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Winter in a Badger Sett Won’t Me Regarding my first property: After careful consideration, I’ve decided that a hole in the ground is my very best option. I’ll pay my deposit to the badgers, hand over my passport, and enter, for a season, to the Country of Worms. I’ll take care of these things expeditiously. I’m as bright as birch bark, and winter in a badger sett won’t me. There’ll be no holly ...

Charles Dickens passed away on 9th June 1870, leaving The Mystery of Edwin Drood unfinished. Here, I explore the disappearance at the heart of Boz’s final novel…

Stopped Clock Wood My teacher must’ve seen something in me. She told me that great engines whirr inside the Moon, and that inspiration beams down from the satellite into every growing skull. So do, child, try to get some sleep… She’d quote from Shakespeare, tell me she’d see me tomorrow, when I’ll be “creeping like snaile” with “Satchell And shining morning face”. She’d be disappointed to hear ...

Bodhrán and Ghost Found you by the brook, mate. Watched you druid through the trees. I’ve been here all summer: most evenings, in lambent dusk. I’d carry on, but an academic’s year ends when the summer does, begins again with Michaelmas term: spires and scarves, train tickets stamped September; students dressed in tweed coats one day, trackie tops the next. There’s a drummer on the bridge, bodh...