A favourite of mine was ‘Hairy Dog Stories’ a series of shorts I created for Nick Toons.
Seagulls aren’t like other animals. They are malignant, plotting, conniving, nasty creatures…
“Imagine the scene: the sun is shining and the birds are singing. You’re on your bike, riding at that perfect pace: not too slow so you’re burning carbs, not too fast so you take in the vista around you. Your freshly-shaved legs are looking good in perfectly fitting shorts and your tan lines are maturing nicely – in fact, it would be easy to be mistake you for a pro. You chat with fellow riders who are great company, while other road users happily, safely and respectfully keep their distance. The only thing on your mind is what type of coffee to order when you arrive at the friendly little café that lies just beyond the crest of the next rewardingly challenging incline. Too good to be true? Not necessarily.”
I’m well aware that coffee is no real substitute for genuine sleep. But when a decent stretch of sleep isn’t on offer, due to my baby son teething / having a cold / being hungry / doing a secret experiment on how long sleep-deprived parents can last before losing the plot, coffee is a great plan B.
I’ve started to sound like my dad, I even cough like him. Some say you spend the first decades of your life worrying you’ll turn into you father, and the the next decades worrying you won’t…
I don’t know about you, but I’m still finding ‘Zoom’ calls tricky…
‘Write about what you know.’
It’s one of those truisms that is so widely disseminated nobody ever stops to think if it’s actually good advice. Personally, as a concept, I’m not sold…
“After a brief journey of well-rehearsed small talk, we came to a halt. Stepping from the coach onto an ocean of gleaming gravel, I surveyed what was to be our overnight dwelling: The Beach House. Such a pleasing, quintessentially English façade: the type of place where Miss Marple would have lived, if she’d won the lottery.
It had been a short journey, but it seemed we’d traveled back in time to an age of opulence. It pleased me greatly. The paintwork on the quirky windows and doors was as fresh as the sea air. A well-oiled, front door swung open and our gregarious host swept onto the driveway.
“You’re here, you’re here. So glad you could make it.”
As I took in The Beach House, beautifully finished in the Arts and Crafts style, I had to conclude that so was I.”
It seems to me that the candidates on The Apprentice are getting worse. I mean if the express intention of the show was to bring together a collection of vapid egomaniacs with all the business acumen of a mouldy Tupperware set, then I’d understand.
As a nation we’ve a very unhealthy relationship with a little bit of sun. As soon as a ray (or two) escapes from behind a cloud we strip down to our underwear and attempt to barbecue ourselves – just in case that’s all we’re getting until next year. I’m convinced there are thousands of men who wear Speedos under their clothes all the time (other types of swimming trunks are available, apparently) so they’re prepared if the summer arrives during their lunch break. It seems these fellas actually enjoy their masochistic attempt to show just how unkind Mother Nature can be, and embrace the waves (light, not water).