Category: The Last Seanachie

Stories need a teller. So I tell mine here.

Warm Snow

The dream was always the same. He’s standing in a forest and it’s snowing. Large flakes that sting his eyes. But instead of the bitter cold that the soft white blanket usually brings, it’s warm; hot even, and he can hardly breathe. In the distance, wailing. Three white […]

Its all about the optics

The sign on the meshed door said Lee’s Tailors: Repairs Here! And behind the grimy window a small Singer sewing machine stood proud among piles of unfurled asymmetric trouser legs and cloth, reels and needles. ‘I thought we were getting a drink, Ibrahim?’ I ventured. He pointed to […]

The smell of vinegar

Ibrahim’s car smells of vinegar and he notices me wince on entry. ‘People very sick sometimes,’ he booms. ‘I clean up – a lot!’ His ivory teeth are the only thing visible from the acrid gloom at the back of the mini-cab. It’s not long before me and […]

Off Stone

The only good thing about The Oak is that it’s close to the office and its open. Its open at 3am because of a medieval quirk of London’s licensing by-laws. The Oak is next to Smithfield meat market and for reasons known only to the long-dead Guilds that […]

Hot Metal

Off stone. That’s it. Done. Last edition of the paper reworked, tweaked, body count upped, pix changed, roughed, subbed, revised, finalled, gash copy spiked, splashes from rivals ripped and renosed, telly for the north replaced with telly from the south, Celtic off the back pages and normal Arsenal-Chelsea […]