Tag Archives: Bradford
Supermodel, with Balls
It was raining. Hard. Long-unused umbrellas opened like reluctant flowers, showering hurrying heads with dust and desiccated spiders. My new friends had driven me into Haworth for the evening from the refurbished cotton mill where I was staying. Nestled between … Continue reading
‘She’s leaving home…’
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Archaeoman away for some weeks and the muse’s voice inaudible. The frenzy wasn’t quite as bad as usual in the run-up to his departure, more of a prolonged shower than an … Continue reading
Help! Nuclear meltdown! We’re all going to die!
Two rows of women sit either side of a small conveyor belt. I say women, but I don’t think of myself as ‘woman’ yet. I’m eighteen and a half. On each desk is a grey telephone console with a row … Continue reading
From tainted tongue and temporary aunt to blood and custard creams
It was a biscuit that did it. Reminded me, of my ‘gap’ year, Yorkshire style. Anachronistic to call it a ‘gap’ year, really, the term hadn’t yet been coined. Most folks going to university went straight there – unless they … Continue reading
MEMOIRS OF A HUSK 