I received an Artist's Award from the Arts Council to work on my prose.

Recently I have had prose published in Tears in the Fence 50, Tears in the Fence 56 and BRAND 6.

Extract from 'Move the Castle', in BRAND 6, 2010

Secrets mushroomed in 1953. They festered in dark closets, under stairs and carpets, in locked safes, beds, White Houses and bureau drawers, underground bunkers, medicine cabinets, graveyards, offices, cellars and attics. They lurked in foreign languages, dirty raincoats, nightmares, the lining of trilby hats and Morse Code. They hid in throats behind the Pepsodent smiles we were forced to wear, because secrets must never be told. Our tongues had to move on tip-toes then because, so we were repeatedly told, If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

We were constantly on guard because all around were other people who looked like good people but were, or might be, secretly bad. They could arrive at any moment in flying saucers, guided missiles or Ford station wagons, they almost certainly had guns and bombs or they might be sitting in the drug store drinking soda pop, peeking from the corner of their eye, taking note as they fingered an unseen knife. We had to listen and watch carefully, not just our own tongues, but what other people said and did. And if somebody we thought was good did something bad we had to keep that secret too.