I've been writing short stories. Profound, aching, searching for empathetic truisms short stories. The sort that make brave men cry and women smile that there are males who so understand the human condition.

Puppies weep, kittens frolic and I hit the 'bollocks' button by mistake.

Anyway - titles. Here are some I've been using recently.

The Song of Vivien
The Twenty-Pound Note
In Between Days
The Four Twelves

I debated calling one Karen Carpenter's Last Meal but decided against it as it was offensive and I'm a closet Carpenters fan (Goodbye to Love has to be best power ballad, ever).

Whether these will be the Wuthering Heights, Trumpet Major, Old Geriot of the later 21st Century I'll leave for posterity to decide. Personally though, my writing has now reached heights unknown since I drunkenly penned a Martin Amis parody in 1993 and won £500 quid for my troubles. A future blogpost perhaps? Maybe. My public need to understand I wasn't always pressed against the glass watching the dance from without.

Off to buy some cat litter bags.

Tim

* Do you like the photo of a younger Tim, buff and hirsute, standing next to Oscar Wilde's tomb in Paris?