When my brother came back to Norwich he usually wanted to be taken to Dunston Common, just outside Norwich. This poem, written ten years ago, is not about him, but he is in it. Branches of long-suffering oakspiral down, nudging damp…
Read: Dunston Common
It has been the strangest of Christmases. My brother Andrew, who had a disrupted life and was never at peace, is at peace now. He died suddenly of choking, followed by cardiac arrest, on December 23. He is in a…
A butcher was the only survivorwhen the White Ship,decked out for a reality showand with alcohol to spare, hit beefy rocks:no sense of direction, so long ago The king’s son – an Instagram hero – went for gloryturning back to save his…
I am unlikely to be invited to upmarket functions. But if I were, and if, while minding my own business, I was approached by someone – a lady-in-waiting, say – who inquired about my name, background and family history, I should…