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Our Albion

The story of a man with a hammer, some nails and an old house to use them on…

Big bad Basil and her good egg

You could not, with a straight face, say that Basil is a small hen.

She is noticeably larger than Sybil in all dimensions. Her legs are particularly robust, and she is even a slightly different shape. In…

Smoke. Just smoke. So much smoke.

We are the neighbours from hell

I turned back to the fire… hypnotised by the glowing embers.

A two storey manor house, its facade dominated by mismatched chimneys and ivy, the rafters at one end exposed by bomb damage.

He’s back!

The fox has returned.

An orange and grey fox sits on a wall in London, looking intently — even insolently — at the photographer.

Foxy

“Would you please wee in the garden.”

A young girl in a witch costume, in a field, accompanied by a pumpkin, tends a cauldron made from an old flowerpot.

Horror House

The moonlight glistened on the white satin bustier she wore under her cloak

A lounge, spacious for London, with a nice looking floor, paint swatches on the panelling and a few pieces of furniture.

On entering Our Albion

I stood in front of the door, heavy oak, varnish peeling and faded to gray…

Rubble from the wall lies on the floor, underneath where the sink should be.

I’ll just put my hand here for a little leverage, and… oh

I was naked, bent on an awkward angle…

While I sorrow for the owners of the faces in the lift*

The toilet seat was cutting into my fingers…

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