• The Day That Went Missing is a heart-rending story as intensely personal as any tragedy and as universal as loss. It is about how we make sense of what is gone. Most of all, it is an unforgettable act of recovery for a brother.

    Jun 16,
  • The Day That Went Missing is a heart-rending story as intensely personal as any tragedy and as universal as loss. It is about how we make sense of what is gone. Most of all, it is an unforgettable act of recovery for a brother.

    Feb 22,
  • I had an email from Dru that wasn't from Dru.  It was her daughter, ambushing Dru's email account like a policeman at the door  - Dru had spent the night at A & E, she was being kept in hospital, she had to have an operation.  This news came across like smoke signals from the young:  the smoke was bad but the  signals were cheery.  The message ended:  P.s dru’s mobile is out of charge so don’t try to ring it L What were the Indians trying to say?  How bad is L? I wouldn't say I panicked, but I googled Bristol Hospitals and started with the Royal Infirmary, thinking I could work down from there.  Right first time.  They did indeed have a Drusilla

    Nov 26,
  • Dru tells me, with all due respect, that I haven't yet developed my blogger's voice.  She means that I write like I always write.  I haven't managed that intimate but off-beat tone that she does so well herself.  But then Dru has unfair advantages as a blogger.  She does loads of stuff.  She's been having an adventure-a-day, against doctor's orders, since before blogs were first used as solid fuel.  Take a look.  This is how it should be done. Instead of adventures, I make a habit of sitting at my desk doing nothing much, though I do have an idea for an art installation that will be a speeded-up film of my day at work.  The lucky audience will get to see exactly how

    Nov 12,
  • As a sportsman, I am a member of the ' -y' family.  I'm related to Straussy and Backy.  In our small sub-species, Homo Olympiens, there are three primary families.  We are joined by the '-o' family (Wilko, Johnno) and the '-ers' family (Aggers, Athers). We get along famously, because these sporting nicknames are names stripped down.  They are names in the dressing room in their jockstraps.  They're no respecters of names.   On the team-sheet nobody escapes - the system is automatic and egalitarian, and amid the mud and studs everyone is quickly allocated to one of the families. The same does not happen in individual sports.  One of the horrors of golf coverage on the TV is the smarmy use of first names -

    Nov 09,