JOHN MARTIN

There were no American Indians in the vicinity of our new house in Newnham when I was six in 1964. I know this because I had a large Indian identification wall-chart hanging in my new bedroom. It had pictures of all kinds of Indians – including Sioux, Apache, Cherokee and Cheyenne – which came in… Continue reading Cowboys, Indians, Friends, and Plovers

I do not know where my son got the idea that Eric Clapton was the first man on the moon. Oh yeah, probably me. Jack was six at the time, so those were the days he believed everything I said. And to be fair to me, I did not say Slowhand was the first man on the… Continue reading One small step for man, one giant leap for Slowhand

I HEARD  comedian Ricky Gervaise laugh at blog writers for listing their favourite tracks by their favourite singers. I decided there and then I would never do that. I never want to be held up to public ridicule. So I have decided instead to list my 10 least favourite vegetables. In descending order of horribleness.… Continue reading It’s not easy being green

Some writers choose to hide in the wardrobe each day and pretend they’re in Narnia. For me, my imaginary place of writing is up a narrow flight of stone stairs leading to an apartment in the village of Saint Chinian, near Beziers in the south of France. I was there for real on holidays. My… Continue reading Mais oui, my new writing studio

Dear manager, I am writing to ask you to look out for a hat which I left in one of your taxi cars on Tuesday. I would also like to complain about your employee who drove that car. I don’t get out very often — in fact, last Tuesday night was the first time in… Continue reading Letter to the taxi company from a disgruntled customer