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Writing — Yeah? About What?

Hahaha! What a nobhead. I wrote that first post. Gave myself a proper cheer, didn’t I? Too fucking early, mate. Too early by a long way. What the hell was I going to write about next? This waffle you’re reading now? That’s me. Filling in. While I think. Nah, I’m kidding. I know what this is about. I typed the bloody title, didn’t I? Yeah, you’re gonna write. Nice. About what, though? Fiction? Non-fiction? A bit of both? And while you’re wrecking your head thinking about that… This blog is easy. It’s about writing. The craft. The pains in the arse of figuring out what to write. All that. But what are you gonna write about? The fiction/non-fiction question is easy. Do both. If you want. Or not. But both are different disciplines. And that’s good. Aha — I’m going to mess you right up now… See the way I write this?...

Andy Writes - And So Can You

Oh fuck. I’ve done it now, haven’t I? A whole blog. For me to bang on about writing. Nah, I ain’t doing it. Proper wrong for me to think… Hang on. Think what? I can’t teach people how to write? Well, piss off mate, that’s not what this blog is for. Now I’ve had a word with myself. What I can do is share bits and pieces that are useful — because I found out by doing it wrong first. Fair deal? I fuck up so you don’t have to. Nah, I can’t do it— Why the hell not? I’m a 61-year-old writer from Coventry, England. I’ve been at this for years. And I am not an expert. Or even much good at it. At the dark times, anyway. And since this is me being honest? The dark times are most of the time. Writing is fucking hard. I’m not...

The Chippy Queue

Mags shuffled on the wet lino. Rain hammered the glass. The lad scowled behind the counter. —Cod and chips twice, love. And a saveloy. —We're out. Fat bastard from the estate got the last six. She laughed, short and sharp.  —Typical. Our Dean'll moan. The peroxide woman next to her, leaned in.  —You still with that fuckin’ useless git? —On and off. Mostly off when the giro's gone. The lad slapped the wrapped fish down. Mags paid in warm coins from her pocket. —Ta. Outside, Dean waited under the awning, collar up. They walked home in the rain, saying nowt.

The Greasy Spoon - Batch Edition

—Wotcha, Bob. —Alright, Joe. —At least the bugger’s open today, I did wonder with it being Good Friday an’ all. —Yeah. I was chuffed to see it open. —That Larkin boozer is alright, ain’t it? —Yeah. Wouldn’t be in a rush to go back. —’Ow come? —Too bloody yampy in there. —Ah yeah, I know what yer mean. —Here, Bob, listen to this. —What’s up? —I had a bacon batch, right? —Yeah. Standard. So what? —Ah, I had to explain it. —Eh? —Yeah. I was with a bunch of blokes from around the place. Yer know, Brum, Wolvo, places like that. —Ah yeah. —We were having a bite to eat. They’re veterans like me. —Gotcha. —So I says, “I’ll have a bacon batch.” —What happened? —You’d think I’d spoken in a foreign language. —Couldn’t they work it out? —Nah. Well, one of the Brummie lads did. He says, “It’s alright,...

Tolaria: a files-first Markdown app for Mac designed for Git workflows and AI agents

Tolaria is a free, open-source desktop app for macOS and Linux built by Luca Rossi, the author of the Refactoring newsletter. Rossi created Tolaria to manage his own collection of 10,000+ notes. That origin story matters. The feature set feels like it grew out of solving real problems for a real workflow; not something assembled by a product manager or stitched together from an AI roadmap. At its core, Tolaria is a very 2026-style Markdown editor; modern, opinionated, and not trying to clone Notion or compete head-on with Obsidian. The sweet-spot user is someone who: 1. Already lives in Markdown and Git 2. Is experimenting with tools like Claude Code or other AI agents in their daily workflow 3. Wants their knowledge base to be part of their AI context instead of isolated from it 4. Treats data portability as a non-negotiable requirement Tolaria’s Core PrinciplesThese are deliberate design choices...

The Pitt and the Reality of Doctors

Earlier this evening, my wife was bored and I suggested she check out The Pitt. We both love The Bear, and I've read that its competence porn like The Bear, and its been impossible for me avoid the fandom regarding Taylor Dearden's performance as autistic physician Dr. Mel King. It's rare for there to be positive representations of autistic individuals that down lean into the Rain Man route, so I knew my wife would appreciate that. She watched the first episode and loved it. She told me she thought I'd love it and I really want to. There is just something holding me back, and that is my years of experience in hospitals. I started The Pitt when it first debuted, and I was really excited to watch it, but I turned it off within a few minutes. I mean, it's television, so its obviously not a realistic portrayal, the...

