Lunch at the Museum with Miss Klara

The list of classes and tutors offered by Mr Dupont’s School for European Languages is printed on small blue cards of blotting paper. Yellow Pages say this list is available on request. But sometimes it can be hard to ask for something if you are not invited to it in the first place, like an estranged mother to a tenth birthday party.

Read more →

Want to Escape the City?

I’d met A on the District Line earlier that evening. My mother disapproved of public transport. She disapproved of A. She approved of C, though, because C took taxis. C also played podcasts during sex—about cricket at first, and then about rugby, because cricket fucked with his pace. C was a deeply boring man. I slept with S to make C leave me. It worked. C and S are brothers. Read more →

#Storysunday looks at a post- Brexit future: Porn Brownies

The walls are yellow, not magnolia. Nicotine finger stained yellow. I spray my hair, cheap stuff, smells like petrol. Push back, pin, twist the fringe, spray again. A wire hive on my head. Swirl the whiskey, cheap stuff, same colour as the walls. Gasp, grip the table, shudder as the yellow fluid runs. Glitter and gold, that’s what it is darling. Read more →