(22) Kit picks at a plate of cheese and pickles and crab stuffed into pastry balls garnished with brown dill. We are at an apex of a cacophony of second-hand voices and shrill laughter and the hearty crab-stained chuckles of too-old-to-be-trendy insurance brokers make my ear drums sting. There’s a group of four men with…
I can’t remember the name of the nature park this tree was in. It was on the second day of our motorbike tour from Da Lat to Nha Trang and we stopped at so many incredible places that the name of this area has slipped my mind. Through the hole you can see the side…
Day one in Vietnam was like a kaleidoscope. Before this trip I’d never left Europe. There were sights and colours and smells and sounds that I’d never experienced before and I felt like everything deserved a picture. I’ve narrowed down day one to these four shots. I think they capture the essence of the experiences…
(21) “I told you to stay here,” Kit says when I come in the door. “I wanted some air.” “You look better,” but when I look in the mirror I know she is lying. She knows I know she’s lying. A lie shared is closer to the truth. “Thanks.” “Do you want to go to…
rolly cigarettes on a park bench you tell me that we shouldn’t be smoking smoking is bad for the heart folding picnic chairs and spoiled sandwiches you tell me that we shouldn’t be out when the clouds are grey grey cloud means rain dirty plates and greasy pound notes you tell me that…
One of the only sunsets I managed to capture whilst in Vietnam. This was taken on Vung Tau beach and the bay was full of ships. In the distance you could see several oil rigs, and a lot of the “petrocash” flows into Vung Tau city. The sea was full of Vietnamese cooling off at…
(20) When I wake Kit is stood over me. “I’m going to work. Stay here, okay? There’s Carbonara in the fridge. Here’s some water and some books to read. Stay here. I will be back as soon as I can. Stay here,” and she kisses me on the forehead and leaves. The second time I…
(19) I open the door. Kit’s sat on the stairs and I know the tears are for me. “Where have you been?” it’s the obvious question, one I’ve prepared for, but I still draw double deuce and she stares at me, “Where have you been?” “Kit I -” “A meeting with an agent. Then what.…
I used to despise poetry. I refused to read it, let alone write it. For three years I studied poetry at university, because for whatever reason, I was half decent at analysing the stuff. Plagued by “this happens because of this,” or, “don’t write that, you can’t do that in a poem unless you’re experienced,”…
Alders are very suited to the site they like the wet ground. Rattling train song. Echoes of a pneumatic drill, machine-gun fire. Monetize the wild, the felled trees, butterfly souls, we are greedy, we eat too much. Lech, the ruins of a firework fire. A single peg on a scrubs arm,…