🔗 Sourcefeed

Thisness a quick post about Sourcefeed, a new endeavor by Terry Godier of Current RSS Reader fame. I'm not gonna lie, I'm fascinated as hell by this. Sourcefeed allows you to set up an RSS feed. No website, no bullshit, just a single RSS feed for subscribers to follow. The past couple of years, I've been trying to think of how blogging evolves. I've thought about password protecting blogs and membership circles, and honestly nothing really seemed like a natural evolution until today. I love the idea of bypassing a website and unless I'm wrong, bypass quite a bit of AI scraping, and going straight to the reader's feedreader of choice. Of course, this comes with the downfall of your feed only growing through word of mouth, because discovery would be difficult. Sourcefeed does have a discovery page, which no doubt would come in handy, but I'm still not 100%...

The Greasy Spoon - 28th April 2026

—They’re a fucking let down, that lot, Bob. —Who? —MPs —Ah, the vote on Starmer yer mean? —Yep. Shite. —There was no way that vote was gonna carry with a a Labour majority in the House. —Don’t get all technical, I wanna ‘ave a bloody good moan. —Right. Good win for the City. 3-1 against Wrexham. That’ll do. —Yer right, but stop deflecting. —Yeah, but fuckin’ politics, mate. Boring. How yer feeling now? —Shite. —Sleeping any better? —Nope. Did yer see that McSweeney fella? Fucking hell, yer wouldn’t want to play tig with him. —Eh? —The amount of dodging and weaving he does. —I didn’t bother watching it. —I turned it off. There’s a limit to how many times yer can shout BULLSHIT at yer own tele. —Ha! I can imagine yer doing that. —The King is doing alright with the Donald though, it seems. —Ah now, that’s an important...

For RSS eyes only

Terry Godier (of Current RSS reader app fame) has made a new tool, Sourcefeed, which he calls a ‘pop-up RSS service’ enabling you to create a site-less feed of posts which can only be accessed by a/ any feed reader. Mine is here - For RSS eyes only.

Leaving

The bus was stuck in traffic, rain hammering the roof. George with Pauline, they were soaked from the dash to the stop. —Fuckin’ weather, he said —Yeah, she replied.  He looked at her. She had a new haircut, Gorgeous. —Still leavin’ me?  —Yeah, Friday. —Friday, he repeated. The bus lurched forward an inch and stopped.  —I’ll miss ya, he said. Pauline turned. Her eyes were red but dry. —I know, I’ll miss ya too. But I have to go. Back to silence. George nudged her. —Will ya write? She chuckled. —Course I will, ya muppet. The bus moved. They didn’t.

There’s no understanding or explaining this, there is only being this. You can’t study to be what you already are. You don’t need to understand anything in order to breathe or beat your heart.

“Flowers fall even though we love them, and weeds grow even though we dislike them.” — Dōgen Zenji

The Lawn

John looks out of his window. The garden. It’s there, being a garden. And the lawn? The grass is growing like mad. He goes downstairs to make a brew. Orla is looking out of the kitchen window. —Lawn needs a cut, she says. —I’ll get to it. —It’s dry today. He’s not daft. That’s how women tell you to do things. —Yeah, might do it tomorrow, he says. —It’s forecast to rain. —Is it? He checks on the Met Office app. She’s right. He sighs like a deflating tractor tyre. —I’ll do it now, then. —Good. He hauls the mower from the garage. The lawn is a steep hill. The mower moans into life, scaring the birds. The grass is damp. Uphill is a struggle. The wet clippings jam the mower. He clears the green sludge, empties the bin, and continues the battle, his hands turning green. He stops mowing....

“You don’t solve a koan. It solves you.” — Nothing and Everything Matters, So Act Accordingly, Michael McCaffrey

Beyond optimism and pessimism — Viktor Frankl’s Yes To Life, The Marginalian.

