Many years ago she started to play and I would dance, her fingers and my feet

It lumbered up towards the peer, on all fours, step-by-step. It had been planning for this

I’m out of breath from crying, the tears and my heart running as fast as the

Vincent Goyle was working harder than usual, potting new plants for the hotel garden for the

Sat at her desk, mind supposedly on the job of creating exciting copy out of drivel,

I have been in this dark box for so long that dust covers every surface of

It had brought such joy to Oliver’s life. This old, battered instrument was the piano that

‘Christ, how can I get away. He’s falling behind, but I’m running out of pier. I

My god I can’t believe my life, it’s been one of those days… Drizzle, wet pavements, jostling