writing – Page 3 – EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 23

I was getting into one of those slightly boozy text arguments with a pal, which are about nothing but generate bruises and ill will if you let them. Stupid stuff, growls and pokes which often come from misunderstandings or lack of clarity. I spat out a comment I really didn’t mean. Thinking on it ten minutes later, I realised it was nasty and unearned.

When I picked up my phone to try and minimise the damage, I saw the message hadn’t sent—a passing network error. I erased it, crafted a more reasoned reply, and the evening was back on track.

It’s easy to snap at folks, especially those you love, out of pride or a momentary burst of unexplainable spite. It’s never worth it. The great thing about chatting over text is that you can walk away, think, then say what you mean in the way that you mean it. The universe did me a favour yesterday. I’ll take that lesson with me.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 22

A tweak to my working hours for the foreseeable future means a 5am alarm call, 6am report for duty. Which sounds horrific. But I finish at 2pm, giving a nice fat chunk of the day in daylight, free as a bird to do whatever I choose–or more realistically, chores. Honestly, this is a trade-off I’m very happy with. The commute is easier, I’m able to get in and out of shops more quickly and efficiently. Most importantly, it’s valuable time I can spend with C, in the garden, with a drink.

Postman’s hours ain’t so bad when you look into it.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 21

Rain. Finally. Thank all the heavens. The introduction of a hosepipe ban, one focussed cruelly on a single Caversham postcode—ours—usually heralds wetter weather. But the grumbles of thunder and dramatic skyscapes didn’t seem to give out like they promised. Until Thursday, when over the course of a half hour during drinks-o’clock the lights dimmed and the atmosphere thickened to the texture of a damp sponge. The deluge, when it came, was powerful enough to bounce off the stones.

Now, everything feels fresh and green again. There’s a mackerel sky up there this morning, and the light is limpid and gold. Coming off a week when I deliberately did very little to reset my poor brain, the rain felt like a signal and a kind of blessing. Things can and will be crappy, but nothing lasts forever. Patience and fortitude will finally bring the rain to your garden.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Super-Fantastic

It’s easy to lose faith. As a fan, reader and outspoken advocate for the medium of comics, it can be a struggle to argue your corner when folks will only see the worst parts of your favourite things. Worse, when they confuse the medium with the genre and offer up their gotchas based on prejudice, misinformation or plain ignorance.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 20

It has been another—entertaining week, with existential fear for the future mangled up with some really rather nice moments. I’d elaborate but to be frank it’s probably best to put the whole thing in my rear-view mirror and move on.

I’m writing this on the train to That London for tomorrow’s Diamond League athletics meet at the London Stadium. I’ve booked next week off (pal Ryan sweetly called it a half-term break, which seems about right) and have fun things planned, including two trips to the cinema, a big family birthday and C and I’s 31st weddiversary. Time doth fly—doesn’t seem like more than a couple of months since the last one. The lesson for this week: look ahead and don’t stress about the things you can’t control.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 19

It feels to me that any period of hot weather lasting more than a couple of days invites comparisons to the summer of 1976—six weeks of unbroken sunshine, leading to drought so bad that domestic water supplies were restricted and, in some places, people were forced to rely on public standpipes. I was nine, and remember little of the obvious problems. It just seemed like a nice time to hang out in trees and eat ice lollies.

The point about 1976 was how unusual it was, especially for us Brits who see any two-day stretch of sunshine as manna from heaven. That’s already changing. Records for dry and wet weather are broken every year. I hope we don’t see another 1976, but I can’t say I’d be surprised by a summer where we have to queue in the streets with buckets for the morning cup of tea.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 18

A week full of drama and astonishing changes in fortune, none of which I can sensibly talk about in a public-facing forum. That sounds like a big fat tease, I know, and I hesitate to even mention it. But at least I’m entering the weekend in a slightly more stable frame of mind than on Monday night. The garden, as ever, remains a place to regain perspective and get grounded. I pulled a handful of gherkins from the plants this week, and the squashes we planted last Saturday are already shouldering up out of the bed. Now those are events I’m happy to celebrate loudly.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 17

We’ve finally hit a point in the garden where most of the heavy work is done and we can relax into the space a little. We’ve spent an awful lot of time, energy and yes, money, to get here. I shudder to think how much we’ve coughed up just for compost. But it’s worth every penny and bead of sweat to sit out at the end of a hard day in the sunshine, watching bees and butterflies hover and swoop, jackdaws and blue tits hop around the feeders while red kites make bombing runs overhead. The garden kept us sane over lockdown. Now, in an ever more lunatic world, it’s a truly safe space.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Fire in The Hills

I believe that human ingenuity is only matched by the equally human capacity for cruelty. Think about what we have achieved over the millennia—the great works, the stunning, almost incomprehensible technological leaps. Then think about how they were achieved, and the terrible choices we made to enable that progress.

Tin Crown In A Paper Bag

I’m still working on a piece about our time in Shropshire—you should see that next week. It’s proving a little more difficult to get a grip on, but I think I’ve finally figured out the structure and key points. Hopefully it’ll be worth the wait.

Instead, let me offer up a piece of original short fiction. Reading Writers celebrated the results of our Spring Competition this week. Judged by author Gill Thompson, the theme was A Terrible Loss. Clearly the notion resonated, as we had the biggest ever response to a competition prompt. My entry, in a stunning reversal of fortunes from last year when I won both writing competitions, did not place—which I’m relieved about. It’s a take on a famous tragic hero of literature. See if you can figure out who I’m lovingly parodying.