Tag Archives: writing

All changed

I was working in the Royal Victoria Hospital. I’d been given a room on the second floor of Bostock House – or ‘Bostick House’ as it’s known to the regulars. It used to be the nurses’ accommodation until someone burned … Continue reading

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Snapshot

I got a few strange looks. This didn’t surprise me, because my activity was a wee bit unusual. Photographers tend to be forgiven their abnormal behaviour, but in my case, today’s photographic expedition had been to get pictures of some … Continue reading

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Stunning Stunts

It feels exotic to be here relaxing on a bench in the Ormeau Park in the middle of the week, and I am savouring it. It is late July, and unseasonably warm and sunny in Belfast. The customary overcast skies … Continue reading

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Close Shave

I was in the barber’s shop when I heard the news report on the radio. Some guy in a white van had gone crazy in Cardiff, using his vehicle as a weapon. He’d done four seemingly random hit and run … Continue reading

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Reservation Blues

There is a stretch of the M1 motorway outside Belfast which comes dramatically to life in Spring. Every year in May I look forward to seeing the flowers. They announce the arrival of warm weather, and lift my spirits with … Continue reading

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Shop till you Drop

It wouldn’t do to be in a hurry: there is a queue of cars just to get into the car park. I drive round for ages before I spot some people that look as if they are getting ready to … Continue reading

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Magic Tree

October was starting to get cold, so on my way to the child-minder’s house I had dropped in to the petrol station on the Ravenhill Road to get turf for the fire and some groceries. I was numbingly tired, so … Continue reading

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Teenage Kicks

We are heading for the Botanic Gardens on a Sunday walk, leisurely, hand in hand. There are dry autumn leaves to be kicked; they have collected in eddying drifts on the pavement of Ava Avenue. At the Annadale Flats we … Continue reading

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Incendiary

There used to be a bandstand in Cornmarket. It was mostly a home for pigeons and a place for a late-night carryout; the square was quiet, and the bandstand provided shelter from the interminable Belfast rain. I never saw a … Continue reading

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The Boy in the Bubble

My daughter has brought me a present home from school. I have a fever and am coughing up fluorescent green lumps. I am stuck in bed, sweating for all the wrong reasons. Antibiotics are prescribed, but I am no better … Continue reading

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