathered under stringent conditions and are awaiting full publication in The Lancet, any minute now, honest.
Continue reading “Bisexual myths and where to find them”
Short story performed as a duologue at a Bar Wotever spoken word night in 2013.
You should never have a name that starts with a O. You’re just asking for people to moan. Take my mum, she’ll go ‘Ohhh-zan, what’d you do that for?’ or ‘Ohhhh-zan why don’t you pick up after yourself?’ Fucks sakes. I want a name that no one can be disrespecting, and one that looks wicked when you graf it somewhere.
Continue reading “My name is what? My name is who?”
Happiness slouches at the reception desk, legs akimbo. The phone rings and her eyes roll. She monotones “Goodmorninghowcanihelp?” into the receiver before saying “no Dr Mohammed’s not here now, call back later” and jams the phone down. She rocks gently in the swivel chair, a nasal inhaler dangling from one nostril. Dr Mohammed is standing in front of her, patiently waiting to give her some scanning. Continue reading “Clinic”
It’s Friday. I’ve got my ticket. The jackpot is £112million. I could win it all.
“Have you got your ticket?” I ask Sue who sits across from me.
“Ticket for what?” Sue says. She looks at me.
“The Euromillions. It’s a rollover. You could win £112million. Aren’t you going to buy a ticket?”” Continue reading “Release The Balls”
It was an unusual name; that’s why she noticed it. The clean cut of the black Arial font against the whiteness of the low grade headed paper made the letters of his surname stand out. Dissanayake, James, G. But what was his name doing in this letter, which was addressed to her and dropped through her door over 15 years later? Continue reading “Moved On”
Mad Men is every quitter’s nightmare. Watching the ad men chink their tumblers to their success in their slick suits whilst lighting the fifth cigarette in five minutes of show time is hard. Even the bored blonde housewife taking drags from between soap-sudded Marigold gloves is enticing. A box-set binge is likely to get even the most ardent reformers twitching in the drawer for that white and gold box and freeing its gnarly prisoner. But sometimes a fag in the freezer, cryogenically frozen with ‘in case of emergency: smoke’ on it isn’t enough to keep you true. But if your willpower needs a boost there’s a cornucopia of pharmaceutical inventions to assist. Continue reading “On Christina Hendricks and quitting smoking”
Article on vajazzling for G3 Magazine March 2011.
Vajazzling, noun, a non-permanent beautification of the vagina achieved by applying gems to one’s waxed peach at a beauty salon or by way of a home fix kit. That’s what the Oxford English Dictionary might say, but there’s currently a lacklustre gap between ‘vainglorious’ and ‘valance’. Continue reading “Vajazzling”