Writers dreaming

A few nights ago I had a dream about a staff, a stile and a horrid dark dank dungeon. There was a woman in the dungeon and I knew she was going to torture me. When she poured liquid on my face, I accepted my fate: that I was doomed. The only way out of…

British and alcoholic

The words alcohol and America don’t sit comfortably together in my mind. Understandably, since my father fell hard to alcoholism while living his last years in a kooky town on the Californian coast, which had only one way in, and one way out… He was also addicted to prescription drugs, which he bought by the…