Authors Electric

I've  never been absolutely certain, as a writer, if I'm doing something useful or wasting mine and everybody else's time. Two big questions of our age, Donald Trump and Billy Brexit, have brought it into diamantine focus. I suppose I could boil it down, personally, to comedy or assassination. The best thing Bertolt Brecht could come up with about one piece of appalling behaviour by the government of East Germany he was pledged to support, was to remark dryly that it might be a good idea if they dissolved the people and elected another one. He recognised that assassination is not easy, whereas elections, rigged or otherwise are maybe not so hard. We've seen the future. It's orange Like most people reading this blog, I imagine, it was beyond my wildest nightmares that Trump would win. I’d half guessed the Brexit vote might happen, because the level of ‘debate’ was horrifying, and the level of downright dishonesty was worse. But Trump? Oh no, no no, no n...

          I do wish my mother wouldn’t answer the door or phone in my absence with, ‘Oh, she’s not in, she’s riding Tom.’            Most callers probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but I can guess that the postman probably smirked           Let me tell you about my love affair with Tom. He’s so tall I have to stand on a box to mount him. He’s very dark, apart from a couple of white socks, very male, and impossibly handsome but he knows this, so that’s possibly a minus. He always smells divine too, although I appreciate this is an acquired taste. He ran away with me once, and you might think that an incredibly romantic thing to do, but Tom’s idea of excitement was tearing hell for leather across open parkland whilst I danced that crazy line between exhilaration and terror.            Tom is...