My 95-year-old nan is being expelled from her care home. She's only been there a few weeks. After a prolonged spell in hospital following another funny turn she was deemed unfit to live alone by social services and whisked up to Yorkshire, to a care home close to her two sons - my dad, 73, and my uncle, in his late sixties.
Author and journalist
Mark Piggott is the author of two novels, “Out of Office” (2010) and “Fire Horses” (2008 ), both published by Legend Press, London. Magazines to have published his short stories and creative non-fiction include Aesthetica, Prole Books, Pulp Books and 3:AM. He’s had major features in the Times, Guardian, Independent, Mail, Express, Sunday Express, Telegraph, Observer and more. He has appeared on TV and radio and lectures in creative writing and journalism. In 2013 he became a regular contributor to the IB Times.
On Tuesday, as I'm inspecting my navel (see past and indeed future blogs), out of the blue I get a call from the head of HR at the company that has been my main employer for almost four years.
30/06/2017 12:13 BST
30/03/2017 17:23 BST
16/09/2016 10:26 BST
Last Thursday 23rd June I entered hospital for surgery. The operation was minor but I reacted badly to the anaesthetic and as the night wore on entered a state of semi-delirium. By 11 pm I was straddling a toilet, gown flapping, oxygen tubes up my nose, tubes in my arm, listening to David Dimbleby make reassuring noises about the UK remaining and passing these on to two lovely Romanian nurses attempting without luck or enthusiasm to insert a catheter.
27/06/2016 16:09 BST
14/06/2016 12:43 BST
So where does the blame lie? In the complacent self-sustaining world of publishing, where agents and publishers alike employ young, middle class interns to weed out the chaff and find the next big thing. Except of course most of these readers, being young and middle class, haven't actually got a clue about good writing OR the real world...
12/04/2016 15:31 BST
05/05/2015 18:18 BST
Times goes at a different rate in the country. It seems only yesterday that we drove out beyond the M25, and the cat pooped on my lap, and we began our new life in a house of flies and dirt and no door-handles. It was actually ten months ago.
20/08/2014 14:42 BST
Ever met a nice Scotsman? Me neither. I mean Armando Iannucci, Lou Macari and Wattie out of Exploited (get well soon) seem okay, though I wouldn't want to live next door to any of them, but the rest? Buckfast-slurping, sheep-stomach-scoffing, heart-attack-having, currency-stealing cry-babies.
19/03/2014 12:28 GMT
At midnight I look up at the screen to see Big Ben, haloed in light, wreathed in the smoke of rockets and bangers, keeping stern watch over the city I called home for almost thirty years: so close, yet so far away.
10/03/2014 13:14 GMT
Having received a card from the middle-aged couple a few doors along, next week we're having a little soiree for the neighbours - all except Dead Bob Willis and his invisible wife, obviously. As I drive home from Homebase with a boot full of planks singing along to "Rebel Rebel" it somehow feels Christmassy and normal.
28/02/2014 13:15 GMT
Sean's spots are healing, Emma making friends; Lynda is working in London today. The house is "coming together" (as in, it's no longer falling apart). The roof of the summerhouse is secured with tarp and screws. There's nothing useful I can do alone. Nothing for it: I must write.
21/02/2014 12:47 GMT
Neither of the kids seems traumatised by their first day at Straddlewick; we heave sighs of relief. Then, at tooth-brush-time, Emma says Sean was called names by an older boy in the playground.
14/02/2014 14:37 GMT
Lynda's supposed to meet me at the train station but the Stilo's out of action: some sort of steering rod calamity that will cost more to fix than we paid for the infernal thing. For about a trillisecond I consider taking a mechanic's course then remember I have better things to do. I'm not sure what, exactly, but I do.
07/02/2014 14:08 GMT
Reviews of Autobiography confirmed my worst fears: he would spend far too long detailing a complicated court case against his former band-members and not enough time describing how it must have felt to press something so pure as Hatful of Hollow or Meat is Murder to vinyl. But then - what do critics know?
03/02/2014 15:36 GMT
Following a great deal of badgering, bribery and blackmail the children allow themselves to be shown round Straddlewick primary by the deputy head and we assume from their relative silence they have no fundamental objection to being educated there.
31/01/2014 12:52 GMT
My nine-year-old daughter has started taking me to task for using "wicked" as a form of praise. At 47, she explains, I'm too old to use words and phrases which are the preserve of the young. She also says the punk music I've finally worked out how to load onto the iPod is too loud. For a moment I think she's going to complain you can't hear the words.
29/01/2014 13:03 GMT
I'm not sure I've ever read such a racially provocative slogan; certainly not in London, where I lived for 28 years. Is it even legal to wear such a message? Perhaps the absence of an 'S' and a gap between the 'K' and the 'O' makes it legal? So should it be banned? Should these men be outlawed, fought, or simply ignored?
27/01/2014 12:28 GMT
Joy! The kitchen sink is finally installed so now we can wash our pots and clothes without resorting to the scabby old bathtub. Shame about the missing cutlery drawer - "I'll come back later," says the plumber, vaguely - but who cares when you can clean your socks without your hands resembling Brillo pads immersed in <em>Jif</em>?*
24/01/2014 12:40 GMT
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