携帯電話のプランを見直しました。 私は日本通信と楽天モバイルの二社と契約しています。音声通信は日本通信です。モバイル通信は楽天モバイルです。以前は日本通信で全て賄っていましたが、通信速度が遅すぎてWi-Fiが繋がらない場所では使い物にならなくなったので楽天モバイルと契約しました。通信可能なエリアに不安があったため二社を併用することにしました。日本通信は1GBまで通信可能なプランで最低限のコストで維持していました。2年くらい使用しましたが、通信費の見直しのために日本通信に一本化することを決意して、まずは日本通信のプランを20GBに変更しました。結果的にいうと失敗でした。モバイル通信を日本通信に切り替えると通信速度が明らかに低下しました。みんなのネット回線速度（https://minsoku.net/）で計測すると「かなり遅い」と表示されるくらい低速でした。比較のために楽天モバイルも計測しましたが、明らかにこちらの速度が上でした。 Wi-Fiが繋がる環境下であれば問題はないのですが。そうではない場所で使用する際には多少の我慢が必要になります。 楽天モバイルだけを使うのでもいいのですが、私が住んでいる地方ではまだ繋がらない場所も存在するため、もしもの時の保険として二つの異なる回線を保持するのが最良の選択だと今でも信じています。 二社を併用すると日本通信だけにした場合と比べて通信費は月に1000円程度上がります。年単位で考えると無視できないコストではありますが。月毎に請求されるならいつでも変更は可能です。一旦は必要なコストとして受け入れることにしました。 次に通信環境によってモバイル通信を切り替える設定を試すことにします。先に書いた通り、私の住むエリアには楽天モバイルが繋がらない場所が一部存在します。車で通過するだけなら時々アップルミュージックの再生が止まる程度で済みますが、その場所にコンビニが存在しているのでATMから現金を引き出す際に困ることが時々ありました。私は銀行のカードを持ち歩いていないためスマートフォンのアプリからATMにアクセスする必要があるからです。このエリアにいる間だけ楽天モバイルではなくて日本通信で接続できたら、二社の回線を維持している意味が生まれます。日本通信のプランは1GBしかないですが、アプリでATMにアクセスするだけなら問題ないはずです。上限に達したら追加すればいいだけですが、もしそうなったら何のためにこんなことをしているのかと質問の迷宮に迷い込みそうです。 私はこういうことを考えるのが好きなのです。

Writer's Clock

Sleep experts say keep a routine. My brain says, “Here’s a scene idea at 3am, you’re welcome.” “Writer’s Clock” is three short pieces about the daft things writers do to protect an idea: late, early, and when we should really be out for a walk. Late Night He watched the clock hit midnight, fine, okay. The tiredness wasn’t there yet. It would be. But not yet. His mind was on patrol. Sleeping was for ordinary minds. Thoughts raced. Ideas drifted in and out. Words flew about like street litter in a storm. He didn’t flinch. Just kept tapping the keys, trying to let it out. Whatever it was. Tap, tap, tap. He didn’t read back what he’d written. Not then. There’d be time for that. Right now it was discovery, the kind only the late‑night writers understand. “Insomnia, eh? Fuck it,” he thought, and wrote on. Right, that's the night....

“Who says my poems are poems? My poems are not poems. When you know that my poems are not poems, Then we can speak of poetry!” — Ryōkan

Everything happens automatically. Including you.

Living My Best Life (My Arse)

I saw a young ‘un on the bus yesterday filming herself drinking a cup of coffee. Not drinking the coffee. Filming herself pretending to drink it. Lips puckered like a duck, head tilted, eyes dead. Thirty seconds of pure concentration to make sure the light hit her cheekbones just right. Then she put the cup down, untouched, and started scrolling. I nearly stood up and applauded the performance. Bravo. Ten out of ten for commitment to absolute bollocks. This is what we’ve done with the internet. Handed over the most powerful tool in human history so every gobshite with a phone can become a brand. “Influencer.” Even the word sounds like a disease. Used to be you influenced people by being sound in the pub or rearing decent kids. Now it means showing strangers your breakfast and charging companies to pretend your life isn’t as miserable as everyone else’s. They’re...

“At some point, the question stops being what you believe, and becomes whether any of it can survive a direct look.” — Rob Matthews, When Certainty Hardens

→ Links 🔗 Sneak Peak

Getting ready to tell it all... 🕵🏻‍♂️👀 https://go.numericcitizen.me/kXrGe2Fk

The Greasy Spoon - 26th April 2026

—Well, I’m here Bob.  —Er, I ain’t blind.  —I meant I’m here despite how I’m feeling.  —Eh?  —Yeah.  —What’s up with yer?  —Feel rough, mate.  —Yeah? Well, you look rough an’ all.  —Piss off. I ain’t joking.  —Stop bloody moaning yer big whinging git.  —Right.  —Wait, Joe.  —What?  —Now I am worried.  —Why?  —Yer didn’t slag me back.  —Ah, yer short, fat and ugly— —Better. But now I am worried. So what’s going on?  —Well, I can’t hear properly for a start off.  —Nothing new, oh, I mean, eh? How d’yer mean?  —Me ears are blocked.  —Ah. I’ve got a bicycle pump somewhere. —Fuck off, Bob. Although that was quite funny.  —Yeah, I ain’t doing it for yer.  —Wha’?  —Well, yer attach it up yer arse, give it a good pumping and it blows yer ears out— —Yampy sod, Piss off! —So is it just yer ears?  —No, I keep...

The Bus Stop

A bus stop with no shelter. And the rain fell. Me and an old bloke stood there like hopeful lemons.  —They’re always late. It’s all them roadworks.  —Right.  Silence. Then the old guy spoke again.  —She’s dying. Me missus. I’m going to see ‘er.  —Sorry to hear that, mate. She in a care home?  —Yeah.  —What’ve the doctors said?  —It’s what they don’t say, innit?  —Yep. And I’m off looking for work again. —It ‘appened to me. Needed time to look after me missus. Then, they laid me off.  —That’s our bus, Thank fuck. This rain is pissing me off.

