Short Stories:

They speak my language
We moved to Holland from Germany on a warm summer day. Our daughter Stephanie, who had been born in Munich, was only four at the time, so when the removal men came into the flat after breakfast she was very excited. She ran around and generally made a nuisance of herself; it was fun, but after a while the excitement changed to confusion and she ran to her mother, wanting to be picked up and hugged.
Full Short Story (PDF: 17 Kb)

The Advertising Menagerie
Carol made one of her more dramatic entrances; the door flew open, she strode inside and starting talking immediately. The two men turned, smiled politely, but still finished their conversation; effectively they ignored the breathless rush of excited words that preceded her. But Carol seemed not to notice or maybe she simply didn't care - more probably she didn't want to wait for or even expect a reply. Her lips glistened, as usual; they'd been carefully rouged and licked beforehand - the lipstick applied in the car, the moisture added quickly but carefully in front of the hall mirror. And somehow that extra blouse button had managed to release itself again.
Full Short Story (PDF: 30 Kb)
The Boy's Club
The main office was a rather dreary, four-storied building in the Waterloo road, opposite the very dreary railway station and next to the Old Vic theater. It housed the editorial and advertising staff of Mercury Publications, a company that churned out dozens of low-quality trade and technical publications. They were all designed to the same basic formula and most of the work was done by poorly-paid, junior staff. Nevertheless it was a winning formula and more office space was needed for more of the same. Our particular group of "new product" journals was therefore going to move to the boy's club as soon as the conversion was complete.
Full Short Story (PDF: 22 Kb)