I am itchy. I scratch like a monkey. I locate one itch. I scratch it. It feels good. But then another pops up somewhere else. I get it. Then another elsewhere. Endlessly. The doctors call it eczema. At

We are all overcommunicated to the point of undercommunication. Rick West.

It would seem that proving I'm not a bot by holding a piece of paper up in front of me with my name and date on is the thing to do.

...continued from yesterday. Memory is a strange fish. Like those creatures that live at great depths, who learn to adapt in order to survive such extreme environments. Before writing this piece I’d buried

True story. The names have been hidden to protect my neck. Several years ago I made a feature film. My second. I had written and produced the first so when this director, who lived in the same small town

As kids, my brother, sister and I were smacked with a hair brush till it broke. My mum even threatened us with a sjambok, a rhino’s tail (we lived in Africa till I was three.) It was rarely used, if ever,

It’s a White-out Countrywide. And because we have such poor facilities to deal with snow in this country the whole thing closes down with just a few flakes. Laughable really. This is the worst/best snow

Who are you? I know who I am and I’ll tell you. But I’ve been nervous about opening up to you. Maybe I’m just a coward. Time will tell. I feel like I’ve got a lot to say. Been a long time quiet. Truth