David Copperfield is one of the greatest novels ever written, something I’m in the process of discovering. But here’s a bit of free advice: If you’re challenging yourself to read as many novels in a year as possible, don’t pick the thousand word behemoth, David Copperfield. It will mess up your statistics. In fact try to avoid most of Dickens. Advice over.

The last sixteen-ish weeks (two weeks taken off for holiday, one for a family event — give me a break), I’ve taken part in Parkrun — a five kilometre weekly race held every Saturday at 9pm. There are thousands of Parkruns held every week across a many countries, including: Germany, France, Canada, Nambia, Italy, Norway, Russia…many countries. I’m not going to list them all, that would be dull, but what I’m trying to say is pick a country and there’s probably a Parkrun there. To further emphasise the previous point, here are some statistics: There are 1451 Parkruns worldwide every…

My mother often used to say to me, “You’re not big and you’re not clever,”  and this short story is a bit like that. I wrote “Thomas” about six years ago and I post it here not because it’s award winning material, or even something I’m particularly proud of, but because despite its short length, its naivety, and it’s obvious flaws, there’s just something I really like about it. Thomas is simple, sentimental, and slow paced, but the core idea — an old man just trying to exist and failing to understand the significance of the events going on around…

There’s a second hand bookshop just outside the entrance to my job– a dangerous concoction of cheap books and easy access which often results in me returning home with armfuls of yellowing tomes — my wife isn’t a fan. But this particular bookshop gets two things just right that most bookshops don’t; one, they don’t mix the science-fiction with the fantasy — a classic mistake that will immediately see an end to my patronage; and two, they have a really quick rotation of books, which means there’s always the chance of picking up some lost classic. During my lunch break…

This isn’t a review, it couldn’t possibly be. Reviewing Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein would be like attempting to give a critical appraisal of The New Testament. But did want to write something about what it’s like to read Frankenstein when the story and characted have had 200 years to percolate in the creative minds a million writers, film makers, and TV producers and how the view of those who have never read the book differ from the original text. Frankenstein is one of those odd books which is so engrained in modern culture that everyone thinks they know the story, but…