The Quiet Floor

John Croft is sixty-one years old. The old guy. And the office is dead. Proper dead. Used to be you’d walk in, Derek’d have a jibe about your tie, your team, your missus. You’d give it back harder. That was the day, sorted. Now it’s all Slack. Emojis. Thumbs-up rubbish. He said hiya to the young one by the printer. She smiled like he’d coughed on her. —Smashing weather, he tried. —Mm, she said, AirPods in. He sat down. Stared at the screen. Typed morning team in the group chat. Three hours. No reply. —Fuck, he muttered.  —I’m a ghost.

The Ask

—You’re fine then, Fletch. —Er, what? —Nothing. She was stirring her tea slowly. He was watching her stir it. —Jess. —What? —Hmm? Oh, nothing. The spoon went around. The clock on the wall ticked like it was enjoying itself. —D’yer like Italian? He said. —Food or men? —Food. —Kinda depends who’s asking. —I’m asking. —Then yeah, I like Italian. He nodded. She nodded. The spoon went round again. Steady.  —How about Friday? he said. —Could do Friday. —Great. —Sound. She stopped stirring. The tea was long cold. Hadn’t mattered for about ten minutes. —Fletch? —Yeah? —Pick me up at seven.

The Sweeper

John pushed the broom along the kerb. The girl was watching him. —What’s your name? she said. He kept sweeping. Don’t talk to her. —I’m Sally, I’m ten. —You shouldn’t talk to strangers, love. —I’m not. You’re the street sweeper. He stopped. —Where’s your mum? —Home. —Why are you on your own? —I came out with our Terri. She went off. —That’s not nice. —She’s meeting Ryan. I know she is; I’m not thick. John leaned on his broom. —What are you gonna do? —Dunno. —Go home, love. —Will you be here tomorrow? He shouldn’t have smiled. But he did.

📡✨ Reading

If this trend persists, the upcoming months will focus more on reading and less on building.

Sunday Blues

I’m here writing like I’m not allowed to stop. But that’s okay. Not a bother. Because I don’t want to stop, see? That’s not how I write good stuff. Stopping. Nah, fuck that. The best stuff comes when I open the latch.  Sounds weird right? What latch? The one in my mind. Behind it is a lot of words and ideas. Sometimes they are shite. Then, I realise they’re not. My assessment of them is off. Yeah. That’s what happens. An idea is an idea. Not shite. Not great. It’s what I do with it that matters. Brill, when I first realised that? It was like drinking my first morning coffee.  Something fired in my brain. It was fucking great. Let the bugger out. Whatever it is. Might be shite-sounding. But that’s not for me to say at that point. No way. Let the thing come out. I wrote a...

🍿 Watched Nobody (2021)

⚠️ SPOILER WARNING: MILD SPOILERS My Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4/5 stars) Highly, highly unbelievable yet very entertaining. Great cast. If you want to kill about two hours and are after a fun, fast-paced movie, this delivers. It’s not profound, but it does exactly what it sets out to do, entertain. This product uses the TMDb API but is not endorsed or certified by TMDb

Debra

A woman stands at a sink. The water is running. She has been standing there for some time. There was nothing to look at. The garden was a few cracked slabs and a knackered fence panel.  Debra sighed, and turned the tap off. She picked up her mug, washed it, and then her plate. One of each. Not how it used to be.  She dried her crockery. Put them away and stood for a moment, the empty kitchen’s silence hurting her ears.  If she listened, she could hear echos of his voice. His laughter first. and then, later, his pain.

The Writer

He hadn’t expected to laugh today. But laugh he did, and it was bloody great. Because he was laughing as he wrote.  Amazing. He knew. You can’t write the comedy he writes, unless it makes you laugh.  The last few days? Empty. Nothing funny. But today? It felt superb to be writing. Words were flowing and the laughs were real.  He knew. Because it wasn’t just him laughing. His wife, Orla, came in with a brew. He showed her the piece. And she laughed. Straight away.  No hesitation. She was giggling, then a full laugh.  Brilliant. What a great sound.

RE: Olly's Thoughts/We need a physical digital music experience

Earlier today, I was reading Robert's response to Olly regarding physical media and the desire to support independent record stores. I've been working on a blog post of my own tackling this exact subject. I have this desire to support local book stores, yet, rarely do I read a physical book. I like the idea of owning the book, but at the end of the day, I usually read before bed, in the dark, and my tablet is a better choice for me. The same goes with physical video games and movies. Sure, they look nice on a shelf, but since I purged almost all of my books, comics, and movies late last year, I don't miss them at all. The convenience of digital is just too much, and my apartment is just too small. Right now, I'm even working on putting together a little emulation machine, just so I...

What use is the story of your life? Really.