Apricots // 2 Dec 2012

The TV is bringing news from Homs. It is not good. It never seems to be, these days. She shakes her head, wrings out the dishcloth and folds it over the cold metal of the sink’s edge. Her nail polish, she notes, stirring the young jam – as the news anchor reels off a dark … Continue reading

King’s horses and King’s men // 1 Dec 2012

You know what I mean. The time you fucked up. The time you fell. The time, as you’d say, you dropped the ball. We thought you were something more. We thought you were different. I know there was more than once! But I think you and I both know what I’m talking about. You can … Continue reading

The shower scene // 1 June 2012

She stood, letting the steam envelop her, hearing the drumming of the hot water thunder in her ears, watching as heavy drops, almost solid in their purpose, slammed onto the stone floor, smashing and shattering around her legs. Warm puddles collected on the terracotta tiles, her suntanned feet pale against their burnt depth. Her pink … Continue reading

280 women playing netball // 29 May 2012

I have never seen anything like it before. This must be what a culture shock feels like. 280 women are prancing across 20 netball courts, acres of spandex flying, garish streaks of colour flashing across the pock-marked surface like an unsettled rainbow vomiting. Tippy-toes and wobbling thighs, high ponytails and, inexplicably, socks pulled up. A … Continue reading