Contact John Morrish

This site is really just an online business card so people can contact me. When I get round to it I will add more of the material I’ve been working on over the last couple of years.

My background is in journalism. Now I enjoy writing fiction and non-fiction, I edit, and I lead writers’ groups. I also love films: the blurry image is from White God (2014), directed by Kornél Mundruczó.

I like talking about the things I do and am very approachable. I live in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, UK. You can contact me by emailing mail@johnmorrish.com or texting +77 8851 5387.

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Yesterday

I really am going to write some more about the film Yesterday. But for now, here’s one of my little treasures.

In the mid-80s, I had a part-time freelance gig working on a putative pop music history series. It was going to be presented by the Beatles’ producer George Martin, whose company was co-funding it, and it was going to be based on his book All You Need is Ears. When I had to introduce myself to people and say the title, a little of me died inside, because it was so illiterate.

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Can We Go Home Now?

I’m listening to The Roches, singing the title track of their 1995 album Can We Go Home Now. It has just popped up on my iPhone, which is playing a selection of things from my Apple Music library that it thinks I will like, based on algorithmic logic.

The Roches were three sisters from New Jersey who sang wry, insightful, folk-derived songs in close harmony, often with minimal or no accompaniment. I remember when I bought this album, their 10th, I was surprised and slightly underwhelmed. There were synthesisers, and the lyrics were plainer, less tricksy.

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Virus

It’s hard to think of a good word for something that has the potential to ruin the lives of millions of people as it multiplies and spreads around the planet. Fortunately we already have a good word: it’s “virus”. 

“Virus” is good, because it has a shared meaning. There is no need to define our terms before we discuss it to death. In medicine, a “virus” is a parcel of genetic material that invades our cells, starts to multiply, and then either gives us a bit of a sniffle or kills us. On the one hand, it might be “justavirus”, the last resort of the hard-pressed GP: on the other, Ebola.

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On Reflection

It was their happy ending. Stephen and Sarah signed into the hotel in Venice as Mr & Mrs Russell, and it was the first time they had ever done that, and they smiled. They marvelled at the splendour of the place they had chosen from the brochure in the travel agent’s. They brought their bags in from the shuttle bus. They were looking forward to their honeymoon. 

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