Autumn, that cunt.

September, the real 30 Day War Yet another battle with Seasonal Affective Disorder

A few weeks ago, I wrote the following paragraph, overly-confident that my yearly battle with seasonal depression was not going to be such a big deal in 2012.. It strikes me, nearly halfway through the month, that I’ve forgotten to declare war on September. There’s no little block of notebook prose where September is a villain stalking through the

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Looking back at yourself looking forward to yourself Genuinely expect the genuinely unexpected

Eight years ago a skinny short-haired guy who had the same face and DNA as me bundled most if not all of his worldly possessions and hopes into a van and moved it up to Manchester. It was a largely impulsive decision based on lingering background expectations of what a new life there might comprise. If you asked that guy a year before if he expected to be

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