Derby Blogs

A selection of blogs written for Swindon Roller Derby:

The Future is Red and Black

Injuries in Roller Derby Part 1

Injuries in Roller Derby Part 2

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Window

From here at my window I see last year's sparrows flit from the trees They are drawn to your sweet breath As you force a path through the fallen leaves Darkness is falling over our garden A shadow falls over your heart-shaped face The birds retreat over the blacked hills Night plunder any sound from this place Oh, darling sing me all those songs of sorrow Sing me all those broken lullabies And we'll rail against the silence And against those midnight skies Whisper slowly that you love me And we'll lay all those dogs to rest Hold my hand for those ghosts to see And lay your head down upon my chest Shafts of light splinter our garden The sparrows return to dance in the trees As we tread a path, hand-in-hand Through our garden and the fallen leaves
Read more

Tidal Song

Now there's nothing left unsaid With storm clouds gathering overhead On the glory of the moments passed between us A s she tells me how it goes The waves lap around at our toes And the rain scars the sand all around us As she wipes away a tear The fragile glory turns to fear And I don't know if we can survive In this torrent of despair I run my hand through her hair And say "nothing can pull us down now" I look in to her eyes Thunder raging in the skies I kiss her and we share in our neurosis For this moment we're alive As we fight just to survive And the flames of desire burn between us And I take her by the hand Water coursing through the sand And I know that we'll make it this time Now we're standing in the rain Glory flowing through our veins Nothing can pull us down now Now we're standing in the rain Fucking Glory in our veins And Nothing can pull us down now Nothing can pull us down now 
Read more

The Lost Art of Storytelling

Stories have always been important to me. I've written, in fits and starts, for as long as I can remember. I can vividly recall being sat on cold pews in Chapel on a Sunday evening, furiously scribbling down fantastical stories, instead of paying attention to the service. Stories where masked men would burst through the door of the chapel, only to be thwarted in battle with the hero. Stories about pirates and hidden treasure; stories about suave spies foiling criminal masterminds; stories with ghost and ghouls and haunted houses. Even when I wasn't writing,  I was still making up large-scale war epics with my toys, or dressing up as James Bond and having globetrotting adventures without ever leaving the house and spending hours daydreaming in school. It was all part of my love of stories. Most Sunday mornings I used to walk around the wilds of the Llynfi Valley with my Dad, who would tell me stories of wizards, dragons and small people with big hairy feet. These stories for
Read more