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 email@example.com or texting +77 8851 5387.
Continue reading “Contact John Morrish”
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.
Continue reading “Yesterday”
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.
Continue reading “Can We Go Home Now?”
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.
Continue reading “Virus”
Why would anyone delete their Facebook account? That’s a question some people have asked me since I jumped out of the shark-tank, some months ago. More people, though, have told me they’d like to, or they’ve thought about it, but they can’t. They need it. There is no alternative. Leaving it will make them feel bad.
Continue reading “The Leaving of Facebook”
The mood on the bridge of the Starship Poseidon was grim. Commander Freeman, a square-jawed man in early middle age, turned away from the giant view-screen to address his crew.
Continue reading “On the Bridge”
Lady Mary composed herself on her wooden chair in her bedchamber, working on her needlework.
Continue reading “Lord Thomas and Lady Mary”
On Friday night after work, Dad came in through the door, wrestling with a five-foot Nordman Fir wrapped in plastic mesh. It slid out of his arms and he dropped it in the hallway.
Continue reading “Starfucker”
Is there any sound more upsetting than the cry of a small baby? I’m not referring to the full-scale shrieking of an angry or tired or hungry infant, rather the pathetic mewling of a baby that is alone and neglected.
Continue reading “Have you been drinking, Sir?”
When we look back, does pain leave more of a mark, or does joy? It is easy to say pain, but in time that slips away.
Continue reading “California Saga”
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.
Continue reading “On Reflection”