This “short story” that I was going to knock out before getting back to my novel is growing into a behemoth. At 12000 words it’s thoroughly a novelette, and heading squarely for novella-land.

Shadows. New carpet on the landing at work, and the morning sun streaming in.

Hard Rock Calling. Bruce in 30.

First time I’ve ever been sad on getting the latest Iain Banks novel.

Twenty years of Meltdown and I’ve never been before. But tonight, Yoko Ono POB.

This one’s in memory of Banksie.

Sunsetting.

Onions & garlic sizzling.

Can you tell what it is?

The trees are looking lush now.