Isle of Aur Tales speak of an island lost in the fog somewhere in the ocean, not found on any map. It is said that it can only be revealed in the high seas to worthy travellers. Old sailors in taverns claim to have glimpsed and then lost it from sight, straining their eyes against... Continue Reading →
It’s a rainy night in Glasgow, even by Glasgow standards, when I find myself among a crowd of less than twenty people, knee to knee with Graeme Macrae Burnet, at Woodlands Workspace – a new hub for arts and events that opened at the end of September. Two walls of the small venue are floor... Continue Reading →
There’s a traffic jam at the Rialto bridge. Speedboats, gondolas, flat-bottomed working boats—all are stationary right back to Rialto Mercato. The boats are so packed it might be possible, if one were fit enough, to walk across the Grand Canal stepping from one vehicle to another. On the balcony of the Ca d’Angeli Nero, Floris... Continue Reading →
As the heavenly bodies above sewed and threaded themselves in neat and twinkling alignments in the night sky, down on earth, Old Frizzlefish stood watching this display with rapt attention. He shivered apprehensively, feeling a tingling ecstasy rise from deep within his archaic bones at what he knew was coming. All his life seemed to... Continue Reading →
Apocalypse Now with MR Carey and Joe Hill East Kilbride Arts Centre From our very own (new!) correspondent, Callum McSorley: "There are a few reasons to be proud of coming from East Kilbride. One – it gave birth to post-punk royalty The Jesus and Mary Chain. Two – its grey and not-at-all oppressive landscape helped... Continue Reading →
Rachel visited the Edinburgh International Book Festival on a drizzly Wednesday evening: "You know what I like about fantasy and sci-fi writers? The good ones, that is? Their literary worlds are generally so detailed, so fascinating and so compelling that there are always questions to ask about them and the answers are (nearly always!) interesting... Continue Reading →
Frankie Witt crawled out of a stupor and into a hangover. The crust inside his mouth crumpled like a wasps' nest as he puckered. Aghh. Again. Head feels like it's oozing pus. You stumblebum, just die and be done with it. Frankie shambled into the bathroom, drank a glass of off-color water and weaved into... Continue Reading →
He is old, older than anyone I have ever known.
Ultimately, it was the Kingsmen who ferried their marriage to its grave.