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I was eighteen and working in a factory near Bournemouth. It was a summer job and I worked at a bench preparing components for electrolysis which required precision handling. It was no place for day dreaming as a flawed component would ensure instant dismissal. A book of short stories by Ray Bradbury provided the escape […]

When I agreed to write the memoir of a man who is deaf and blind but remains unbowed in his seventies I had little idea the book title, Silent Pigeons Coo, would work on a number of levels.  One example is that it echoes the plight of  writers who struggle to secure representation. Silently Cooing