Tag Archives: Mike Fox

Sometimes even a walk down the road on a sunny day is an offence to the spirit. I have just been to see my therapist. ‘The prison of the self, the innate alienation of individual existence – this is what … Continue reading →

I stood in Fred Bone’s workroom. On the walls, all around, were photos of exposed body parts. One showed a tuft of pubic hair, dyed green, above which was tattooed Keep off the Grass. He saw me looking at it. … Continue reading →

The boy walks towards me, splay-footed, ungainly, twists to kick the wall, and carries on. Ten steps later he does it again – nothing forceful, just a tap with the toe of his scuffed shoe. I make room for him … Continue reading →

I arrived to the heaviest rain I could remember. The route I’d been given took me across fields of drenched, knee-high grass, and my boots were buried somewhere in my rucksack. After a while I began to wonder if the … Continue reading →

It was probably the meditation. I was five days in and everything seemed slower and more vivid, both more and less real. I lay in a field, grass bleached to straw under the late August sun. On the hill opposite, … Continue reading →

The slow train to Waterloo is quiet, with the rush hour just past, and all the city types at work by now or on a faster route. I sit with one foot on the raised plinth beneath the window, looking … Continue reading →

‘It’s a death. There’s no other way to describe it.’ Jen is talking about her divorce again. It went through three years ago, but she still relives it if ever something triggers the memory. We are having a coffee break … Continue reading →