My mother’s notes from Montenegro

My mother’s notes from Montenegro

I spent my last month in Scotland going through the residue of my mother’s stuff (she died in June 2017 and if you’d like to see how wonderful she was click here). We had a container full of things and I gave most of it away, to family and friends, but some of it had to be chucked. One of the last things I dealt with was a tatty-looking notebook I thought was only filled with scores for card games and to-do lists. It had to go. (more…)

Skull, a Short Story By Tom Wigan

He leaned into me, blue eyes wide, face twitching.

‘My elbow’s fucked mate. I can barely open it further than this.’ An arm extended, palm facing up. ‘It’s from plasterin’ mate. Plasterin’ and wankin’.

His skin was blotchy and sagging. Bags were grey and oily under his eyes. He kicked a clump of mud off his boot. (more…)

The Transylvanian Forest

By Tom Wigan

The taxi wound through Transylvanian forest and dropped me in Brasov. I ducked through slim alleys into an underground restaurant. Over pickles, polenta and goulash, a couple described bears swaggering down streets, sniffing the air and picking any tit bits they fancied. Drunk men have been attacked in the past. There was local uproar when a policeman shot a bear walking down the street. (more…)