Category: Uncategorized

Britishness: a disclaimer

Do you know how the Isle of Man voted in the EU referendum? Do you know how the people of the – unfairly stereotyped as — backward island in the Irish sea felt? You may guess, but do you actually

Face in the hole

You stick your head through and get a photo taken, if there’s one thing that’s everywhere at the seaside it the sea. But also these. But they don’t have a proper name. A few questions on the internet and a

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Progress, at last

These are the graphs from Scrivener (the writing program we both use) that shows that we’ve both now reached the end of the writing of the big old first draft: Celebrations are now ensuing, and we’ll have a proper completed

A Pier Review Xmas story

It’s not cannon, and it’s not true. But here’s a little festive short story for you: Pirates of Clacton [PDF] Pirates of Clacton [RTF] Pirates of Clacton [epub]  

Home again home again

After pushing the car to start it in Cardiff, and being too frightened to stop until we reached home even to buy water or food, we for some reason took A roads home up to Gloucester. In pure synchronicity the radio kicked into PJ Harvey’s The Last…

Penarth, Perrin?

Goddam Europeans take me back to beautiful England

We had a discussion last night as to why we took an anti-clockwise route. I think it was because we didn’t want to hit Weston and then spend the first couple of hundred pages talking about Wales in what is really a pean to a bygone England. It doe…

Car trouble

Worried this has all been too easy? A fourteen-day challenge tossed off in a mere eleven day? After a dissapointing trip to Anglesey, to a Beaumaris pier that’s being worked on (new struts Davd who works on the ‘i can see it from here’ Bangor pier…

Goodnight Campers

Pontins was everything we expected it to be, with one bizarre addition. Edgehill Uni have run out our student accommodation and have struck a deal with Pontins’s new owners (Britania, the firm that own the Adelphi hotel in Liverpool) to house 250 …

The Last of England

Southport, our last English pier. And like that Ford Maddox Brown painting we’re huddled in flimsy shelter against the wind. We to are about to leave our homeland, although luckily just for one night. We can’t check into Pontins till 4pm so Danny …