Skinnamirinky Dinky Dink


Going through some old boxes of stuff this morning, I found this written on the back of a scrumpled envelope:

i don’t love you in the morning

or in the afternoon

but baby in the evening

underneath the moon …

Nick Fairclough, Edinburgh 2006/07


The Leaving of the Storks

I’m very pleased to have this piece included in Flash Frontier’s AFRICA issue. It’s actually the second part of my ‘Bird Trilogy’. Part one is forthcoming in Blue Fifth Review and I hope to find a home for the third.

Back to Flash Frontier, in particular, the Africa issue … there are some good little stories inside … take a look, have a read …

With regards to my story, I should add, as my good friend Choi pointed out, I forgot about Toto’s Africa!

First book out now!


My first collection of short fiction is now available in the Amazon store. Please click on the links below to purchase. If you don’t buy it, my kids will starve. (Just joking, but, honest to God, that was the exact advice, word for word, given to me by my boss way back when I was selling photocopiers … of all things!)

“What you need to do is look them in the eye and say … that horrible horrible lie.” Needless to say, I didn’t last long at that job.


Amazon US / International, Amazon Germany, Amazon France, Amazon UK


Kindle version

The beautiful painting on the cover is by my very talented Slovenian friend Evgenija Jarc. Please check out her other work and support her at

Culture Shock: A Literary Passage from New Zealand to Poland

Have a read of my essay

Blog Cecile's Writers

Courtesy of Jerzy Gorecki

In New Zealand, the only borders are where land stops and water begins. There we speak of going overseas. For that is the only possibility to travel, one must literally go overseas to get to another country, be it on boat or aeroplane. But what do Europeans mean by ‘going abroad?’ Is it to go where the language is different, where they live under different rules and regulations, where they have something else for breakfast, where they behave differently? All while sharing the same piece of land?

The first time I came to Europe I was excited. The thought I’d be breathing the same air that Kafka had, walking the same dog-shit Parisian streets Celine did, seeing the same night sky that Hamsun saw… but then I realised it wasn’t the same as I’d imagined; it was actually similar to what I already knew. I’d…

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