OK, so here’s the opening 1,500 words of The Great Weight of Ordeals. The story is set in 2005, at the end of an emotional summer for London. I hope you like it and it whets your […]
Grandad, slumped in his tatty armchair, turns slowly to face me as I walk in with Mum.
‘Is that my favourite Grandson?’ he says, his voice thin.
‘It’s your only Grandson.’
The reassuring aroma of freshly-cut grass and freshly-baked pies wafts across the ground. George watches on from square leg as the spinner stands at the end of his mark, tossing the ball from hand to hand, a reflex as natural as breathing, contemplating his next move.
So after the relative success of my villanelle last week (by relative success, I mean no one told me to burn my computer and kill myself), I’ve had a go at an ‘Italian’ sonnet.
The 199 tracks the river west until Greenwich, whereupon it peels off south to Catford. George likes the look of Greenwich. He imagines it the sort of place Adam might be living had he succumbed to family life.