LAST MANGO IN PARIS

So, the whole idea of this site was to build a home I could store all of my stuff in. But the older I get, the more keen I am to chuck what’s past out. So, instead of a comprehensive overview of everything I’ve ever written (structured into stories, essays, poems, texts, blah blah blah) I’m leaving you with this:

“As a young man, my dad walked from the southern most point of South America to Alaska.

I was born somewhere in the middle.

Every day was a different adventure.
I didn’t know where I was going.
Except North.”

that is not true, by the way.

also, you can have this little poem. It’s all about London, where I live and love.

Broseph and Bredwin on the D-L-R
Travelling from Beckton Park en route to Poplar
Broseph laughs when Bredwin swipes his pre-pay Oysta
He says “There’s no point in paying, blood – it ain’t that far.”
Bredwin looks at Broseph like he’s chatting rah rah rah
But Broseph carries on, like “You’re a mug for paying, stah!”
The last thing they expected was a D-L-inspecta
Broseph got a fine, but now he drives a grimy car