Category: Wirral

The Horseman’s Dream: A Tale of Conspiracy, Corruption, Cruelty and Conditioning in Post-Disaster Britain

It’s taken me nearly 20 years to write The Horseman’s Dream: its origins lying somewhere in the ashes of the Twin Towers and the ensuing maelstrom of disinformation.  It’s about something good that still exists in a bad world.  This is the best story I can come up with to frame the notion of a…

By ajreid22 9th August 2018 4

Who is Dianne Doyle?

Dianne Doyle is the antagonist of my novella A Smaller Hell: based on a department store manager I worked with.  She used to get kicks out of reprimanding staff and subverting our relationships.  A maestro of negativity, she’d often lure us into making mistakes, just so that she could degrade us. The longer I worked…

By ajreid22 26th November 2015 0

Heswall Graveyard

Heswall shore: a muddy beach/marsh in the north west of England that will always be in my heart.  As well as being my playground since I was a little boy, I’ve worked, fought, bled, cried, fallen in love and broken up there. When I was a personal trainer, I used to have a client who was a wealthy venture capitalist…

By ajreid22 22nd September 2015 0

The Shed of Revelations

Occasionally, a few friends and I undertake clean-up operations on the local beach. It was during one such outing when we discovered this mysterious thing.   We went a little closer to investigate and found something odd: No-one knew what to make of it.   Someone had meticulously stitched pages of the Bible – mostly from the book of…

By ajreid22 18th September 2015 Off

Wirral: The Paradise Peninsula

Over The water. The Dark Side. The One-Eyed City. The Wirral is a strange place: a peninsula onto which you venture, rather than into. Argue this one with the natives at your peril. Beautiful landscapes and Viking history make up as large a part of its identity as shipbuilding, promenades, pop music and now, (2020…

By ajreid22 28th August 2015 0

The Boatyard

The wind howls up the slipway, clinking through the sleeping masts of the sick and dying vessels, bringing with it the defining scent of my childhood summers: salt, mud and a hint of sewage.  The yard – like its inhabitants – is unkempt, but highly functional.  By day, tattoos quiver on weather-beaten hides all round…

By ajreid22 2nd November 2014 0