They made accessories of themselves and others. They lived by aesthetics. The right physique. The right magazine left, unread but skimmed, on the right worktop. Their unused, designer golf clubs sitting next to their skeletal framed racing bikes. Bikes that would squeal and throw up their handlebars should mud ever touch their shiny paintwork.
Read MoreThe reason he gave was truly bizarre. The fact he tied it back to my grandfather only baffled me more.
“You remember your granny’s funeral,” he’d said. “The priest putting his arm on your granddad’s shoulder. Your granddad screaming so hard all the birds flew out the trees.”
“Sure,” I told him. “I remember.”
Read MoreThere were photos running up the stairs. The evolution of Sarah. When she went downstairs, she could reverse time. Go from awkward pre-teen to fidgety middle school girl. From nursery nativity darling to pudgy toddler. From first birthday to hospital bundle.
Read MoreCurtains twitched. Featureless faces peered out. None of these people grew up around here. They’d swooped in from their daily commute, invading the moment these houses went on the market. They’d bloated the morning traffic queues and caused house prices to soar thanks to their private road. Well, it wasn’t so private tonight. He was claiming some curb for a free, front row seat.
Read MoreI’m trying to remind myself these days that horror is a many splendoured thing. In fiction, that is. I’m not watching the news, smiling a slow snake smile and muttering the word ‘beautiful’ to myself. I’ll leave that to the people pulling the politician’s strings. Surely there must be someone watching the blossoming groundswell of chaos reaching far across the world today and congratulating themselves. Before turning to Hitler’s living brain (now safely implanted inside the body of a gaunt, pale, asthmatic gorilla) and offering a deeply worshipful high five.
Read MoreYou might remember, the other week, that I mentioned setting up a sort of required reading list for the new novel. Who am I kidding? Of course you remember. They’re putting up the blue plaque outside my window to commemorate the anniversary of me writing it. I was talking about how I was looking for particular things to read and watch. I was listening to a lot of horror scores. I was basically chasing some sense memory of the novel I’ve got growing in my head. Or I was sense checking that it didn’t already exist.
Read MoreI’ve never been what you’d call an animal person. I suppose it’s partly because I don’t cope well when things die. I struggled when Sam’s tropical fish floated to the top of the tank. I think it also comes from the fact that I didn’t grow up with animals around me. Thanks to two thirds of my childhood home having allergy issues, my parents never bought a pet. So I grew up without a puppy, kitten or baby gecko to call my own.
Since living under my own roof, any thought I’ve ever had about owning an animal has been crushed by realising just how much hard work that lies wrapped up in the relationship. Let alone the fact that living in a street where everyone apart from you owns a cat really puts you off owning one yourself.
Oh, Danny Boyle. The press, the press are calling.
Yep, there’s no way that hasn’t already been written online at least a thousand times. To be honest, if I had his number, I’d be calling. Or maybe I’d be better calling the good folks at Eon Productions. Just to find out what happened. I want to know exactly why they parted ways with such an established and interesting director.